Bergen Hawkeye,  HomeLife

yuck

Last week I was cleaning the back porch/laundry room.

A large stack of dirty clothes was unearthed.  Clothes that belonged to one six-year-old little boy that I know well.

I summoned that young man in and required him to tidy up his apparently favorite changing space.

He chuckled with gusto.  (Because that’s what he does.)  He cleaned up his mess.

And then he left the scene of the crime.

I kept cleaning.

In my own personal cleaning frenzy I knocked over a bucket of mason jar lids.  They bounced and slipped between the wall and the chest freezer.

Reaching into that hidden space my hand touched an article of clothing.

I dragged out five pair of underwear.

Size 6 boy underwear.

Underwear featuring cartoon raccoons and skateboards and bolts of lightning.

(Who is designing this stuff anyway?)

And then,

yes,

I smelled it.

Fresh and clean, it smelled like the lemon oil we use in our laundry soap.

“Bergen Hawkeye!” I shouted, I mean –  I lovingly beckoned to my prodigy.

He entered, gap-toothed and shaggy-headed.

“Son, what are these doing behind the freezer?’

“It’s where I like to get dressed Mommy.”

Sounds mostly logical.

“Okay.  Well.  Why are these underwear still clean?”

“Oh,” he grinned.  (Which makes me grin.)  “When you give me new underwear to put on, I stick them there and keep on my dirty ones.  I like dirty underwear.”

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