Stinky!

Maybe this season of my life should rightfully be termed a “humility.” I have had to acknowledge defeat once again.

It’s not enough that earlier this summer a frozen banana beat me on my own battle ground.

It’s not enough that my children daily note my grey hairs and “jiggly” belly. Or make comments about all the things they’ll do once I die and am no longer overseeing their lives.

It’s not enough that this morning I sneezed and knocked shingles off my roof with the force of the evacuating wind from my lungs.

Or that Mikayla made a diaper so large and full that it took her a full three minutes to complete her business.

Nope. Not enough.

I have given up on trying to clean the women’s soccer jerseys.

They win. I lose. Inanimate objects are taking over my universe.

The women’s soccer team is not delicate. They do not glisten when they play. They do not gently knock into one another and then beg the pardon of their opponents. They do not melt in the rain because they’re made of pure sugar.

They sweat. A lot. They bump and grind into the sweaty bodies of their enemies as they battle for victory on the field. And they play hard in rain and hot, humid Oklahoma weather.

And... Thus... They smell.


(Actually, they smell fine after showering, it’s their clothing that stinks. And they kind of need that clothing in order to play or they would be nekkid and oh my goodness, don’t you remember that this is a conservative Christian college and nekkidness in front of crowds is frowned upon??)

The first inkling I had of my upcoming defeat was when one of the players placed a large, red duffle bag in the truck and said, “Coach, the jerseys are clean but they still smell.”

Isaiah left the duffle bag in the truck overnight.

The next morning I opened the truck door, got in, and then hurled myself from the vehicle as my nose was assaulted by an odor that can only be likened to several gallons of spoiled, rotting, disgusting milk. It was awful! It was uncalled for!

As much as I didn’t ever want to smell that again, I had a pang of sympathy for the poor ladies who would be required to wear those spoiled-milk jerseys for their next game.

And I volunteered to wash them.

I’m not smart sometimes.

Long, long story short, after four washes each with various stain and odor removers I have given up. I have gotten some recommendations for using vinegar but I admit I’m scared of that as well because the scent of vinegar is as awful as the smell of the jerseys!

Isaiah folded all of them tonight and put them back in the now Febreezed and Lysol-disinfected red duffle bag. He thinks they smell fine. He’s also a boy.

And we all know that boys are stinky by nature.


JJ