There are many areas in which I could stand a little personal growth.
- Remembering that dust exists, and that there is not a magic dusting fairy.
- Remembering to clip the fingernails/claws of my dependents who are yet unable to clip their own.
- Keeping up with picking up behind my tiny re-distributor and her accomplice, the furry tearer-upper of all things paper that have been redistributed within reach. “Reach” increases daily.
There are plenty more, but I work diligently to improve in these areas…ok, maybe not the dust thing…but for the most part, I really try to do my best.
This cannot be said, however, about doing the dishes. I hate doing dishes. I work pretty hard to avoid them if AT ALL possible. We have had a number of dish responsibility arrangements over the years, and for the most part, Matt takes care of all dishes and I do the laundry. It works for us. However, there are times now that I feel compelled to take some ownership of the dish situation while Matt is at work.
I can tell you that there are a number of things that will not get dishes done.
- Staring at them
- Avoiding the kitchen
- Eating something while thinking about how you ought to be doing the dishes, and what other things might possibly need to be done first
To be fair, I have some pretty good reasons:
- I am tall and top heavy, and it hurts my back because sinks are usually a bad height for me.
- I have eczema and getting my hands wet makes them crack. In a typical day, I get wet hands about a million times already with laundry, preparing food every 10 minutes for my apparently hollow-legged children, and toileting duties for potty training a preschooler and puppy.
- I seriously cannot stand the sight or smell of old food or dishes. I may be single-handedly responsible for all other gross things in our house, but I really don’t like old food. This means that I try to avoid emptying left-overs in containers, taking out the kitchen trash, and dirty dishes. I will do everything else in the entire house that I can do. I can even handle barf, but old food makes me gag. I can’t stand it. Or the thought of bacteria from raw meats or eggs. Some may call this OCD…like my therapist…but I think it’s just good sense.
- When my children sense weakness in my typical super-human-mommy senses (the sound of water muffling noise evidencing their mischief), they get a little carried away. This has improved drastically over the past 6 months, which is why I feel compelled to take more responsibility for the state of the dishes.
- I like wearing elastic waist yoga pants. They are comfy, forgiving, and allow me to be dressed (enough) to leave the house when necessary AND feel like I am wearing pj’s at home, without actually wearing pj’s.
This all works together to make doing dishes quite problematic.
Emptying and loading a dishwasher requires a great deal of bending over and standing up. And bending over and standing up. Being relatively tall means bending especially low. This leads to one particularly unfortunate occurrence when doing dishes. My pants inch their way down with every bend. Don’t act like it doesn’t happen to you, because I have witnessed it happening to a number of people. If it doesn’t happen to you, you probably wear belts.
Since I wear big rubber gloves to protect my hands, it is hard to get my pants pulled back up…especially since I can hardly bear the idea of touching my clothes with gloves that may be dripping with bacteria…probably not…but MAYBE. So I have to wash the gloves every time I need to hike my drawers.
This leads us to my children getting into things. I must have been particularly vocal in my disdain for sagging pants while doing dishes last night, because Hadley decided he needed to help. He said that I needed one of Daddy’s belts, but he couldn’t find any. So I hear him pondering, “Maybe one of the dog’s leashes would work…?”
A couple of minutes later I feel him reach around me and say, “Yup. It fits…but how can I make it keep your pants up…hmmm…” “Nope. That isn’t it…maybe if I do this…”
Being thoroughly amused at this point, it was a little sad that I was actually done loading the dishwasher. Not very sad…but a little. I guess there’s always next time. After all…”tomorrow is another day.” 😉