On the One Battle I Ever Won Against My Mom

Let me premise this entry by saying that I am the biggest mama's boy in the world. I love my mom with all my heart and would do anything for her (except laundry, but we'll get to that). While I am pretty domesticated in the kitchen, I am completely and utterly lost when it comes to clothing. If it was up to me, all my shirts would have dinosaurs with hilarious onomatopoeia on them. I still call my mom almost nightly for her to tell me what to wear to work the next day (wearing suits is awesome, but hard work).

Over the course of my life, I've learned to heed my mother's advice on almost every subject. Whenever I did not, some ironic twist of fate would have me coming home at the end of the day, telling her my story, and receiving something along the lines of: "I told you that would happen this morning! Why don't you ever believe me? How many times do you have to (insert: break something, hurt yourself, lose something, etc) before you learn to listen to me? Well, I'm glad you're alright. But I told you so."

Despite the hundreds of debates/discussions/battles I've had with my mom over the past 21 years, I've only been victorious in one instance: laundry.

When I was in 9th grade, my mom tried to get me to do my own laundry for the first time. "You're going to have to learn how to do it in college, so you might as well start now" was the rationale of choice. I said that I had plenty of time before college and would learn later. This worked until senior year of high school.

It started with baby steps - requests for me to carry my laundry down the stairs, holding fake conversations with me in the laundry room while subtly feeding me instructions on how to use the washer, asking me to separate my whites from my colors, having me hang up and fold everything, etc. I played along for the most part, always with the intention that I would not ever actually put my clothes in the washer and then transfer them to the dryer. This type of "laundering debate" lasted for a couple of weeks - I would get creative and think of ways out of doing laundry time and time again. Finally, my mom refused to do my laundry anymore.

"You will have to learn how to do it yourself now because I'm not doing it anymore. You're going to be the smelly kid at school."

My response? "Ok, I'll be the smelly kid at school. And you will be the mom of the smelly kid at school. What will the other moms think?"

(Looking back on this from an Industrial and Labor Relations major's perspective, I can totally see how she was labor and I was management)

The laundry strike lasted somewhere between 4 and 5 weeks. I rewore and reused everything: towels, boxers, shirts, socks, pants - you name it, I recycled it. The continual cycle of dirty, stained clothing and the idea that people were talking about me to their parents eventually forced my mom to crack and wash my clothes (after I brought them down to the laundry room, which I still consider a fair compromise). Victory never smelled so sweet.

Now, I do, in fact, do laundry on my own at school, but I wait until the last possible article of clothing has been worn before I finally concede. Why do I do this? Because there is the chance, albeit a slim one, that before I NEED to do laundry, I'll go home for a weekend and bring with me two massive duffel bags filled with dirty clothes to remind myself of my singular win in a sea of Greek, motherly defeat.

So, thank you, Mom, for everything you've taught me over these past 21 years, everything you'll teach me from now on, and for letting me have this small victory. Remember that while I love you with all my heart and will forever listen to your words of wisdom, you will never have a son that does his own laundry at home. This is not out of inability or laziness, bitterness or anger, but rather the sense of pride that I get when I bring home 150 pounds of dirty clothes and leave home with 135 pounds of clean ones (15 pounds of funk washed out). Take heart in knowing that I am one of the few people I know that still calls home every single day, be it for advice on what to wear the next day or just for the friendly words and unconditional love. Also, know that you will always have a little boy to take care of, and part of that is doing his laundry.

Will someone buy me this shirt?