I have a small hole near the back pocket of my jeans. I wear them anyway. I wandered through the house on my daily dirty laundry hunt and started by removing the jammies that keep hiding under Tommy’s bed. Wearing headphones, Tommy shouted, “your jeans are torn” and poked the hole with that special inaccurate awareness of touch that comes with being an Aspie. I winced and nodded an acknowledgment as I pondered the color of the pending bruise. I continued to the hallway where towels magically appear after bathtime. “Mom! I can see your panties” was announced by Betty Boop Amy as she stuck her finger in the hole to make sure I understood the problem. I assured her that I was aware of the hole and tiptoed into the sharp toy landmine that is Noah’s room to collect the socks-underwear-jeans combo that fall off his body in one single clump of clothing. “Cool undies Mom.” I thanked him for the compliment and journeyed to the girls’ room. Sarah looked up from her book as I shook dirty socks out of blankets and sheets. “Mutherrr, you have a hole in your jeans and I can see the color of your underwear.” I thanked her for the warning. Evan appeared in the girls’ doorway and as I walked past him, he reached up, grabbed the tiny hole and pulled on the fabric. “Boo-boo!” It is now Evan. Why are the dirty clothes on the floor invisible while the tiny hole in my jeans glows like Oak Ridge after dark?