In our new life, I discovered how to run a household. And I found pleasure in the simplest things, like the discovery that Clorox Bleach did indeed whiten whites.
Franklin's undershirts, Freddie's socks, a stack of onesies saved for Fiona ... no challenge was too great.
Then I learned that bleach was bad, and switched to the Seventh Generation substitute.
It's not the same.
Don't get me wrong. I feel much better cleaning Freddie's tub toys with the greener, less toxic variety. But even adding the hot summer sun to the equation doesn't get the job done.
So what's less green - going through more men's undershirts and little socks, because really there's a point where they just can't be worn anymore, or protecting the local waterways?
I guess I'll try a few more old school remedies to bleach out stains, but if all else fails, I'm granting myself an exemption for a very small bottle of the hard stuff. I can't stand the thought of pitching all those clothes when I know how pristine bleach rendered my whites.