The Dishwasher

I went to the dishwasher and opened it slowly. With a two and a half year old and an 18 month old, you never know what you’ll find when you open the dishwasher to unload it. This day wasn’t too bad. I only found a sheriff car stuffed in the box where the silverware goes. What you find in the dishwasher can never be as bad as what shows up in the dryer, however. A blue crayon or new tube of chapstick does much more damage to a load of white clothes than a small metal car can do to a plate.

So I called for Cody and Isabella to come help me empty the dish washer like I do every day. Or three or four times a day, depending on how many loads of dishes I end up doing. Today was not unusual. The two toddlers came running in, excited and ready to help.

We always start with the silverware, because if I’m not watching, the silverware can quickly become more than just eating utensils. Cody thinks everything should be a weapon of some sort. I never knew how destructive a seemingly innocent butter knife could be until it got in the hands of a curious two year old. So far I’ve managed to keep it away from anything that could be destroyed too badly by it… like Isabella’s eyes. But I have had to use the phrase, “We NEVER use silverware to fight” more than I ever expected.

After the silverware is safely stored in the highest drawer, we move on to the plates and cups and other various dishware items. I have to move fast here too. If I don’t, I often find one of my nicest glassware pieces hanging precariously from little Isabella’s pinky finger, or one of my nice plates balanced on top of Cody’s head.

We finished up the job with minimal damage, and moved on to another activity. Later in the evening I went to set the table and noticed that there were no serving spoons in the silverware tray. After looking for several minutes in all the drawers I could think of, Cody waltzed into the kitchen, gave a little bow, and said, “Here you go my lady,” as he handed me the entire supply of large spoons that had apparently been resting in the back of his fire truck/ bicycle that he rides around the kitchen terrorizing Isabella by threatening to run over her little toes. It’s never done in anger or cruelty, he just thinks it’s funny to watch her run for her life and yell like there is a snarling Rottweiler behind her.

By this time, you’re probably asking why I would ever let my two little children help me empty the dishwasher. By this time, I’m actually asking myself the same question.