My husband, the Lord of the Laundry, fishes all sorts of things out of my sons' pockets. Usually. But not always. Recently, he let a pen slip past his vigilant gaze:
And the stain was irredeemable. No detergent would remove it, he declared. The pants were history.
What's a Miser Mom to do? The stain was too far-spread for my favorite fix (cut it off, hem the pants, and make instant shorts). No, all that was left is a post-mortem dissection.
The buttons come off and go in the button bin. Sometimes, there is a useful and easy-to-remove zipper -- this happens more often on bags or jackets, but alas, not in this case. Jeans zippers are too much trouble to remove.
The bottom of the pants might make good patches on future destruction projects my sons bring home; instead of saving the entire pair of pants, I just cut off a usable section from each leg. These pieces are large enough to patch a knee that gives way.
The rest of the pants? If they were the right kind of material, I might save them for the rag basket, but again, no. T-shirts seem to have become our favorite rag material lately, and we have way more than we need right now. So the remainder of the pants went into our trash cans.
To which I will just add, in my own woot-woot kind of way: eight. Eight is the number of trash cans my family has hauled to the curb so far this year. Eight is enough.
And the stain was irredeemable. No detergent would remove it, he declared. The pants were history.
What's a Miser Mom to do? The stain was too far-spread for my favorite fix (cut it off, hem the pants, and make instant shorts). No, all that was left is a post-mortem dissection.
The buttons come off and go in the button bin. Sometimes, there is a useful and easy-to-remove zipper -- this happens more often on bags or jackets, but alas, not in this case. Jeans zippers are too much trouble to remove.
The bottom of the pants might make good patches on future destruction projects my sons bring home; instead of saving the entire pair of pants, I just cut off a usable section from each leg. These pieces are large enough to patch a knee that gives way.
The rest of the pants? If they were the right kind of material, I might save them for the rag basket, but again, no. T-shirts seem to have become our favorite rag material lately, and we have way more than we need right now. So the remainder of the pants went into our trash cans.
To which I will just add, in my own woot-woot kind of way: eight. Eight is the number of trash cans my family has hauled to the curb so far this year. Eight is enough.
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