If It Can’t Go In The Dishwasher Or Washing Machine? I Don’t Want It!

Call me crazy but if it’s dry clean only? Pass.

If it can’t go in the dishwasher? Pass.

When I first became a mom, I was the Director of Development at a small private school. I worked with the movers and shakers and I had to dress the part. That meant suits, linen dresses, silk scarves.

After a set of sticky fingers and the first spit-up on my delicate clothes I came up with a new rule: No dry clean only clothes allowed in my closet or on my body. Ever. (Or at least until the kids are out of the house…which means when I’m 58 and who knows what will be fashionable then) Firm in my no-dry-clean rule, I thought I had it all covered.

Then today, I read an article online called 5 Things You Should Never Put in the Dishwasher. I was intrigued.

Wood – Seriously? The dishwasher is my friend. It sterilizes everything. Every. Little. Thing. My kid’s toys. Cups. Silverware. Including my wooden spoons. Of course I wouldn’t put my beautiful teak salad bowl in the dishwasher. Wait a minute. What teak salad bowl? Oh, that’s right. I have kids. I can’t afford a beautiful teak salad bowl. That bowl on the left? $124.99! For a salad bowl. My cheap all-purpose bowl will just have to do.

Knives – Apparently, knives in your dishwasher will get chipped and dull. Now, I know this. I just choose to ignore it. Who out there hand washes all of your knives? Raise your hands. Higher. I can’t see you. Oh, wait. There’s one knife washer, there in the back. With quite a few band aids on those fingers. See? You should be using the dishwasher like the rest of us.

Crystal/Hand Blown Glass – I purposely put the crystal from my first marriage in the dishwasher hoping something will happen to it. Apparently, having stuff from your first marriage in your second marriage is bad feng shui. But I can’t bear to toss out perfectly good crystal. So, I put it in the dishwasher. Darn it. Those suckers are here to stay.

Pots/Pans – Are you kidding me? The amount of pots and pans I can go through in a given day? And if the kids are “helping” me? My husband “helps,” too. As in, “cleaning” the kitchen when I cook. And his idea of  “cleaning” the kitchen is loading the dishwasher. (I’m using an awful lot of quotes in this paragraph. Sorry. But they’re totally necessary.) Everything that isn’t nailed down goes in the dishwasher. Including the pots and pans. And I’m not complaining or telling him any differently. If I did, then I’d have to wash pots and pans. By hand. All. By. Myself. After I put away the leftovers, wiped down the counter, stove, table and chairs, and swept the floor. Basically, cleaned (no quotes necessary) the kitchen. So, no. Thank you.

Gold Trim – ? ? ? Really? Gold? Real gold? Isn’t that for display only?

I’ll never forget when we bought our entertainment center and my husband was mortified that in one of the cute little cubby drawers I put wipes and about 5 disposable (clean, of course) diapers in there. It was hidden. And it was convenient. Quick change. No need to run upstairs. He thanked me after about a day.

You have kids, your life changes. Completely. In every aspect.

So, say no to dry-clean and hand-wash only. We need all the help we can get.

Help! I Have Houseguests and I Can’t Run Away!

We’ve been entertaining since before Christmas. We’re on our second set of houseguests.

The first set was helpful. They loaded the dishwasher and hand washed dishes after I cooked. 

The second set? Let’s just say we have a different set of cleaning standards. And they’re the ones who are staying the longest.

There are  now seven children in our home.

I want my house back!

I love my family. I really, really do. But the chaos. I just want it to end.

But it was only a dream…………..sigh.

Only 2 more days.

(Happy New Year. I would add an exclamation mark but I don’t want to be too loud. I’m sending you this while hiding in my closet, said in a whisper so nobody finds me. I can still hear them all outside my door. I wonder how long it will take them to find me. Please send peace, quiet and chocolate.)

Some Things Are More Important

I read a post yesterday by Kristen over at Motherese that reminded me of a great lesson I learned years ago before children. My mother was obsessively clean. One day, I came home from a date. We had gone to a basketball game at the local university and when he dropped me off at home my mother was down at the street scrubbing the curb with a scrub brush. I raced past her into the house, knowing my date had noticed but pretending I didn’t know her. When it was safe to venture outside I asked her, “Why are you scrubbing the curb?” She told me that it was dirty. I laughed and said, “That’s what street cleaners (the big trucks – not the people!) are for.”

She said, with a straight face and all honesty, “But they don’t do a good enough job.”

That, my friends, is what I grew up with. Our house always looked like we were expecting royalty. Everything scrubbed. Everything shiny. Anything with the slightest bit of wear was tossed and replaced. I vowed never to be like that.

And then, I moved out on my own.

I lived with roommates during college and it drove me crazy. They would leave dishes in the sink. Never vacuum. The bathroom? Ick.

I could finally afford my own place. Heaven.

I had a place for everything and everything in its place. Before I moved in I scrubbed like I’ve never scrubbed before. From that moment on, every speck of dirt was mine. And I’d would always clean it before it could set up permanent residence.

During my neat freak days I married – another fellow neat freak – and we lived happily. And then I met Erin. We had so much in common. We were like long-lost sisters. We read the same books. We both taught at the same school. We went to movies and school functions together.

One Saturday, our plans changed. Her husband had to go into the office and couldn’t watch the kids. Would I like to come over to her house? Sure. We could visit while the kids played. I had never been to her home before. She had toddler twins and our excuse was always to get her out of the house.

I showed up. Punctual. (That trait came along with my tidiness) I knocked on the door. “Come in!” a voice called from inside. I walked in. The side door that I entered brought me almost immediately into the kitchen. To say I saw a mess would be an understatement. Dishes piled sky-high. Spatters on the wall. I smelled syrup and, sure enough, the mess resembled breakfast made by 3 year olds. I stuck to the floor.

“Over here!” she called from the family room. I tiptoed through the mess. There she was, sitting in the middle of the floor, with two little cherubs on either side of her. They were swimming in a sea of every book they owned. There wasn’t a place for me to step. I stood at the doorway, confused. As I had been gingerly tiptoeing through her home I was thinking, am I here on the wrong day? wrong time? This is the first time I’ve come to your home. You’d think she’s pick up a little.

My thoughts were interrupted. “I’m sorry about the mess, ” Erin said, “But every since these little angels arrived, ” and she kissed them each on top of the head, “I’ve learned that there are some things that are more important.”

From that moment on – I was cured.

(Oops! I almost forgot. Happy Hanukkah to all my friends who celebrate this wonderful holiday!)