A Death in the Laundry Room

I am in mourning. My washing machine is currently in an electronic coma, on it's metaphorical last legs. I am having to haul my laundry to various places in order to keep my family in clean clothing. This is not what I would consider a fun way to spend my Summer break. It's doubly frustrating because we only purchased the machine within the past five years. It's one of those energy efficient ones that is supposed to use less water and less agitation therefore be better for the environment. It's a beautiful glossy black that fits perfectly with my future decor. We even got the matching dryer to keep it company, But it refuses to stay level on the spin cycle. Aggravating does not begin to describe how I feel about this monstrosity that has taken over my laundry room.

My husband swears he can fix it. He says it's just a simple part to replace and it won't take but a few minutes. He also says that when he takes the washer out to make this so-called minor repair he will go ahead and pull out the dryer, clean both machines, paint, finish the flooring, and get everything organized. In short, re-do the entire room according to what I originally planned when we moved into the house. I wait with baited breath.

I don't know why this bothers me so much. It's not like I'm the one who actually does the laundry in our family. The girls have been doing their own for years and I constantly tell everyone that my husband is a better mom than I am. We swapped the traditional roles in our house years ago (don't judge, it works for us). With all due respect, he should be the one all bent out of shape over this, but he's not. He'll order the part, change it out, and go about his business. Talk about swapping roles.

I'm usually the calm one. I'm the one that says, "This, too, shall pass," and the one that keeps everything in perspective. I'm the hand-holder, the listener, the one that taught her daughters how to eat ice cream like a real woman (with a big spoon, straight out of the carton). And, this isn't the first washing machine I've had to go out on me, nor is it the worst difficulty we've ever had with one. So why am I so bothered?

It may be that it is finally Summer and I haven't had a chance to be lazy. It was a very stressful year and I was looking forward to relaxing and working through some personal projects (and maybe my bucket list). It may be that I fought with my annual, end-of-the-school-year-feel-like-I'm-at-death's-door migraine and this is just another nail in the proverbial coffin. Or it's simply that I despise asking others for help. It messes up my sense of control.

Could also be why I have so much difficulty in my relationship with God. I always think I can do it myself. I can take care of me and mine, I don't need help, thank you very much. You just keep running the universe, I'll be fine on my own. Until I get into real trouble, then I start screaming, "Where are you?" Unfortunately, a real relationship doesn't operate in that fashion. You can't use God only when you need him and expect to grow closer to him. I need to work on letting go and relying on him daily, with the good and the bad, the little and the big, the happy and the sad. Even in the midst of piles of endless laundry.

I've always said that God has to use a 2x4 to get my attention at times. This time, I guess He used a Whirlpool Cabrio.