You are always going on about the laundry and I get that but what about the dishes? How can they not drive you crazy? I feel like all I ever do is dishes. I mean, they never stop – as soon as I leave the kitchen, someone puts a bowl on the counter. Seriously, when does it end?
Pruned and Doomed
First of all, let me apologize for being remiss in not addressing the other household drudgeries. I, too, hate the dishes and they deserve their time in this space as well. Do you remember when you and your intended walked through the China section of the fancy store your mother made you register in with the nice sales lady who crinkled her nose in disgust as she noted all your choices? You looked at pattern after pattern until the one you have always dreamed of eating your Ramen off of called out to you. It was so beautiful, so perfect, so you. And it fulfilled your intended’s requirements of “I dunno, maybe a line around it – or not.” You could not wait to serve all your fabulous friends from these orbs of sophistication – they were: your dishes.
Remember when you broke one and your first thought was “phew – one less to wash.” Those two moments were not so far apart, were they?
Anyway, as to whether the Battle of Dishes will ever end, the consensus is no. My friend Dawn suggested I hire someone to do my dishes. I can’t afford full time help like Dawn so I put an ad in the college paper. Most people responding asked how much of my food could they eat on the job, which was discouraging. One of the girls I hired had to call her mother to ask what dish soap was and ended up using bubble bath because it was “fun.” The kids were thrilled with the bubble filled living room until Logan slid across the foyer and face-planted into the coat rack. It cost me $450 in industrial cleanup.
I asked the Mothers how they got around the endless stream of dirty dishes (it was late, I was drunk… no, I don’t know what I was thinking.) They suggested using warm, soapy water to clean the dishes. I told them I knew how to clean dishes to which they responded “Really?”
Desperate and under a deadline, I asked my husband Nate. He was confused by the question and asked why I didn’t just put the dishes in the Magic Sink? I inquired as to what the Magic Sink was to which he replied:
“The Magic Sink in the kitchen. The one I put my dishes in and they magically get put away.”
I used the pinking shears when I clipped the toes off of all of his socks.
Thank you to Ruby B from Richland, WA for the question. If you would like to write to Supermom, email her at AskSupermom@placedeplume.com or click the button below: