The Glorious Train Wreck Mom

This is a safe space for all train wrecks. Except here, we don't give you a puppy and a latte. We give you sarcasm and humor.

Every Sunday something supernatural occurs in my house. It’s an odd phenomenon that everyone sees but doesn’t speak about.

Every Sunday morning, all the closets are empty. All the dresser drawers are as bare as Old Mother Hubbard’s Cupboard. Even the bathroom closet that holds the towels was empty save for the toilet paper and body wash.

As if by miracle or magic, the couch fills up with stacks of folded clothes and towels throughout the day. Then, by the end of the evening, the clothes all disappear. But, the strangest event is the filling up of the closets and drawers.

It’s like Hanukah but with laundry and we’re not Jewish.

For as wonderful and miraculous this event is, no one says anything. Not one acknowledgement of the refilling of the closets. Not one praise for the Laundry Fairy. Just an unending cycle of dirty socks and underwear.

So, where ever you, Laundry Fairy, thank you for all your hard work. Thank you for picking the stray socks up from under the beds. Thank you for taking the slimy dish towels out of the sinks. Thank you for folding mountains of clothes. Thank you for putting those clothes in drawers. Thank you for hanging up the clothes in the closets. Thank you for spending your entire Sunday doing nothing but laundry so my family can look clean and presentable and not smell like a high school football locker room.

If you have a Laundry Fairy in your house, consider leaving a small token of gratitude. I find wine is acceptable. Here’s a toast to you, Laundry Fairies.

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