The Terrible Twos? Aw come on Dad, you’re all wet ~ August 1985

David Heiller

“As ye sow, so shall ye reap,” the Bible teaches us. That lesson applies to everyone, even two-year-old boys who accompany their fathers to laundromats.

Noah and Daddy in a
much better pool of water.

We have a washing machine at home, sitting in the garage, where the car should sit. While it waits for the handyman to get plumbing into the bathroom, the handyman washes clothes in the laundromat. Sometimes, he takes his son with him.

The son, Noah, is at a stage known by many as the “Terrible Twos,” a stage that ranks second only to adolescence in testing human patience. Sometimes such 26-month behavior isn’t intentionally Terrible, though the consequences are.

The laundromat episode was one of those innocent catastrophes. With the best intentions, I let Noah “help” me take the wet, clean clothes out of a front loading machine. We watched the red light flash off, watched the spinning come to a halt.

“Now open the door,” I said, lifting Noah up so he could reach the door latch. He placed his small hand on the handle, couldn’t move it, so I put my hand on his and pushed down. Magically, the door opened, with a click that echoed in Noah’s mind.

We moved over to the dryers. I forgot about the very important lesson that Noah had just learned. And in true human fashion, he tested his newest skill 10 minutes later.

I had my back to a row of washing machines, and to Noah. I heard a click, then a frightened yelp. I whirled to see Noah standing under a torrent of soapy water, gushing from the door of a full washing machine which he had just opened.

Noah "helping" with the laundry.
I am quite certain that the laundry he is helping with  
was clean and folded, but not yet put away.

Noah was frozen in place, his mouth open, right hand still raised. For a split second, I gasped in disbelief. Then I slammed the door shut, and scooped Noah up from the pool of water, setting him on a table. His right leg and arm were soaked, but his ego was in worse shape. Dad had just taught him a new skill, he had used to perfection, and nearly drowned as a result.

I gave him a hug, trying to stop the tears, then turned to the larger task of cleaning up his curiosity. A pool of water 10 feet long and three inches deep lay in front of the washing machines. Some wet clothes had fallen from the washer, so I and had to give the owner of those clothes a dollar to wash them again. The lady took the money with a wordless scowl, as she tried to figure how to get to her marooned machine.

When not doing laundry, a book is always good.
Uncle Randy was a good target for reading requests.

I grabbed a scraggly mop and broken bucket, and tried to soak up the gallons of water. Two other ladies watched from down the line, out of the corner of their eyes. They wouldn’t look at me directly, just kept on with their laundry as if afraid I might ask them to help. I felt like an assault victim on some busy street, where the crowd walks silently by.

Half an hour later, the water was finally mopped off the floor. By this time, quite a crowd had arrived, including some boys who seemed determined to walk through the wet area every three minutes. Noah had quit crying, and was as ready to leave as I was. His new found lesson had become more complex: Open doors, but at your own risk.

Meanwhile, our washing machine is still waiting in, the garage. I’m going to get at that bathroom plumbing project real soon.