One Helluva Load

December was a bit rough: the second week learning my mom might be moving away, a week later stressing through my dad's open heart surgery, and five days after that, telling our kids during Christmas week that our kitty was in renal failure and needed to be "helped out of pain." Oh, and of course, the usual holiday chaos, busy work life balancing, blah, blah. I muddled through, barely, indulging in earlier bedtimes, wine, and compulsive daily (sometimes double daily) workouts to keep myself sane-ish. Definitely not the most patient or amiable month of my life. That said, it's over! By New Year's Eve, I was spent and happy to bid adieu to what felt like a hell-of-a load to manage for one month.

Can you believe this entire pile came from one load?
Call it denim desperation. 

This week was spent detoxing, paying bills, taking down Christmas stuff, purging closets and doing laundry... LOTS of laundry. This morning, as I stood folding the contents of the gargantuan load I'd ambitiously jammed into my machine (considered geriatric in washer years), I felt relieved. It was as if my dear machine, who I'm now calling Mabel for her reliable and consistent grandma-like tendencies, knew that today I needed that load to run smoothly. Thanks to Mabel, I was NOT spending my Sunday morning wringing out sopping wet clothes and calling my old pal James, from JR Appliance, in desperation. Nope, not today. Today I'm mesmerized, even astonished, as the water gushes from the out-tube (technical term) during that subsequent load. Perplexed by how in my semi-conscious state I hadn't noticed the sheer volume of clothes I'd packed into poor Mabel. So to whatever power or bit of luck that helped me dodge that bullet, thanks. I needed it!  With a freshly folded pile of denim, I promise, I'm gonna work a lot harder to pay attention to all those moments when shit's NOT hitting the fan.