Nightmare on my street.

I have 3 nightmares. First is anything involving clowns. Because clowns are scary as hell. Second is someone repeating the word "moist", (which sounds like nails on a chalkboard to me) over and over.  The third actually happened today. 

Let me start by saying that I appreciate anyone that wants to do my laundry for me. I'm very particular about folding, hanging and the temperature of the wash but I typically do appreciate not having to do it at all some weeks. Now, that thought process completely changes based on nightmare number three.

I had a particularly good day at work. I was feeling like I had a few good success stories and I was headed into slinking down into the sofa for the evening hours. But first I had to stop at daycare for pick up duty. When I got there, the class room was empty and the kids were playing outside. I walked over to my sons cubby and checked to see if there was anything that needed to be washed. As I pulled everything out and got to the bottom of his bin, there they sat in all their glory. My beige pair of cotton underwear. 

I whipped my head around quickly to see if anyone else was in the room. I was alone and now wondering: has anyone seen my underwear?! I quickly shoved everything into my sons backpack and in a cold sweat zipped up the bag and headed out for the playground. The entire walk down the hall my mind was racing with thoughts like: maybe because they are so plain no one noticed. I should write a letter to the bounce dryer bar company for their incompetence in product design. I wonder if washer and dryer's are on sale. Should I call my husband from the car and give him a running start? 

I took a deep breath, opened the door to the playground, put a big smile on my face and waved frantically at my son to hurry up. As he was running over, his teacher was also headed in my direction. It was now the race of the century: who would get to me first? I wondered if I could punch in the code fast enough and hustle him through the door before having to potentially address that my underwear had made an appearance in public. 

They arrive at exactly the same time. My son has a sweet smile on his face and for a moment I feel like it's no big deal. Then I learn that not only did my underwear fall out of his blanket and on to the floor,  but that my sweet smiling son had retrieved them from the floor, lifted them up over his head and threw them across the classroom earlier in the day. 

I don't think I've fully tackled nightmare number three but the good news is I did survive it. Sorta.