My dishwasher is great. All I need to do is slip the cups and glasses in, insert a pillow of detergent and turn it on. Then they come out clean.
Except.
The other day I unloaded it, putting bowls in their spot, spatulas in theirs, knives in another. As I placed the last dish on a shelf I noticed. The
digital clock told me it was only fifty seven minutes into the cycle. Bother.
That meant that some thoughtful person had opened it while it was running to add one more spoon. But when they shut it it did not quite snap. I had just emptied the still dirty dishes in with the clean ones.
I retraced my steps and reloaded them back in the racks, trying to remember what I had not actually paid much attention to three minutes before. Who
takes roll call on forks?
It would not be fatal if someone ate off of an unrinsed plate, but neither would it be pleasant. Letting the process finish completely is preferable.
A friend was venting to me about her teenager. She wanted him to be more responsible. Show up for family chores. Clean his room. Reasonable wishes, I grant you.
Except.
He is not done growing up.
The story is mid cycle. All the swishing around and messiness is part of the process.
When our family gathered for a week two summers ago my children did more cooking than me. Most meals they excused me from doing dishes, and went shopping every day while I swung on a porch swing.
Is there anything sweeter than that?
