Why don’t we have a laundry chute, Mom?
When I was growing up it was always fun to visit my cousins who lived a half hour away. Even though it was only half an hour, it was like another world. I lived in the “big city” (which meant a town with more than one high school as far as I knew then) and they lived in a small town (no McDonald’s). I felt vastly superior given my perceived urban upbringing and my advanced age; I was the oldest of the cousins by three years. I should mention now that I rarely ever even saw an actual big city except for our yearly trip to Nashville to go to Opryland and that wasn’t even downtown. I just thought I came from such a place and it allowed me to strut in with my feathered hair and a practiced look of bored indifference that lasted all of ten minutes once I was reunited with my kin.
We got along famously, the four of us. We were stair-stepped in ages. I was the oldest, followed by my cousin Karen, who was followed by my sister Laura, who was followed by my cousin Chad who brought up the rear and ruined our all-girls club. Karen and I were into hair and makeup, and Laura and Chad liked to go up and down the slide on the swing set. It was perfect. At least it was until Karen won her first pageant and got a tiara and a HUGE lollipop that she refused to share with me. Over the years she won a few pageants and the crowns got bigger and bigger. Me, I played ball, and the scars on my knees got bigger and bigger. I liked trying on her crowns when we visited and I would walk around in one as long as she would let me. Things went along in that vein until the day I discovered the hole in the floor of their bathroom closet.
“There’s a hole in the floor of your bathroom closet,” I think I said. “It’s not a hole, it’s a laundry chute,” my cousin probably replied. That was it—the last straw on the old camel’s back.
“You mean you drop your dirty underwear in this hole and somebody cleans it?” Yep, that’s what happened. The laundry fairy (disguised as my Aunt Benita) retrieved the dirty duds from the floor below and they showed up a day later folded in a hamper. Crowns were one thing, but this was ridiculous.
“Why don’t we have a laundry chute, mom?”
My question was probably answered with something like, “we live in a one-story and if we had a hole in the floor the clothes would end up in the crawl space. Go practice your piano lessons.”
I thought about that laundry chute a lot. I was experiencing that big green monster that plagues all children and a few adults. I was jealous of my cousin. No, it wasn’t just because she had a hole in the bathroom floor (that we may or may not have thrown things in that were not laundry—her idea, not mine). I saw their home as rosy-posy and all sparkly and ours as boring and mundane. Not even my city-slicker vibe could outshine how great I thought they had it. In the summers, Karen and Chad would come to our house for a week. We’d eat lots of spaghetti and run around outside and Laura and Chad would go up and down the slide ad nauseam. Once I had a driver’s license Karen would ask me to take her to Taco Bell. Every day the whole week. Read that again…Taco Bell every day. We had fun, got sick of each other by the end of the week, and got back together at Christmas when I was sure her stuff was better than mine.
Now we’re adults with kids of our own. Sadly, we live far apart and our kids don’t get to play together the way we did. A few years ago Karen told me something I had never picked up on. She said they loved coming to our house in the summertime and that she had been jealous of our place. It wasn’t boring or mundane to her and I guess we had some stuff she found as cool as I had found her crowns. She definitely loved that we had access to unlimited fast food choices and lots of places to go.
If there is a moral to this story it’s not meant to preach to you; it’s meant as a reminder to me. Sometimes I still find myself noticing what is shiny and sparkly about someone else’s life. I’m guilty of judging my entire existence by the snippets I see of other people’s, like what they post on Facebook or how put-together they seem at the grocery store when I’m trying to sneak in and out in my sweats like I’m in witness protection. I never stop to wonder what impression I might make on someone; I just assume it’s the self-esteem lacking way I see myself. I’m not sure I’ve ever told Karen how I used to feel when we were kids, although I’m pretty certain she knew I wanted a piece of that lollipop in the worst way.
So that’s how some tiaras and a laundry chute can remind me to get over myself and remember that we’re all a little jealous and insecure sometimes, but we’ve got a lot to be thankful for. And if you’re wondering, no, I still don’t have a laundry chute. I could cut a hole in my bathroom closet floor, but then my laundry would end up downstairs on my dining room table and that’s just not sanitary. I think I’ll stick with my old hampers and a lesson that’s more valuable now than ever. Thanks, cuz.
(But I do have a tiara…finally.)
Karen Jones says
Oh, my goodness! I had NO IDEA you felt this way about our house! And you are so correct about my feelings toward yours! Your house was the “coolest” not only because of Taco Bell or fun places to go, it was because of the love and relationships that grew like a honeysuckle vine on the fences between our childhood homes.
We would arrive every summer with such excitement and lofty goals for our visit. Whether it was orchestrated plays in the back yard or dance routines in the basement or puppies delivered to birthday parties and fights over who gets to hold the puppy in the picture, one thing was for sure…our love for each other was infinitely true and solid.
Opposites we were in many ways. You with your dreamy future all planned out which included fast paced, big city, high-rise apartment living and me with my reality checklist of domestication, children and rural living. You helped me dream and for that I am eternally grateful.
Thank you for awakening some of my most beautiful childhood memories. My children are loving the fact that I was such a naughty little girl who refused to share and yet demanded Taco Bell. (I still love that place by the way!)
I wasn’t kidding when I told you I was jealous of you as well and absolutely loved every second of our visits! You would sleep in and I would get to talk to my beloved “Aunt Jane.” She enjoyed us being there and enjoyed my adolescent conversation. I felt so important, so cherished, so jealous. Not because my mom wouldn’t have done these things but because she wasn’t my mom yet still loved me like she was.
Thank you for reminding me to be thankful of who God made each of us to be and the lives, although different in many ways, similar in core values that intertwine our deep southern roots under the “Bluegrass.”
Thank you, cuz
LeAnne says
Those are all good memories and I really should post the photo of my birthday party when you gave me the puppy. You got to hold it in the photo and it is obvious I was ticked off! I could write a hundred posts about our childhood exploits and add audio! Do the words “our Christmas tree is better than yours” ring a bell? (Karrigan and Colin, demand that your mother tell you THAT story. Aunt Jane has the tape to prove it!) They say you can’t choose your family, but I would choose mine every time if I could.
Love you all so much.