Who's a Bad Mommy Now?

Why do I need a new dryer?

So I don’t get arrested for child neglect, that’s why.

Allow me to explain:

My dryer has been doing strange things lately. It rattles. It rumbles. It sucks my clothes into the space between the rotating drum and the back of the dryer and leaves big black smudges or, worse, holes. Dryers aren’t particularly difficult pieces of machinery to understand-- or so my husband tells me-- so he keeps fiddling with the dryer parts until the drum is back in place, and the clunking sound emanating from its innards is only mildly irritating. Plus, the dryer is in the basement, so the sound doesn’t grate on me too terribly. More importantly, I can appreciate a man who’s not afraid to get his hands dirty, and I like the way Scott looks when he’s sweaty and carrying tools-- so I’ve lived with the deafening thunder of my dryer for months. Until last Sunday….

I had a big pile of clothes and sheets that weren’t ironing themselves. (Yes, I iron some sheets. Don’t judge me.) It was one of those Sundays where one spends the whole day sweating in pajamas and fuzzy slippers, cleaning. Scott was playing with the boys, so I thought I’d get busy wrestling wrinkles with my Osterman 3000 and a can of spray starch. I was just getting in a groove when Scott came downstairs to tell me Noah was asleep in his crib and Josh was working on some algebra problems at the kitchen table. (Okay, okay, he watching cartoons and eating popcorn.) Scott felt that this was a good time for him to run out and get a hair cut while I finished up the ironing. I waved him off and threw some wet clothes in the dryer while I continued my de-wrinkling labors.

I must have been really into my mindless chore because I suddenly had a whole pile of ironed sheets and clothing. Sweaty, pajama-clad, make-up-less, huge pimple in the middle of my forehead (Say hello to my little friend….) me walks out of the basement to find my neighbors sitting in my living room. I arrive just in time to hear, “Well, Josh, mommy might just be in the basement. Did you look in the basement?”

Apparently, Scott told me what Josh was doing, but didn’t tell Josh what I was doing before he left to have his tresses trimmed. Josh, upon hitting the bottom of the popcorn bowl, decided to look for mommy. He called for her. No one came. He got the bright idea to ring the doorbell, but the thunderous dryer sounds drowned out the doorbell. Finally, in desperation, my poor little guy saw our neighbor shoveling snow, opened the door, and called to him to come over because “I’m not allowed to cross the street, and my mommy is missing.”

Gulp. Not only was I the worst mommy in the world, but I dressed for the part, too. All I needed were a few wire hangers and the Mommy Dearest look would have been complete.

I think Home Depot will be happy to see me grace their home appliances section.