The Laundry Fairy

You know, when you go back home, there are some things that never change. I spent my whole childhood and teenage years plagued by a mystery, and now I'm sitting here scratching my head trying to figure it out, just like old times. Who on God's green earth has been doing my laundry?

Obviously, when I'm left to my own devices in my own household, I have to suck it up and do it myself. But growing up, the clothes would just disappear from my bedroom floor while I was at school, and end up washed, dried, and smelling fresh in my closet.

Ever since I've been home this winter, I've been way too busy catching up with old friends, taking naps, holing myself up and sewing, and navelgazing to take care of my and my children's laundry. And just like in the good old days, the problem seemingly takes care of itself.

I have my suspicions. I think the spritely character of lore, The Laundry Fairy, has been washing our clothes. I remember my mom making a sarcastic comment when I was younger, like, "Who do you think does your laundry? The Laundry Fairy?" But I think she was telling one of those white lies of parenting. you know, the ones that are for a child's best interest, so it's not really a lie. Kind of like when Luke asks me about the snack he abandoned three hours earlier, the one that has probably for sure entered my large intestines by the time he's asked me, and I tell him that a bird flew in the window and took it. And although the window is closed and most of the birds have flown south for the winter, he totally buys it and goes back to playing. That kind of white lie. Why would my mother have to tell a white lie about The Laundry Fairy, you wonder? Well, because that was the year that my brother, aged eleven, was finally told the truth about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. He was having some serious denial since he'd spent ELEVEN YEARS getting comfortable with the whole premise, and she probably had to make it sound like there was no Laundry Fairy to really drive her point about Santa Claus home. She really had to play hardball that time.

But anyway, I know there is a Laundry Fairy, because my dirty clothes are disappearing from my floor (yeah, my floor...too busy navelgazing to be bothered with the hamper), and reappearing so delightfully fresh and spanking clean. George's whites are coming back so white, I need my sunglasses to look at them. That is no small task! And whatever fabric softener she uses, I hope she never switches. I wonder if her cousin is The Dirty Diaper Fairy, who has been picking up the rolled-up diapers that I sometimes absentmindedly leave sitting on the floor wherever I happen to change a diaper. (Childless friends, please don't judge. I was always appalled by people who did that, and here I am doing it.)

On Saturday morning, as we're loading up the minivan to head to our new home, if any of my family members see me thrashing around in the laundry room with a butterfly net, be assured I'm not crazy--I'm just trying to catch that slick little fairy so I can take her to Mississippi, where she can keep working her magic for me.

And Laundry Fairy, if you're reading this, it would be really neat if you would strip my sheets and sprinkle your pixie dust over them. I love the smell of fresh sheets, thanks!