In 2007, Husby and I decided to shake up our life and move to a different state. We decided to move back to Husby’s hometown. He’d been in my home state long enough to get a Bachelor's, Master's, an absolutely wonderful and perfect wife (me), and helped in the general creation of our son. I welcomed the chance to explore a new city
Part of the reason for moving was to have a chance to save some money and get ahead in life. This was to be accomplished by living with my husband's parents for a short while (read: six long miserable months): a red-headed, hot-headed, fireball German full of love (my mother-in-law, Big Red), and a gentle, work-a-holic, conflict-avoiding Irish dovey (my father-in-law). And so began The Downy Ball Wars.
My mother-in-law is perhaps the most generous person in the world when it comes to her family. My husband is an only child - and our son was at that time an only grandchild. Needless to say, a lot of thought and devotion go into our family. My mother-in-law would give any of us her right leg if we needed one... but, she would tell us exactly what color of thread to use and just how to sew it on.
I haven't known that many Germans - but this immigrant of 35+ years retains what I believe to be the national German motto: "My way is the supremely right way. If you don't do it my way... well, there must be something wrong with you."
One of my first lessons from BR involved the Downy Ball. For those of you who do not know, Downy is a fabric softener to be poured into your laundry during the rinse cycle. The Downy ball is a device that holds Downy and automatically releases it during said rinse cycle - saving you time from having to listen for the rinse cycle to begin.
Apparently, despite nearly 10 years of using a Downy Ball, these do not work. At least according toBR.
While sharing a washing machine and dryer, we often did one another's laundry. I showed BR the Downy Ball, explained how it worked, started a tub of wash (with the Downy Ball inside) and proceeded to go about my chores. That night, as I folded laundry, I noticed how strong our laundry smelled... I later discovered BR had also inserted yet more Downy during the Extra Rinse cycle - so we'd had a double dose. No big deal. I talked to BR about it - again explained the Downy Ball function and assured her it really did work and that she did *not* need to add more Downy. She nodded her agreement and I thought that was that.
On Halloween, as my husband was carving our pumpkin, BR approached him. "Son", she said. "Your wife isn't do laundry properly." "Really?" my husband said. "How so?" BR then told him that I wasn't truly taking care of our family because I was missing the all-critical-phase of the rinse cycle. My husband, ignorant of ways-of-wash and unaware of the Downy Ball War that was now ensuing, urged BR to discuss this with me.
Later that week, in a brief, yet strangely heated discussion, BR again asserted to me that the Downy Ball couldn't possibly be working. I had her smell our clothes - they permeated with the magical Downy fragrance. She agreed that they did indeed smell nice. I suggested to BR that when she does laundry she do it her way... and when I did laundry, I'd do it mine. She agreed, and again, I thought that was that.
One day after pulling fresh laundry from the dryer, I found a new thing mixed in with the socks and underwear: Downy Dryer Sheets. BR had silently stuck some in - confident that the Downy Ball was not working and she would be damned if her only son and grandson did not have the softest, Downiest clothing out there.
Part of the reason for moving was to have a chance to save some money and get ahead in life. This was to be accomplished by living with my husband's parents for a short while (read: six long miserable months): a red-headed, hot-headed, fireball German full of love (my mother-in-law, Big Red), and a gentle, work-a-holic, conflict-avoiding Irish dovey (my father-in-law). And so began The Downy Ball Wars.
My mother-in-law is perhaps the most generous person in the world when it comes to her family. My husband is an only child - and our son was at that time an only grandchild. Needless to say, a lot of thought and devotion go into our family. My mother-in-law would give any of us her right leg if we needed one... but, she would tell us exactly what color of thread to use and just how to sew it on.
I haven't known that many Germans - but this immigrant of 35+ years retains what I believe to be the national German motto: "My way is the supremely right way. If you don't do it my way... well, there must be something wrong with you."
One of my first lessons from BR involved the Downy Ball. For those of you who do not know, Downy is a fabric softener to be poured into your laundry during the rinse cycle. The Downy ball is a device that holds Downy and automatically releases it during said rinse cycle - saving you time from having to listen for the rinse cycle to begin.
Apparently, despite nearly 10 years of using a Downy Ball, these do not work. At least according to
While sharing a washing machine and dryer, we often did one another's laundry. I showed BR the Downy Ball, explained how it worked, started a tub of wash (with the Downy Ball inside) and proceeded to go about my chores. That night, as I folded laundry, I noticed how strong our laundry smelled... I later discovered BR had also inserted yet more Downy during the Extra Rinse cycle - so we'd had a double dose. No big deal. I talked to BR about it - again explained the Downy Ball function and assured her it really did work and that she did *not* need to add more Downy. She nodded her agreement and I thought that was that.
On Halloween, as my husband was carving our pumpkin, BR approached him. "Son", she said. "Your wife isn't do laundry properly." "Really?" my husband said. "How so?" BR then told him that I wasn't truly taking care of our family because I was missing the all-critical-phase of the rinse cycle. My husband, ignorant of ways-of-wash and unaware of the Downy Ball War that was now ensuing, urged BR to discuss this with me.
Later that week, in a brief, yet strangely heated discussion, BR again asserted to me that the Downy Ball couldn't possibly be working. I had her smell our clothes - they permeated with the magical Downy fragrance. She agreed that they did indeed smell nice. I suggested to BR that when she does laundry she do it her way... and when I did laundry, I'd do it mine. She agreed, and again, I thought that was that.
One day after pulling fresh laundry from the dryer, I found a new thing mixed in with the socks and underwear: Downy Dryer Sheets. BR had silently stuck some in - confident that the Downy Ball was not working and she would be damned if her only son and grandson did not have the softest, Downiest clothing out there.
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