It’s a Dirty Job

Even if she has a stomach of steel, there are some chores that even the most seasoned, experienced mom just does not want to touch.  Sure, we can plunge our bare hand into the sink to grab that gelatinous wad of gunk out from under the drain without breaking a sweat.  And we can de-crust the underside of practically anything, assuming we have the proper chemicals, without batting an eyelash.  We didn’t flinch when our babies spewed goo that represented every color of the rainbow, and we came out of stomach flu season relatively unrattled.  In other words, we moms can handle nearly anything.

But as our kids get older, it seems that the aromas they produce take on an entirely new dimension of grossness.  Nothing represents this assault on our olfactory senses more than the athlete’s bag.  Whether it’s soccer, dance, football, hockey, martial arts, lacrosse, baseball, softball, gymnastics, cheerleading, basketball, volleyball, or any other sport or activity where sweat is produced, the funk that rides around in our kids’ bags is an entity unto itself.  It permeates every thread, every fiber of that bag and all its contents.

Some items can easily be washed in the machine, even if you need the most harsh detergents that the cleaning aisle has to offer to combat the smell.  The shirts, leggings, shorts, etc….well, those are the least of your problems.  Rather, it’s the shin guards, sneakers, dance shoes, sparring gear, the bag itself, and other non-machine washable items that present the most pressing problems.  For those, get a spray bottle of holy water, a flamethrower, a vat of chemical spray, and a pair of old and young priests.  If you believe in a god, now might be the time to appeal to Him/Her.

Also, it helps if you make peace with the fact that you are going to discover things about your child that will disappoint you greatly, and make you question every facet of your parenting skills.  In your heart, you truly believed that you were imparting solid values unto your kids (including the importance of keeping your personal things in good condition).  But the evidence to the contrary lies before you; as hard as it might be to accept, that’s the reality of the situation.  For instead of looking at an orderly, neat, clean bag, you are faced with a time capsule of slovenly behavior.  There are discarded food wrappers, petrified crumbs, crusty articles of clothing (use your imagination, if you dare), crumpled papers that may or may not date back to the Stone Age, empty Gatorade bottles, and other random bits of garbage that would be unidentifiable by even the most celebrated crime scene investigator.  You ask yourself repeatedly how this could possibly be from YOUR kid, and the words “parenting fail” reverberate through your head.

Just accept it:  cleaning out your kid’s bag is an exercise in humility and shame (for you, because your kid really doesn’t give a hoot).  The best thing you can do is indulge in a guilty pleasure or two (smoke ‘em if you got ‘em), suit up, and dig in.  It’s a dirty job, but someone (and you just KNOW it won’t be your kid) has got to do it.

Work hard, have fun! – Danielle

For another laugh about the infamous dance bag, click on Hold Your Nose!