Dirty Little Secrets

When we refer to a person’s dark side, we often refer to someone having “a skeleton in his closet.” Well I’m here to tell you that a family’s dirtiest secrets aren’t in a closet, they’re in the hamper.

As the one who does the laundry at our house, I can tell you I can’t wait to wash my hands after emptying the hamper and sorting the laundry. Handling sweat soaked t-shirts and unrolling balled up socks is kind of gross, but touching the kids’ underwear reminds me that even though it’s been years since I purchased diapers, I’m still dealing with their shit—on all levels.

At times, ages 8 and 10 feel an awful lot like ages 2 and 4. I continue to confront monsters under the bed, in the basement, and just outside the window. Tantrums, meltdowns, pouting marathons, slamming doors and stomping feet are still part of life. In short, there’s a lot of drama at my house. The problem is I’m not the dramatic type. I’ve buried my sister and my parents and seen lives unravel in a moment or in agonizing slow motion. I read the news. I pray for people in touch circumstances. I know what life can deliver to my door, so I’m not sympathetic to full-blown fits over having to take your shower first, the unfairness of homework, or the searing pain of not getting a snack when you want it.

And yet I could throw a world class fit over dirty, nasty underwear. I’ve been known to lecture that the primary difference between the civilized and uncivilized world is toilet habits and hygiene. I have extolled the wonders of toilet paper, its ease of use, and the joy of seeing it disappear down a pipe with the push of a lever. And yet, with sad regularity, when I reach into the hamper, I pull out underwear that shows me my advice is ignored. My children are too dainty to wipe their own asses, but I’m a low enough life form to have to clean up the aftermath. Oh yeah Kiddos, tell me again about how things aren’t fair.

I fantasize about sewing a flag from their brightly colored soiled underwear and flying it over the house. Our family motto could be “Shit Happens.” And that’s my dirty, little secret.

September 20, 2005