Like these past three weeks, for instance.
It all started when I left the house one Friday morning without washing the dishes. I should never do this again, but I probably will at some point. We were leaving for Rockford to visit Nathan's family and celebrate his father, George's, birthday. Nathan writes on Fridays and Olivia has an Ecology class that we three ladies attend (Elsie chews blocks, mostly), so our morning time was pretty hectic. This, coupled with the fact that the house was a bit messy as we had been in Ohio the previous weekend for my brother's wedding... the sum result was a rush to leave while Elsie was asleep and dirty dishes in the sink.
I ended up staying a few extra days in Rockford to work on my sister-in-law's wedding dress, while Nathan came back home to go to work. I returned only to find those same dishes in the sink. I refused to wash them, justifying this with the fact that I had two children to watch and other people had been home without ANY children - plus, I recall that I had cooked the meal that those dishes house which, in our house (ideally), means that someone else gets to wash the dishes.
As if passive resistance ever works in the chore war. They lay there, mouldering, while we again whisked off to Rockford, this time to help Bahiyyih move her belongings into her new house.
We all came back together this time, and returned home to be greeted by those same dirty dishes. Seeing that they were not going to wash themselves (hope as I might), I dug in and violently washed every single one of them. Our counter was full of clean dishes.
Which stayed there for less than a week, at least. I'm going to go put away the last ones right now.
No one eat anything else, please, unless there are no utensils involved.
1 comment:
It's too bad your dishes didn't run away with your spoons. That would have solved the problem.
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