The other day I was searching for bloggers to link up with (almost sounds sexy) and came across a hilarious post by a blogger mom entitled "Rocks in the Dryer". I didn't even read her first post and already I knew we were kindred spirits.
You see, doing my son's laundry is an exercise in patience, wonderful discovery and frustration. No longer can I carelessly toss his shorts/pants/jackets in the wash. I MUST go through every pocket first; I never know what treasure I might find. Seriously. In the past I might have half-heartedly stuck my hand in a pocket or two but it was more out of habit than anything. On occasion I still find a receipt or loose change in my husband's clothes which rarely turn out to be a bad thing so the instant reflex reach always kicks in.
Boys under ten usually like to pick up and collect rocks. I wish it were so with my kid. His continued fascination with all things Egypt, ancient, Mayan and now Roman means I find weirder stuff in the dryer. Miniature statues (note to aunties and uncles: we have plenty of baby Nefertiti busts) are the norm around here. Don't get me wrong. I still get excited if I find a rock; to me it means he's still got one foot in the door of regular-boy-land.
His latest thing is to draw his loved ones cartouches. (I had to look that one up) He will show you his cartouche, but he will never part with it. In other words, there are a million little scraps of paper rolled up and tied up with a rubber band with secret encrypted messages on them that end up as shreds of white dust in my dryer. I know he's brilliant and creative and wonderful...but rocks, I could handle.
It is definitely a boy thing though. Girls carry backpacks until they are old enough to carry purses and don't usually stuff their treasures in their pockets. I never do. Then again, I do have the black hole otherwise known as my purse to contend with. Wonder what's lurking in there?