Marital oneness, finally perfected: simpatico in the laundry room

There are moments in a woman’s life that she dreams of her whole life long. We spend years hoping, and sometimes even praying, that we have the chance to see them come true.

These dreams are not always the same for every woman. For some women, it’s a storybook wedding. She imagines walking down the aisle, clad in a halo of beauty and joy, to meet the man who will fulfill her every want and need. She is surrounded by friends and family, the skies are blue and the birds are singing her praises.

Other woman wait for the day that they welcome their first-born to the world. And there is really no other feeling like it, nothing to compare to the life that you have created and sustained, now snuggled up in your arms.

Still others thrill in the excitement of their perfect job, a career for which they have struggled, toiled and pursued with zeal. That first day is a validation of all those years of hard work and determination, of each late night and every early morning.

Some woman strive for physical goals: running a marathon, biking a mountain or maybe dancing across a stage. Each one requires grit and hour upon hour of training. Bitter cold mornings when getting out of bed was torture and late nights when all you want to do is sit in front of the television with a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips and a $8 bottle of wine because your thigh muscles weren’t meant to be abused that way — those comforts were forfeited for a few extra miles, or another hour at the barre.

Each one of these things is amazing. Honest. Except for the marathon thing (no way I’m passing up the wine), I’ve done it. I’ve lived the dream. I married the perfect guy (just go with it), I have the beautiful kids, the amazing job. But something has always been missing. A part of me has been unfulfilled. I have always yearned for just a little more.

And this week, it happened.

While I was washing dishes, my husband made my dream a reality. As I stood over a sink of greasy plates, he said the words every woman hopes she will hear one day.

“Hey kids! Do you think you can separate your underwear from your damn pants before you put them in the wash?”

YES! YES! They can do that! But they won’t!

They will never do it. Every time you do the laundry, there will be underwear connected to pants, socks balled up in the legs of those pants, shirts with one sleeve inside-out and one right-side-in and even clean, folded laundry in the bottom of the dirty laundry basket. Because they just didn’t feel like putting it away.

And you will be filled with pure anger, a rage that seems both impossible to contain and impossible to understand — because who gets that mad about laundry? But the answer is you. You get that mad! Because people with whom you share your home remove their clothes like the items were on fire and they had to save themselves from certain death.

They have no regard for the fact that you will be the one that has to deal with this laundry massacre, that precious minutes will be wasted trying to dislodge 13 dirty sock balls from their own filthy fist-like selves. And why is there an uneven number? Was there a day that someone only wore one sock? Or perhaps, three socks?

Eventually, the insanity of the entire situation will push you over the edge. And one day, one glorious day, you will find yourself yelling at your confused and terrified children.

“Are you serious? Are you really serious right now? Did I just find the clothes that I washed, hung to dry, folded and provided back to you, in piles organized by drawer, at THE BOTTOM OF YOUR DIRTY LAUNDRY? DO YOU JUST HATE ME? DO YOU THINK SO LITTLE OF ME THAT YOU WOULD COMMIT SUCH A HORRENDOUS AND EGREGIOUS ACT AGAINST ME?”

And then you will know. You will understand the crazy that goes on inside my head. You will struggle with the dueling angel and devil who simultaneously urge conflicting responses. One urges you to be gentle, offer them the opportunity to make reparations and use this opportunity to teach them how to use the washer. The other suggests that you start throwing dirty laundry — at them, all over their rooms and maybe into the burning fire.

And then you will be one with me — a frustrated mom who knows how you’re supposed to raise the perfect kids but just can’t seem to get those kids to cooperate. And I will silently whoop for joy at your fall from grace. Because now I know that you will never, ever leave YOUR underwear connected to your inside-out pants ever again. I win. Pass the wine.

Oh and if you can’t reign in the crazy, we can always try a homemade straight jacket. Seriously. Nothing makes the kids move faster, and with more guilt, than thinking they’ve pushed you past the point of no return. Follow these directions (http://www.cutoutandkeep.net/projects/simple-straight-jacket) and don’t be afraid to slice a small hole in the finished product so you can slip out your hand. We don’t want the wine to go to waste.

Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about her family, her community, and natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street.