Le Sigh and also gullible children
So confident was I in my newfound wool scouring abilities that I got the kiddies off to bed by 8:30, rubbed my hands together, and headed down to the basement to tackle the corriedale fleece. In my ambition, I divvied it up into two portions in two laundry bags and used both sides of the laundry sink. It got two super hot soaks with generous squirts of ultra super duper concentrated Dawn (I added a kettle of boiling water to the 2nd washing, as I feared the first wasn't hot enough) and two rinses and a spin. I was pleased to note that this fleece does not smell as bad as the last one, and the initial wash water was the yellow of lanolin and not the brown of mud.
Yeah, about that lanolin.
The bases of the locks are still yellow. Oh noes! Could it be the dreaded canary stain? (these are the things you worry about after quick Googling) Longer Googling made me think it is not. Or hope it is not. Because ew. Unidentified microbial action is not my idea of a good time. Remind me to tell you about my mold phobia some time (so you can laugh at me).
The stains are all at the base of the locks. They are soft, buttery yellow, not bright yellow. The fiber seems sound. And the most damning evidence of all? My twice washed twice rinsed spun dry locks are still greasy as all get out.
Hrm. Looks like more washing is in order. Stain or no, they're unacceptably greasy.
(but lovely and fine and fluffy and I can not WAIT to get them prepped for playing with!)
And now for something completely different. A man with a tape recorder up his nose.
No, not that. Gullible small people.
The scene: Dinner two nights ago. In addition to our regularly scheduled dinner items, we are having a veggie mix of broccoli, carrots, and cauliflower.
Anna: What's this white stuff?
Me: Cauliflower.
Anna: I like cauliflower. Where does it come from?
Me: Cows.
Anna: [looking appropriately skeptical] No it doesn't.
Me: Birds.
Anna: No. . . where does it come from?
Me: It grows on the moon. That is why the moon is white. It is covered in cauliflower.
Anna: Oh! Okay.
Me: No, I was just kidding. Cauliflower does not grow on the moon. It grows in gardens, or on farms.
Anna: [already tuning me out and on to some other random subject]
Scene II: Yesterday evening
Anna: Mom, what was that white stuff?
Me: What white stuff?
Anna: The stuff we had for dinner. That grows on the moon.
Me: [boggles at how easily she bought that one, wonders what other misleading information I can stuff her impressionable young mind with]
Fin.
Yeah, about that lanolin.
The bases of the locks are still yellow. Oh noes! Could it be the dreaded canary stain? (these are the things you worry about after quick Googling) Longer Googling made me think it is not. Or hope it is not. Because ew. Unidentified microbial action is not my idea of a good time. Remind me to tell you about my mold phobia some time (so you can laugh at me).
The stains are all at the base of the locks. They are soft, buttery yellow, not bright yellow. The fiber seems sound. And the most damning evidence of all? My twice washed twice rinsed spun dry locks are still greasy as all get out.
Hrm. Looks like more washing is in order. Stain or no, they're unacceptably greasy.
(but lovely and fine and fluffy and I can not WAIT to get them prepped for playing with!)
And now for something completely different. A man with a tape recorder up his nose.
No, not that. Gullible small people.
The scene: Dinner two nights ago. In addition to our regularly scheduled dinner items, we are having a veggie mix of broccoli, carrots, and cauliflower.
Anna: What's this white stuff?
Me: Cauliflower.
Anna: I like cauliflower. Where does it come from?
Me: Cows.
Anna: [looking appropriately skeptical] No it doesn't.
Me: Birds.
Anna: No. . . where does it come from?
Me: It grows on the moon. That is why the moon is white. It is covered in cauliflower.
Anna: Oh! Okay.
Me: No, I was just kidding. Cauliflower does not grow on the moon. It grows in gardens, or on farms.
Anna: [already tuning me out and on to some other random subject]
Scene II: Yesterday evening
Anna: Mom, what was that white stuff?
Me: What white stuff?
Anna: The stuff we had for dinner. That grows on the moon.
Me: [boggles at how easily she bought that one, wonders what other misleading information I can stuff her impressionable young mind with]
Fin.
