A Christmas Miracle

That last post was a little grumpy, wasn't it? Oh go on, you don't have to be nice. It was. But I'm feeling better, enjoying Christmas CDs, eating mince pies (bought loads for an event Husband was organising, and then fewer people turned up than he'd guessed, so yay, spare mince pies for us!) and generally getting in the swing of it. If all else fails, I turn on my IKEA stars and think how lovely they look. Yes, I really am that easy to please.

In fact, I'm so full of the Christmas spirit, that I thought I'd share my own little Christmas miracle story with you. It has all the right ingredients: a family visit, a child, a special day, a mistake that turns out ok but teaches the main character a useful life lesson along the way, a three-legged opossum, and laundry.

Followers of my blog (sad, sad people) will know how much I hate my washer-dryer. I am taking steps to remedy the situation, but for reasons that I can't go into on a public blog (living in a house that belongs to an institution which employs Husband and is therefore not entirely my own to manage), for the time-being, I am stuck with it. I have a personal rule, which is that I never use the dryer function of the washer-dryer combo. Never. Never ever. The dial now has a red nail polish mark on it, to make it easy to see whether it is on or off (applied after I ruined a load of washing). As I say, I never use it. Never. I vowed I wouldn't ever again. Except just sometimes I do have to, for example when my brother and sister-in-law came to stay this week-end and I needed to dry some towels for them (see 1, family visit).

They left on Sunday night, and I turned my thoughts to Monday morning and getting ready for school. 12-yo (see 2, child) said he had to go to school in formal wear, which I thought couldn't be right, but I read the weekly bulletin and spotted a bit I'd missed. Yes, indeed, he did need to be in formal wear because it's the last day of school, with an assembly and a carol service (3, special day). Think kilt, sporran, knee-length socks, sock flashes... (love it, love it, love it, love having my children at a school in Scotland which makes them wear kilts from time to time). Only slight problem, the knee-length socks, of which he has only one pair because he only wears formal dress on rare occasions, were at the bottom of the laundry basket. So into the washing machine they went.

I had forgotten to turn the knob back to the "dryer off" position (4, mistake). When I went into the kitchen at 10.30pm, expecting to find a small pile of clean, wet laundry in the drum (pa-ra-pa-pum-pum) and the machine off, instead I found the machine humming away happily in dryer mode. Although it was on "wool" setting, it was very hot (no, there's nothing wrong with it, I've phoned customer services and asked, it's just that washer-dryers dry very hot). I decided then and there that the red nail polish mark wasn't enough. No. I would have to do more. I would have to selotape the knob, to remind myself never, ever, ever, never, ever to use the dryer (4, mistake that teaches the main character a useful life lesson).

But here's the amazing denouement. The socks were fine. They were almost dry, and they hadn't shrunk at all. They are wool, should be hand-washed, definitely shouldn't be tumble-dried, but when subjected to the foundry-like temperatures of the Hotpoint washer-dryer, had survived unscathed (4, mistake that turns out ok). It was a miracle. I'm naming those socks "Daniel", for they lived through the fiery furnace. (Know that story?) And verily there was much rejoicing, for if the socks had been ruined, indeed the stress therein would have been mighty. For it remaineth to be seen whether a mother can buy a pair of long dress socks for a 12 year old before eight o'clock on a Monday morning.

I lied about the three-legged opossum.

So if "It's a Wonderful Life", or "Miracle on 34th Street" fail to touch your spirit this Christmas, please hold the story of "Iota's Laundry Miracle" in your heart.

If that fails, eat mince pies.

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