dish washing extravaganza

I have been noticing these last few weeks that I have been avoiding my blog because there wasn't any thing exciting enough to write about....Silly-ness! From now on, I plan to write at least one blog a month about the very mundane things of life! Here is your first installment.

DISHES

When my Dad did dishes in our home, growing up, Mom always left the kitchen. This was because her blood pressure rose at the sight of his precariously leaning towers of plates and bowls, saucers and coffee mugs. He believed his efficiency grew out of his system of piza tower-like organization. And as far as I can recall, he was completely successful.

We children were also banned from the kitchen when Dad did the dishes. This came after a series of personal dish-washing disasters, which involved the largest serving bowl and an especially cacophonous fall of dessert plates from a great height. I think my Mom hoped that this would nip our attempts at imitating his impossible feats in the bud. Unfortunately, it is in our blood, and my brothers and I have all been working at perfecting our skills ever since.

I got lots of practice last weekend--and even if I have inherited the trait honestly, I must admit that I was especially proud of the sheer number of dishes I fit into our drain rack. (Jonathan calls these creations of mine 'little dish bombs waiting to explode', since something always falls when he tries to put the dishes away!)


And, now you have pictorial evidence of what happens to our kitchen when we go a whole week without hand-washing our dishes. I'm sure we have set a record!