28 Apr Save Our Sanity! Miracles and Myths!

Mazel Tov! Shehichiyanu V’kiyimanu V’higiyanu L’zman Hazeh! Baruch She’aseh Li Nes B’makom Hazeh! I stare in awe at the bottom of the beige canvas basket. I did it! I can’t believe it! I’m not one to gloat or flaunt my fortunes (and I’m sure I won’t when I get them), and especially not in these trying times when there is so much pain and suffering in the world. However, years ago I made a mental vow to go public if I would ever confirm the much-perpetuated myth and experience this phenomenon personally. Never, in my wildest of imaginations would I have thought it would be under the current circumstances. But here I have it – the proof is in front of my eyes. The unicorn of the modern-day housewife.. An empty hamper. I check under the basket, behind the door, and in the space between the washer and the wall where I found 17 dusty socks yesterday, but there are no more stragglers. The impossible, the once-believed to be unconquerable has been achieved. I have finished the laundry! Whites, darks, lights, brights, runny tie-dye, tzitzis, towels, linens, and last year’s Purim costumes vanquished only through dozens of loads, gallons of detergent, and hours upon hours of blissful solitude back-aching labor. I add another tennis ball to the last load of towels in the dryer to maximize the racket they make as they bounce off the metal drum and cautiously tear open the plastic wrapper of the chocolate bar hiding in the empty oxyclean box. I listen for footsteps. Upstairs, the baby is napping, two kids have teleconference classes, one is on zoom, another is raiding the fridge, and the rest is anyone’s guess. I hope those balls clanging behind me can mask my chewing, and pushing my luck, I crack open the book I’ve been reading since Purim to page 24. It should take the kids at least a paragraph or two to find me still down here, in my musty sanctuary, though I’ve run out of things to wash. And that, my fawning admirers, is the secret to uncovering the bottom of the hamper. Months ago, my washer broke and flooded the basement and it took three repair calls and a few hundred dollars to fix. But that’s not the direction I was going. During those laundry crisis days, before I realized my mother’s machine was free and I was still paying a gazillion quarters for the laundromat, I took note of the regulars (I don’t know if they were actually regulars as I was only there for two days, but they looked experienced and knew which buttons to press on the monstrous commercial machines and also the difference between the washer and dryer). They came with books and knitting projects and chargers for their phones and parked themselves on the benches to wait for the load to finish. At the time, I had thought of it as a waste of time, and only recently began to appreciate the wisdom behind it and I thought, why not bring the laundromat experience to my own home? Without the quarters. In order to create the sanctuary, I needed to ensure the other 97 people in my household would not envy my time there. The easiest way to keep them away was to add “laundry” to their chore chart which guarantees that they would avoid it at any cost. “Shragi, you’re bored? Did you do the laundry? Whadaya mean You don’t want to? Fine, you know what? Go watch the baby for an hour and I will just go do it myself!” And after six weeks of quarantining myself in the laundry room, I have finally merited to see this miracle. Of course, to be completely honest, the laundry is not really finished. There are four mountains lining the hallway of clean clothing waiting to be folded and the drying rod is stuffed with dresses that need to be hung in closets and dress shirts to be ironed. They’ll be ok languishing there for another while, though. Ever since school was closed, no one’s come to me in a panic at 6:47 am that the minyan bus is coming in eight minutes and he has no ironed shirts, or that his last pair of clean school pants is missing the left knee. (And if those pants really were clean, who washed, folded, and put them away in the closet with a ten inch hole?!) These past few weeks have been a welcome reprieve from the wardrobe stresses as my kids dress in hoodies, sports pants, and bathrobes. My preschooler proudly outfits herself every morning, and I compliment her on her sense of style in pairing a patterned t-shirt with a shimmery tutu skirt, thick winter tights and shabbos shoes. It builds character and self-confidence in expressing herself voicing her own opinion – at least she can go back out in public. “Ma! Mommy! Maaaaaaa!” It’s a good thing they give me warning as they stampede down the stairs. I shove the chocolate back into the detergent box and throw my book in with the shmattas. If only someone would actually look in there besides for me. “Oh there you are.” They’re surprised? “Do we have anything to eat?” Excellent question and I wish I had an equally brilliant answer. Like, sure, there’s a batch of mocha muffins fresh out of the oven and an apple pie cooling on the counter. I mean, I’m doing the laundry all day! I need to cook too?? “Check the fridge. There are apples and clementines there from Pessach.” “Maaaa! I mean food! I’m starving!” Yes, of course everyone is starving. I’ve only been cooking all month in this 24/7 diner: Pre-davening breakfast, breakfast, snack, snack 2, snack 3, lunch, lunch 2, snack 147, supper, supper 2, supper 3, snack, pre-bedtime snack, post-bedtime snack…… Back in the days of schools and busses and minyanim, I’d listen to mothers complain about the morning rush and the struggle to get the kids to eat a filling and nourishing breakfast before they’d run out the door, and I just could not relate. Aside for the reality that my little kids were up at the crack of dawn with plenty of time to eat three bowls of two-bites cereal each, I would lovingly prepare a breakfastto-go for those who would invariably be running late. How hard was it to pack up a nourishing meal for one’s own dear children? “Here’s a bag with colorful sugar shaped in circles. Take a vitamin when you come home. Go, run, the bus is waiting! Try to find your other sneaker in the lost and found and don’t forget to study for the science test today. Have a great day! Byyyyyyeeeee!” These days, they wake up in the morning and settle down at the kitchen table for a feast of toast, eggs, hot sauce and hot cocoa. That’s dinner in my book! What’s wrong with fruity pebbles?! Apparently, that’s what the yeshivah serves for breakfast, along with donuts and pancakes on select days. Now the tuition bill makes sense! Here’s another myth I can substantiate: teen boys will eat you out of the house. (But you won’t know it at first because they’ll leave the empty boxes in the fridge and pantry and you only realize there’s no more pizza slices in the freezer when you just came back from the grocery store and pull out the box from the freezer to serve the kids supper). A bowl of cereal is a snack, a carton of orange juice is a drink, and a loaf of bread is lunch. Come to think of it, when I factor in yeshivah supper on mishmar days, the tuition comes out ahead of the grocery bill. What a metzia we’ve been getting! So, they’re hungry again, and it is almost lunchtime. Remember the days when they didn’t eat lunch in school and lasted all day on three bags of bisli? Apparently, they don’t. I put up a pot of macaroni and chop up a quick salad. (That was just to make me sound good. We finished all the lettuce at the second seder anyway). The kitchen table is still littered with the breakfast from shift 3, the sink is full from shifts 1 & 2, and my coffee mug is on the counter. Ah, I never get to finish my coffee! I had meant to take that down to the laundry room. I take a sip. Wow, it’s still warm! Definitely the first time that’s happened. I quickly clear off the table while humming to myself and find myself face to face with a dynamic – and surprised – high school teacher. “Who’s zoom class is on the kitchen table?!” I hiss (only because I’m not sure if it’s muted). My daughter saunters in holding a stack of notebooks “It’s mine! Ma, don’t go in front of the screen! Did anyone see you?!” She cringes at my lint-covered snood and bleach-stained sweatshirt while smoothing her ironed hair. Maybe we should show everyone the green fuzzy slipper-socks. You know what they all say about no one caring what you wear? That is one myth debunked in the face of teenage daughters. “Hey, Ma, where’s my coffee I left on the counter?” Also, there’s no such thing as long-lasting warm coffee. If anyone needs me, please don’t tell them I’m in the laundry room.