A Sneaking Suspicion

One could rightly accuse mothers of being suspicious by nature. It's true, we are. And for this, I offer one very good explanation: we have children!! We mothers have darn well earned our suspicious nature (as well as the twitch above our left eye, I might add!) It's a valuable instinct we've developed over time - one that enables us to accurately deduce such things as whether or not a child has truly brushed their teeth, what's going on behind our back in any given moment, precisely what a child who is clear across the house is doing based on sound alone, and the who-what-where-when-why-and-how of that sticky substance in the dog's fur. It's far more than just a state of mind - it's a matter of survival.

It's this well-honed sense of maternal suspicion that raised its savvy head while I was folding the laundry last week. A family of six creates mounds (scratch that) MOUNTAINS of laundry in the course of just several days. It's really impossible to even tell what's whose until I've gotten through it all and folded the last pair of freshly-scented little socks. It was in that moment, with all the baskets of folded laundry before me, that I realized something was amiss. Everyone's basket had a goodly-sized pile of clothing in it...except for my son's. In his basket were precisely one pair of jeans, one blue shirt, 4 pairs of socks, and 352 tighty-whiteys. (The underwear is a story for a very different day.) Being the brilliant mathematician I am, I calculated that one outfit was not anywhere near enough clothing to have made it through the past 4 days. I added twice to be sure.

I brought his basket to his room and kindly inquired, "Son, where are the clothes you've been wearing for the past week?" To which I got the well-pondered and endearing response sons have been giving their mothers for millennia: "I dunno."

Right.

"Did you shove them under your bed? Behind your dresser? Back in the drawer, in your sisters' closet, under my bed, or in the dishwasher??"

"Nuh-uh."

"Mm-hm. Well...I guess we'll chalk it up to a mystery for right now. Put your clean clothes (few of them though there may be) away."

"O.K. Mom."

Fast forward another few days. I'm in the laundry room again. As I laid the last pair of jeans into place, I noticed once again that the boy's basket contained the same pair of jeans, the same blue shirt, 4 pairs of socks, and 379 tighty-whiteys. My eyes squinted as my savvy, suspicious sense discerned that the jeans and shirt in question just happened to be his favorite outfit. I once again climbed the stairs with basket in hand - a disturbing theory forming in my mind.

"Son of mine."

"Yeah, Mom."

"Why is it that I have the same jeans and shirt in your clean basket again and nothing else?"

He started to squirm.

"Son, what is happening to your clothes?"

(Incoherent mumbling)

"Child, please tell me that you have not worn the same outfit for the past week straight."

Squaring his shoulders, looking me straight in the eye, and taking on a rather testy tone, he replied, "Well, I don't understand why we can't wear clothes more than once - we wear our pajamas more than once!" He rested his case.

Past the piercing headache behind my left eye, I told him in no uncertain terms that wearing a clean outfit EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. was not optional in this family. Then I walked down the stairs and plopped next to my husband on the couch. I looked at him rather accusingly and said, "Boys are gross." He chuckled and said, "Yes we are." And then he said, "You know...a good mom would have noticed that her son was wearing the same outfit every day."

Just ignore the 4-knuckled bruise on his right arm the next time you see him.

Having 4 children does a lot for developing an acute sense of suspicion. It also does a lot to make a woman tired. This woman will be taking the next month to hone her clearly non-existent skills of observation. And her right hook.