Washing Machine

November 3, 2009

I gave the five-minute warning that we would be leaving the playground. Then, when I said, “Faven, time to go”, she dropped to the ground and started to writhe like a snake, while making toddler like protestations.

“Come on”, I said, “time to go”.

I proceeded to gather up our picnic supplies and get ready to go. As I wandered over to the far side of the playground, Faven crept across the gravel like a combat soldier. When she reached the edge, she reached her hand in the air towards me, as if I was needed to pull her out of quicksand. I chose not to respond to her silent plea, and walked on. She momentarily collapsed and then slowly rose from the gravel pit and followed. Her winter coat and jeans were covered in dirt. She seemed quite happy about it, pointing to her clothes and proclaiming, “Mawm, good?” “Hmmmm… “ was all I could manage.

We arrived home and Faven was now upset that her clothes were all dirty. She handed me her coat and whined emphatically, “Mawm, clean!” I paused (how could I tell my non-english speaking child that, a) I was not her personal servant and b) she made a choice to get dirty, and so she would need to clean it herself?).

“Faven, you got dirty – now you will wash it.”

“Mawm, what?” she questioned.

I took her coat, and kneaded it gently, and said, “Faven…wash, wash”.

“MAWM, NO”, she cried, clearly understanding my charade. She continued to rail and scream for the next several moments.

“Faven, nay (come)”, I took her over to the washing machine and dryer and proceeded to act out how we wash clothes in Canada. “Easy”, I said.

“Okay mom, now?”

“Okay”

I started to gather up a few things to put in the wash, and she said, “Mawm no, me do it”. Okay, this is more like it.

We got everything into the washer, she put in the soap, she closed the door, she pressed the start button – the water began to flow and she sat on the floor and watched. “Okay mom…… n’ext?” she queried.

“Wash, wash, wash, and then beep, beep, beep. Take out clothes, move to dryer.”

“Okay, now?”

“No, not now. Wait – coy,” I implored.

I went back to the task of cleaning out the van. I was only a few metres away from her perch in front of the washing machine, but two walls separated us. Within minutes I came back in to find Faven sweeping water on the floor in front of the washer, with the kitchen broom. At first, I thought that she had just decided to wash the floor while she waited. Then I saw the washing machine was off, and the dryer door was open. Without thinking, I bellowed, “NO”.

She immediately stopped, and in true Canadian fashion, apologized – “sorry mom”.

“Oh, Faven”, I moaned, noticing that she had taken the soaking wet clothes from the washer and placed them in the dryer. There was water in and around the floor of the washer, and about 2 inches of water inside the dryer with the sopping heap.

“No, no, no” I said, the words falling carelessly out of my mouth. I couldn’t figure out how this had happened. She cowered in front of me. “Ohhhhh…. it’s okay” I said and wrapped my arms around her.

I threw a towel on the floor; I moved the wet clothes back; I threw another towel in the dryer; and I went through the whole scenario again, adding the following, “No touch – atenkey – wait Mom/Dad”.

“Ishi” (okay) she quietly said.

I looked at her, my new daughter, and I did what mothers have done for eons, I picked myself up and carried on.