Washer Wars: A Magnetic Mystery

Over the last couple of weeks I've spent a fair amount of time INSIDE of my washing machine.  The interesting news is that I've discovered I can fit inside a washing machine, the futile news is, really, when would that little absurdity ever come up naturally in a conversation?  "Hey did you know I fit inside a washing machine?" Of course IF somehow I did manage to figure out how to wedge that bit of hooey into a conversation I'd leave out the part that it's a huge front loading washer in order to give off a deceitful impression that I'm super skinny and possess serious flexibility skills.

But the reason I've been spending quality time inside my washer is the real scuttlebutt.  Over the last two weeks something major has been banging around in my washing machine every time I run a load.  I toss in a bunch of clothes into an empty machine, turn it on, and sometime during the washing or spinning cycles the most ferocious banging sound thunders from my laundry room.  This is no ordinary clink of a few playground pocket rocks mind you, it's an earth shattering

Bang! Bang! Bang!

I'd know the sound of playground rocks when I hear them.  I'm an expert in playground rocks and what they sound like in ANY household appliance--including blenders (which is the very reason I firmly believe boys of any age should not watch infomercials).  I've got a jar full of playground rocks in my laundry room.
One curious month several years ago, I decided to collect and put into a jar every single rock that came out of my washer or dryer for 30 days, just to see if it was really that bad.  It was.

This "30-days-of-rocks-in-my-laundry" jar still sits on a shelf in my laundry room.  It reminds me of the exact reasons why motherhood has driven me occasionally insane and what a fabulous mother I am for having not killed any of my children...yet.

So the recent unidentifiable ear-splitting clash inside my washing machine for two weeks strait had me declaring war on whatever it was.  After each load and accompanying thrashing, I'd throw myself into the thing and give it a thorough groping as if I was working airport security.  And what did I find?  Nothing.  When I'd run another load, guess what I hear again?

Bang! Bang! Bang!

And as soon as I heard it, I'd be there waiting for the end-of-cycle buzzer and throw the door open expecting to find a toaster or a hub cap or something inside the tub.
But what did I find?  Absolutely Nothing. 

Again I run another load.  Bang! Bang! Bang!  Wait for the buzzer, throw open the door, pull out all the clothes, just sure I was about to find a set of fireplace tools or perhaps a skateboard but nope, I always found nothing. Just me inside a washing machine and the echos of a thousand curse words.

I was officially more agitated than the appliance.

Look for yourself...do you see ANYTHING on the bottom of the tub here?

Nothing. 
For two weeks I was driven insane.  I was officially at war with an unknown enemy.  I needed a battle plan.

I decided to run yet another load but this time I was determined not to wait for the buzzer.  I just stood there staring down that machine like I had challenged it to some sort of high-noon western quickdraw. With hands at my side ready to rip the door open at the slightest sound.

It took ten full minutes, but there it was Bang! Bang! Bang!
Out flew my pointed index finger and in heated frenzy I put the thing on "pause" and clawed all the wet stuff out, and dove head first inside the danged thing once again.  This time I decided I wasn't coming out until I solved the mystery. Water was seeping onto the floor but I didn't care, a casualty of war.

Now you'd think that living on Planet Earth with all that gravity business that a simple check of the lower half of the tub like I had been doing would have been adequate.  Alas it was not.  However reasonable it thought it was to assume that whatever it is banging around in there would surely be found resting at the bottom of the tub...underestimated one important force of nature...

The Boy-Factor.  Rock loving, magnet loving boys.  MAGNETS! Like an idiot, I never bothered looking anti-gravity UP.  Why would anything be stuck to the top of the drum?  Unless of course it was a giant magnet.

AH HA! See it now??

Yep, there it was all the time...somewhere on the TOP of the drum each time I checked.

The mother of all magnets.

A huge, heavy, bang-inducing magnet.  For two weeks this thing drove me mad.  

So what did I do with the thing?  I looked up at my jar of aggravating playground rocks and just shook my head.  I thought my machines and I had seen it all. Then I went in and stuck it back in Connor's room on his metal wall. I figured if he ever left it in his pocket again and tossed his pants into the wash, it would only be fair to use it to magnetize him to the wall for a lengthy Time Out.

Next time something bangs in the dryer, I'll be looking down for playground rocks (or toasters and hubcaps) and UP for gargantuan magnets.  Until then, I'm pleased to know I can fit inside a washer.

Washer Wars, another domestic triumph.