Miracles Still Happen

I love my kids. I really, really do. They are a blessing, they are a blessing, they are a blessing.  But sometimes they do things that really aggravate me.  Like putting ink pens in their pockets.  I never put a pen in my clothing.  It goes in my purse and my purse only.  I've tried to teach my children this simple rule:  the pen can go in your purse or backpack, you can clip it onto the front of a notebook, you can tuck it behind your ear, but you never, never, never insert it into your clothing.  Invariably, it gets forgotten and goes through the washer and dryer, where it explodes.

And when your mother opens the dryer, she explodes.

This is the inside door of the dryer.

This is the inside drum of the dryer.

Amazingly, there was not a ton of ink on the clothing.  It was largely a load of blue jeans so it wasn't showing up on the material.  There were a few spots on some tee shirts, but again nothing major.

But the inside of the dryer.  Oh.  It was bad.  

I tried various cleaners to no avail.  The most I got was a slight, very slight, purplish color on the rag.  Apparently ink doesn't come out of metal.  

I made everyone in the house come look at the damage.  I growled at them all.

They all denied any involvement.  I'm no fool, I narrowed it down to two culprits but since I couldn't prove which one it was I had to settle for trying to burn them to ashes with a steely gaze.

Then I stomped upstairs and flung myself on the bed in a snit for about twenty minutes until I could think calmly and no longer wanted to pack a bag and head for parts unknown.

Then, though I knew it was a lost cause, I googled it.

Low and behold, there is a solution.  Fingernail polish remover takes ink off a dryer.

I got my fingernail polish remover, still not believing it would really work, grabbed some cotton balls and did a test spot.  

It all came off.  Didn't even use elbow grease.

It did take quite a while to do the entire inside of the dryer.  And I think the fumes killed off a number of brain cells.  By the end, I would stand outside the laundry room, take a deep breath and hold it and dash back in and rub as much as I could until I needed to run out and take another breath.  

It was a laundry miracle on a Sunday!