The first time, which happened over a year ago, it was an orange crayon.  The second time, this morning, it was a hotel black ink pen. 

Both times, a load of laundry, ruined.

The first time, Micah had casually tucked this infamous orange crayon into his pocket, and those pants went into the laundry hamper.  There were streaks of orange inside our dryer for a while, but they eventually faded.  The good thing was that I was washing whites, and most of the whites were underclothes and socks.

This time, upon unloading the dryer, I noticed unusual, shiny black streaks that went around the inside of the dryer.  I was confused.  I took the time to touch the streaks to try to figure out if the paint had somehow chipped off.  Was it metal buttons?  Was it….  As I continue to pull clothes out, I see the shell of a black pen rolling on the bottom of the dryer.  *gasp* … *swallow*

Great.  This also happened to be “one of those loads” where I stuffed the washer to full capacity + a few extra articles of clothing.  I hate not washing everything in the basket…and I hate running loads that aren’t full. 

I pulled all of the clothes out, (which did take a while), and then, very disappointed, marched up the stairs.  I dumped all of the clothes on our bed so I could see what damage had been done.  I began folding the clothes and thinking about my sad situation.  Technically, I could be the one to blame.  The person who does laundry should be checking/emptying pockets, right?  Micah really couldn’t be blamed for the first time since he was only 1.  But I definitely should have learned from that experience and checked the kids’ pockets more faithfully.  Plus, I have this habit of grabbing piles of clothes from the floor and throwing them into the hamper.  I could have picked up a stray pen that was stuck in some clothes.

A few minutes into folding, my heart momentarily skipped a beat as I saw that one of Israel’s white collar shirts are in the pile…make that two.  Both had black ink marks on them.  I considered the fact perhaps Israel would secretly be happy that he has a great excuse to go and buy some new shirts.  But then I wondered if one of those shirts was his favorite…the one he always wore on Sabbath.  After all, it was sitting in the laundry basket.  Doesn’t help that we’re about to go to Switzerland in a couple days.  No time to go shopping.  This really stunk.  I kept folding the never-ending pile…

..until I saw Israel’s sweatshirt.  Around his pocket.  Case closed.
 

Although we still have a load of laundry stained with black ink, why is it I felt so much better that I could put the blame on someone else??  Even was a little tempted to get upset with the guilty.  Funny how that works.  And then I realized what a waste of mental energy and emotions on such a silly matter. 

I’m learning to handle little trials such as these with grace, knowing there are many more headed my way…