Sneaking out with the wet laundry

Another truth about autistic adults

About three weeks ago, my dryer stopped functioning. It would still spin its little motor out, tossing the wet laundry with gay abandon. But it generated no heat. And being familiar—passingly—with the workings of an electric dryer, I surmised that replacing heating elements on an economy dryer that was more than ten years old was probably not fiscally sound.

But my autistic son, Allen, who lives with me and makes my daily life interesting, dislikes change. It’s just not his strong suit. Or his short suit. Or even a pair of socks.

“Reality to an autistic person is a confusing, interacting mass of events, people, places, sounds and sights... Set routines, times, particular routes and rituals all help to get order into an unbearably chaotic life. Trying to keep everything the same reduces some of the terrible fear.” 

Jolliffe (1992) in Howlin (2004), p.137. 

Allen is in charge of the laundry. It’s his Saturday task. He starts a load in the morning, then we go off to the Chi Cafe for breakfast. When we get back, he spends the rest of the morning in the basement, working on the laundry, while I tackle other household chores and, when needed, take a break from Allen. (Hey, I love the kid to death but he can be a bit much sometimes.) I’m not sure what he does while he’s in the basement other than watch the laundry spin around, but hey, to each his own.

Lately though, when Allen triumphantly plops the laundry basket on my bed to be folded and put away, it’s still wet. And not just a little damp. Like you could wring-it-out-wet.

“But I dried it!” he protests. “Like, five times!”

I take a deep breath, trying not to think about those spinning dials on my electric meter. “I’m sorry, honey, it’s still wet. Feel it.”

“Feels dry to me,” he says and mumbles as he carries it back down to the non-functioning dryer for another spin. Or two. Or three.

Changes to the physical environment (such as the layout of furniture in a room), or the presence of new people or absence of familiar ones, can be difficult to manage.

National Autistic Society

Finally, last weekend, I’d had enough of trying to drape wet clothes around my hallway and hoping the ceiling fans would dry them. When he plopped the wet laundry on my bed and announced he was “going to Wendy’s to pick up some chicken nuggets”, I saw my chance. I grabbed the basket of wet—and heavy—clothes and carried them out to my car. I headed to the nearest laundromat and, checking for spies that could rat me out, piled the wet clothes into an industrial dryer. I sank into forty minutes of uninterrupted reading and the wet clothes tumbled around in a dryer that actually, well, dried.

Back home, of course, I needed to be equally wily as I carried the now dry clothes back into the house. I was successful while he was involved in a backyard project. Don’t ask. Mission accomplished.

I realize that this is not a perfect solution. Sooner or later, I’ll ease into the conversation with my usual tact until he’s ready to accept a new appliance in his life. But we’re still getting over the trauma of the new couch, so it may take a while!

How do you or someone you live with feel about changes to the environment? I used to love to rearrange the furniture but my husband HATED IT!