lately

i consider myself a pretty happy person.  i'm usually down with the "cup half full" motto in life.  when there's a choice between joy and frustration, i'm in the habit of dispensing grace.

but lately.....there's been a speed bump on my happy highway.  and i'm gonna' just come right out and say it: 

this morning down in my laundry room, i lost all control.

can someone tell me - why, in the WIDE WORLD - my children cannot figure out the simple task of separating their underwear from their pants before tossing in the laundry?  these little half-heights can easily figure out how to remove a gum from its wrapper and a banana from its peel.  they can dig play-doh out of its container and remove worms from the garden, not giving ONE THOUGHT to the cleanliness of their hands.  BUT, despite HUNDREDS of kind, sweet, loving reminders, dripping with patience, these turkeys continue to leave their stanky skivvies balled up in a wad and twisted around their empty pant legs as though they were just flung from the vortex of a tornado.  

do not - i repeat - do not let the cuteness of her polka dots paired with flower capris fool you!

really, people.  i don't think i'm asking too much.  i will wash the underwear for you.  i will put them back in the drawer.  i will even help you put them on your body in the morning when you are groggy and limp and drooling. i will not complain about the condition of your breath as you hang over my shoulder and i place your legs into said underwear.  i will listen to you complain about how you want a different pair and i will choose my battles wisely, not pointing out that you actually chose these drawers last night, telling me that they are your favorites when we laid out clothes for the next day.  i will quiet the screaming voices in my head and lovingly wipe away your tears when you fuss about how unfair life is that you have to wear underwear at all.  i will wipe your butt.  i will wash my hands seven dozen times a day.  but........i will no longer fashion my fingers into tweezers to wrangle your nasty underwear away from the death grip of your pants.  i won't.   you are five and three.  congratulations, your underwear are now officially your own problem.  

i'm sure there are moms out there right now frowning and thinking that i should "enjoy this" because "they grow up so fast".  yes, they do.  and i'm enjoying MANY parts of their littlehood.  however, underwear separation is something that i refuse to make myself enjoy.  ever.

there are areas of this parenting gig where i tread lightly.  sometimes i don't know whether to exercise tough love or pour out easy grace.  there are times when i have to stop before i speak and ask for forgiveness after i've spoken too quickly.  but this is not a gray area for me.  

dirty underwear and i are done.  it has to stop.  it just has to.  

i am not above wrath and woe when it comes to underwear separation.  you have been notified:  my temper tantrum in the laundry room this morning is just a SLIVER of what could be.  you heard me right - there's more where that came from.  

Shel Silverstein once wrote:  “When the light turns green, you go. When the light turns red, you stop. But what do you do when the light turns blue with orange and lavender spots?”

a stop light with blue and orange and lavender spots is about as perplexing as capable people putting their undergarments into the laundry while tightly wound around pants, expecting some magical laundry fairy to sort it all out.  i'll tell you what you do when facing such a ludicrous situation.  you yell, stomp your feet, shake your fist in the air and get serious about teaching these little moochers a thing or two about responsibility.

and you....don't think that your day won't come, miss sparkle-pants.

there is the grace and mercy of God and then there's the warrior heart of God.  watch out - today i've got my battle armor on. 

let the wacek household war on undewear commence!