Mud

Although I am constantly doing laundry, I am not that great at it.  Despite my best efforts my whites are gray, my blacks are gray and my colors...gray.   After folding the five billionth load the other night and noting the state of our clothes I posted a question on the forum of the mother's club to which I belong - I asked for suggestions on how to be a successful laundress and also how to deal with pink (Is it a light? A dark? A load of its own?...).

The next morning I awoke to a beautiful day - one of those specular fall days that is warm and sunny (did I mention the previous day there had been so much rain people had considered starting to build arks) and an inbox full of suggestions on how to tackle laundry and specifically how to deal with pink.  Before taking on the never ending pile of clothes I decided to take the kids to the playground where we, well, where we played.

I am scooping a combination of mulch and sand out of Henni's mouth when I hear Oliver call to me that he is stuck in the mud.  Thinking he is just looking for a bit more of my attention I amble up to him.  Once there I assess the situation - the kid is seriously stuck in the mud.  I tug and pull and pull and tug and finally we pop backwards - sans shoes.  Laughing so hard I am thinking I may wet my pants (because at this time I am thinking back to a post Kate wrote about the cleanliness of her children) (mind you Henni is trying to get her self stuck and trying to consume another 12 handfuls of sand while I am trying to sort out Rocket), I start digging trying to locate his shoes.  I finally find them and scoop out the mud so his feet will fit into the shoes.  Fast forward 5 minutes... "Mommy, I am stuck in the mud!"  Repeat previous scenario.  Fast forward five minutes..."Mommy, I am stuck in the mud!"  Repeat previous scenario. About and hour later we leave the playground.  Both kids get stripped to their diapers so that their car seats are usable (ever again), yet somehow it looks as though a mud wresting tournament took place in my car.  We get home and Davis looks at the kids, tries to identify the mass of items I bring in (shoes and clothes so caked in mud they are unidentifiable as such) and shakes his head (remember previous post where Davis has become annoyingly clean).  I start laundry and then hit the mom's club forum and decide to be more specific regarding the laundry issue - surely another mom has filthy children.  The next morning I awake to dull colored clothing and an empty inbox.  I am going with no one wants to fess up to dirty kids.

Tide, Arm and Hammer, Mrs. Meyers, Method...anyone want to use my house as a test house?

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