I arrived home, put the baby down for her nap, and secured myself some time by putting a flick (The Aristocats) on for Ms. Hazel. I could have painted a room, swept and mopped the whole house, weeded a swath of garden, or any number of nagging tasks. Instead I sunk into an orange bean bag with a almost-three-year-old squirming on top of me and watched the insipid story of spoiled house cats and their good-for-nothing butler/cat napper. It gets worse.
When little elbows stabbed my ribs one to many times, I finally got up the gumption to rise out of the bean bag abyss (a mammoth task) and get on with the day. First, the laundry that had been forming piles--not one, but many--piles. A clean pile up top, a dirty one down below, a wet one inside, and another still in the hamper. This is when it gets worse.
I opened the dryer. And, as habit stands, I reached for the lint catcher to empty it's collected fuzz but instead noticed a black waxy substance had embedded itself in the grooves of the words "clean before each load". I've always done that. I've always "cleaned before each load". Two more glances confirmed my suspicion. Black streaks coated both clothes and dryer.
This post should not end this way--nor should this post. So, I've searched and found two silver linings: I've got four large mason jars full of home-canned applesauce (my first home canning job ever) and...the injured laundry load were darks.
Three: I get to sleep next to Dr. Gooch tonight (this is not always the case).