Dish Abyss!

Ok, I have had the strangest two days. Landon is finally on the mend from what turned out to be rotavirus, double yuck. Puke and diarrhea for 7 days. (Parents worse nightmare, and one of the things that they should teach you about in childbirth classes, not strange breathing that you forget how to do because of pain so great you wished you had rotavirus instead.) It is by far the nastiest thing my family has ever has had. All 5 of us have had it now, so it should now be banished from the Gardner home! Bye-bye, not going to miss ya!!!!!!!

Anyhoo, the past two days I have been determined to get going and get back to real life, so yesterday I got a wild hair and decided that I was going to wash the dishes by hand after breakfast. Logan toasted my rinse aid cap and now my dishes have been coming out looking like the dog licked them instead of the sparkling fresh they should be! I must have still been a little light headed from the barfing, and thought I would dredge up those fond childhood memories of washing dishes by hand (stop laughing, Mother) and plunge my hands into a warm, bubbly sink full of dishes. I got out the old trusty wooden dish rack that we have had for 15 1/2 years, and it has never once even thought about molding. I love that thing.

I did have to laugh when both my kids came into the kitchen, skidded on the brakes, and asked with a crinkle in their noses, "What's that thing?" "A dish rack!" I reply. "Where did we get that?" still crinkling their noses at me like it was a monkey with a dirty diaper sitting on the counter. I then realized that I need to school my kids on the business end of a dish rag. Can you hear the running and the screaming right now! Next weeks homeshool lesson.
So, I was having my little moment of pretend bliss, with the window open and the sun shining over the back yard and music playing softly in the background. I thought, "Oh this isn't so bad. Kind of peaceful." Then a glass slipped out of my hand and into the bubbly abyss below and...you know what I am going to say don't you? Yup, the darn thing had the nerve to break into several shards of razor sharp pieces. I then had to fish out the plunger and hunt for the darn things and start over again. There is the little dickens mocking me and my moment of peace. Actually it is just the pin bursting my revelry bubble and slamming me back to the reality of the fact that I "HATE" to do dishes, period. By hand or machine, I loath it, and I am sure it is from all those hours of "contributing to the family well being" (slave labor, torture) that my parents made us do when we were kids. Just ask my three siblings they will tell you, we are all severely scarred in the dish washing department. Here's to getting someone else to wash the dishes!