Tag Archives: Dishes

Good morning, Monotony!

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1. Write blog post. Consider a rundown of the monotonous to-do list today…

2. Unstack and restack dishwasher. Even if it’s not my turn.

3. Clean off benches and table. May need Pal’s new belt sander for weetbix removal. Don’t laugh, I know someone who actually did that…

4. Tidy and vacuum all floors. Because its no fun for the children to mess up play in if it’s already been declared a disaster zone by the authorities. Also because deluding myself that I will mop once the floors are clear and the children are in bed is one of my favourite past-times…

5. Pull load out of dryer. Dump it on the humongous pile of folding I’ve been putting off for weeks.

6. Hang out the washing in the machine. If you can be bothered. It is a sunny day but it could rain at any moment… Consider dryer instead.

7. Put new load in machine – kids clothes first priority. Because they each go through more outfits in a day than I do in a week.

8. Clean bathroom. Even though I don’t have any bleach gel left, resulting in me having to actually scrub the toilet with the toilet brush. Of which I have an irrational phobia…

9. Shower. Only because I’ll have had to touch the toilet brush. Not because I plan on leaving the house.

10. Bake something for playdate this afternoon. Something with oranges. Because I can’t move in the pantry for the huge, full bucket of oranges off the tree. And the tree still looks full. On second thoughts, get Pal to bring baked goods home from work in his lunch break and give playdate family a massive bag of oranges to take home instead.

11. Write packing list for Sydney trip on Sunday.

12. Ring doctors surgery, preschool, MAL and Dad.

13. Email those 6 people I’ve been meaning to for days.

14. Find the time amongst this to adequately supervise, feed and change the children when necessary. And to drink coffee. Lots of coffee…

15. Be thankful today is a slow day.

What’s in your to-do list today?

Meemah is my Dish Pig today

Me and the dishes. We don’t get along. They aren’t my friends, and I am not theirs. I have an aversion to dish washing. I always have. My mother loves to tell a story wherein I am a 17 year old Daisy that hated doing the dishes so much it could make her dry wretch.

It really is my most icky job.  I hate doing the dishes more than I hate changing nappies.

Pal doesn’t like doing the dishes either. I’m not sure he’s got any problem with the specific chore other than it means he has to do something. And so the dishes have been known to spark a few arguments in our home.

As a result, I have compiled a list for Pal of why I shouldn’t have to do the dishes. Ever.

1. You married a woman, and not a man. Seeing as you avoid buying me moisturizers and hand creams because they are not “essential”, I cannot do the dishes without getting man hands – dry, cracked, akin to the hands of a builder who has lost his gloves. Unless you like the idea of snuggling up to my man hands, it’s probably best you do the dishes yourself.

2. Our children are allergic to me doing the dishes. Ever wondered why there are so many pictures of our children taken through the kitchen security gates? Crying? It’s because they come out in hives whenever I go to do the dishes. As soon as my hands hit that water, they are all at the gate, crying and begging me to stop so their hives can magically disappear. I’ve never seen these hives.  They go away when I stop doing the dishes.  Hence, me washing up is bad for our children, and we are already failing on many levels as parents.  Let’s not add this to the list, shall we?

3. It’s a safety hazard. Leaving our children alone in the greater end of the house often ends in one child or another doing something dangerous, resulting in head-thunking on wood floors.
Bullying is rife in this house, and I have a zero tolerance policy. So they save it all up for when I leave the room. And once they have conducted their wrestling match they come to the gates and contract hives.

4. No, I can’t do the dishes while the children are in bed. That’s when I get my washing, vacuuming, mopping, bathroom done. Right after all that lazing on the couch I do, whilst on the phone gossiping and whinging about your lack of prowess in the bedroom.

5. I slave over the food and drink you all consume. The least you could do is slave over a sink of boiling hot dishwater.

6. I have taken your complaints under advisement. No, I don’t think I use too many pots, pans and mixing bowls whilst cooking. I use just the right amount to create that delicious meal you just ate.
No, I don’t care that you don’t do as good a job as me. I have built up my intolerance to caked on bits of food on dishes, and am now a pro at flicking off the offending bits. It’s worth it to not have had to do the dishes.
No, you do not need gloves because the water is too hot. You stick your hands inside 200 degree Celsius ovens all day. Our hot water is possibly illegally hot, but it is not as hot as your ovens. Suck up some concrete through a straw.

7. Yes, you have been at work all day. Funnily enough, I haven’t left my place of work (our children) for longer than four hours for over 2 years. If being at work all day is an excuse not to do chores then I suggest we hire a cleaner.

8. Yes, I am happy to use paper plates and cups and plastic cutlery instead. But are you happy knowing we are killing the environment? Are you?

9. Yes, getting the dishwasher fixed is a brilliant idea.

10. No, that does not mean that you will be made redundant in the dish washing process.

Image from Here via WeHeartIt

It’s lucky Meemah is here to do the dishes for me today. She says she doesn’t mind them.  She’s implying I’m being silly. I don’t care. I don’t like the dishes. She suggests I get an iPhone app to do the dishes for me.  One day.

The Dish Ran Away with the Spoon

Image from here

My dishwasher is broken. This hits my feelings. In a big way. It’s been broken for some time now. It makes it hard to find the time to wash the dishes. It means I must wash the dishes sometimes five or six times a day. This becomes difficult when you’ve got three kids all insistent on sleeping at different times, and twins who have realised that sleep (during the day) is weak and only allowed in 45 minute increments. I can’t tell you how many times in the past three days I’ve been up to my armpits in hot soapy water and one or all three of my children have started up wailing about a fall, a toy, a scratch, the loss of a sock, the putting on of a sock (Rory is quite the wardrobe stylist, with her brothers her unwilling victims). I’m sure they wail just because they know that I will come running with hot suds dripping from my hands and arms. They think it’s hilarious when I round the corner of the lounge room, full pelt, only to find them all happily playing in a circle, sharing and caring nicely. I guess I should be happy to find them safe, unharmed, and not in killer baby mode. But it does sound like they are staging their own Passion Play some days!

I know I should leave the dishes. I know they shouldn’t bother me. My kitchen is incredibly short on bench space. In fact, I don’t really have bench space. I have a sniff of a space next to my sink. If the kitchen is not clean, the dishes pile up on top of the stove, making it not only unhygienic and capable of driving me mental, but also impossible to prepare or cook anything. I’m pressed to even find the space to pour a cup of tea.

The problem is if I leave them, who will do them for me? Not my children. My husband, you say? Perhaps he should help clean the messes he makes, you say? WHAT!!???!!! Husband’s do these things???? Haha, I know husband’s do the dishes. My friends talk about their pruney fingered husbands, cleaning up after dinner. Every. Single. Night. Not Pal. I’ve spoken before of the dishes and the iPod incident. That’s not the half of it.

Some time ago, Pal infamously uttered the words:

“I work 10-12 hours a day, so you should too.”

I’m not going to sit here and write about how I haven’t actually had a day off in over TWO years, that the last time I left the house (other than going to the hills hoist) was Monday 9th May and before that I don’t even recall.  I won’t tell you that I work MORE than 12 hours a day, and that I am both dedicated and clever enough to work while I sleep creating milk for our twins to drink (well, just for Fraser now, but still!). I wouldn’t write that down right here, right now. That would be showboating. And perhaps make Pal look like an asshat. And I would NEVER try to make my husband look like an asshat. Ever. Except when it comes to the dishes.

He made the above statement because I had asked him to, you guessed it, do the dishes. In fact, he didn’t even have to WASH the dishes. That was back when our dishwasher WORKED!! He just had to stack the thing. But alas, Pal is allergic to ALL KINDS OF DISHWASHING DETERGENT. I know this because he becomes incredibly anxious whenever I propose the of washing dishes. Once a week, one sink full of dishes, is all his dainty fingers can handle. Any other requests for dishes to be done will be met with direct outrage and hostility. Dishes have been known to throw our household into trench warfare. Of the “Flying Spatula Covered In Soap Suds Thrown At Pal’s Head” variety.

**On a side note, one of my in-laws calls me a spousal abuser. Apparently asking my husband to do the dishes via flying spatula is NOT acceptable behaviour and could have me arrested. I say call the police! They’ll take one look at Pal’s face and lock me up, I’m sure. Probably to do THEIR dishes for the rest of my life. But I digress.**

Pal is a curious beast. He’ll run up and down hills in the freezing cold; get up at 1am to bake bread for the town; drive friends to the train station at 3am in the morning. In fact, that wasn’t even our friend. It was a friend of a friend. Once again, I am getting off track. Pal will do anything for anyone, he is generally a good person, he is loving, kind, caring. Except when it comes to housework.

I may as well ask a cow to fly over the moon…

Image from here

Mother’s Day Blues

**Updated** I’m participating in FlogYoBlog Friday over at Where’s My Glow and this is my favourite post of the week, and also it is Mother’s Day themed which seems appropriate for the Fluffy Slipper Edition. Head on over and check out Glowless’ beautiful/funny/interesting blog and what the hell I am talking about by clicking the button:

FYBF

Mother’s Day is coming up. Usually I’m pretty easy about Mother’s Day. A card, some choccies, maybe a Pandora charm for my bracelet (yes, I am one of those crazy Pandora loving women, buying into mainstream commercialism, bla bla bla, I don’t care, they are shiny and pretty!). If I’m lucky. As you can see, my expectations have been set low the past two years.

This year, though, I am a mother to THREE babies, TWO AND UNDER. I am fully deserving of a fabulous Mother’s Day gift, yes?

I am not naive enough to expect that Pal will do the dishes and the washing and cleaning and cooking and keeping the children happy and quiet while I lay in bed reading a book. He loves me. But not that much. After all, I am not HIS mother.

Cleaning is actual torture for him (it takes him an hour and a half to do one sink of dishes). I’m not sure if I’ve ever told the anecdote of the Infamous I-Need-my-Ipod-To-Do-The-Dishes-Because-It-Is-So-Boring-Even-Though-I-Have-Already-Been-Doing-It-For-30-Minutes episode. But it was hilarious. And made me cry. In a bad way. Because anyone who needs 30 minutes to do the dishes, and then comes in to get their iPod because it is boring and there is STILL MORE TO GO probably deserves a punch in the head. Well, if his name is Paul anyway.
So, yes, there will be no early mark on the chores for me, but if I’m lucky he’ll get me something I actually want, rather than something he wants that he can pass off as something I need (remind me to tell you about the time he bought me suitcases for my birthday because HE needed a suitcase to go to a work meeting).

Anyhoo, here’s my Mother’s Day Wish List (I know you all keep coming back for the lists):

1. An exercise bike. I want to sit my big fat bottom on it, pedal away and pretend I am riding around the lake (it was actually a pond) that I used to live near. It was beautiful and peaceful and warm on a sunny day. And I will listen to MY iPod. I will listen to audio books and my favorite music (which WILL NOT include “Ning Nang Nong”, in case you were wondering). And I will get to do this in 10 minute increments throughout the day until my children notice I am missing. At which point I might pretend I can’t hear them over my iPod. Or perhaps I will purchase some noise reduction ear plugs that match my exercise bike, and then I won’t even hear if my children are missing me.

2. If an exercise bike is not an option, how about the $1500 pram that Pal refused to buy me before we had the twins, that held all three of my children easily and safely. And did not require me to either (a) carry a child on my front or back whilst pushing a double pram, or (b) string a toddler along on a leash behind the pram. I am not against carriers or leashes in general, only when I am required to push a double pram with two other children in it at the same time. I want this pram:

I don’t actually think this is a plausible option, but if you don’t ask you don’t receive, right?

3. A gift voucher for Myer. As Pal knows, recently I ripped a hole in the seam of my very last pair of Publicly Acceptable Pants. I actually managed to rip three pairs in one day. All due to them wearing thin. Then I realised I haven’t bought a new pair of pants since the twins were 8 weeks old. They are nearly one. It’s probably time.

4. A hair cut and style. I have not had my hair cut since the boys were 6 weeks old. Once again, it’s probably time.

5. If Pal can’t find it in his heart to get me anything off this list on behalf of my children, I will accept his letter of resignation as husband OR him doing the dishes without complaint and with a 20 minute deadline. I think he’ll probably have his letter drafted by 10am on Sunday morning…