Run The Dishwasher Twice - a purloined article

 Note from Pamela:  I did NOT write this.  Yet I find it so thought-provoking that I want to put it here. 

To my followers, if you're ever having a bad day, remember there are no rules, just the ones set by God.  The unspoken ruless existing in your head don't have to be followed.  Read this:

RUN THE DISHWASHER TWICE.

"When I was at one of my lowest (mental) points in life, I couldn’t get out of bed some days. I had no energy or motivation and was barely getting by.

I had therapy once per week, and on this particular week I didn’t have much to ‘bring’ to the session. He asked how my week was and I really had nothing to say.

“What are you struggling with?” he asked.

I gestured around me and said “I dunno man. Life.”

Not satisfied with my answer, he said “No, what exactly are you worried about right now? What feels overwhelming? When you go home after this session, what issue will be staring at you?”

I knew the answer, but it was so ridiculous that I didn’t want to say it.

I wanted to have something more substantial.

Something more profound.

But I didn’t.

So I told him, "Honestly? The dishes. It's stupid, I know, but the more I look at them the more I CAN’T do them because I’ll have to scrub them before I put them in the dishwasher, because the dishwasher sucks, and I just can’t stand and scrub the dishes.”

I felt like an idiot even saying it.

What kind of grown-ass woman is undone by a stack of dishes? There are people out there with *actual* problems, and I’m whining to my therapist about dishes?

But, my therapist nodded in understanding and then said:

“RUN THE DISHWASHER TWICE.”

I began to tell him that you’re not supposed to, but he stopped me.

“Why the hell aren’t you supposed to? If you don’t want to scrub the dishes and your dishwasher sucks, run it twice. Run it three times, who cares?! Rules do not exist, so stop giving yourself rules.”

It blew my mind in a way that I don’t think I can properly express.

That day, I went home and tossed my smelly dishes haphazardly into the dishwasher and ran it three times.

I felt like I had conquered a dragon.

The next day, I took a shower lying down.

A few days later, I folded my laundry and put it wherever the fuck they fit.

There were no longer arbitrary rules I had to follow, and it gave me the freedom to make accomplishments again.

Now that I’m in a healthier place, I rinse off my dishes and put them in the dishwasher properly. I shower standing up. I sort my laundry.

But, at a time when living was a struggle instead of a blessing, I learned an incredibly important lesson:

THERE ARE NO RULES.

RUN THE DISHWASHER TWICE!!!"

Author unknown

KAYLEE'S LUNCHTIME HORRORS

 The little thing was explosive and chattering away like an offended monkey.  

She parked her little 8 y.o. body right behind the bus driver, my hubby, and kept up a stream of irratated verbiage.

He says he couldn't hear all of it, there were other sounds -- heater fan, students jabbers -- so he only heard snippets, maybe a third; but enough to piece together Kaylee's lunchtime horrors.

Kaylee usually sits with the girls.  Today she had to sit with the boys.  And Boaz was "di-sgusting".  Yes, the way she said it, you have to put the syllable break right after the "di".

"Boaz was di-sgusting!"

"He took the lid off of his applesauce cup and licked it with his tongue.  Di-sgusting!"

"Then he burped his ABC's!  Di-sgusting!"

The other boys at the table kept saying, "Chug.  Chug.  Chug."  "He chugged his milk and it came out his nose.  Di-sgusting!"

Hubby bus driver suggested to her, "I think he likes you."

Instantly, affronted, "Ew, I hope I never have to sit there again.  Di-sgusting!"

"Just Get A Toy Out Of The Tote!"

"Shoot!"  I can't find it!

I dropped my white framed glasses.  When I retrived them from under the table where I'd been addressing birthday cards, the left lens was missing.  "Shoot!  Now I'm going to have to get down on my hands and knees like a fat fluffy St. Bernard sniffing and nudging snow."  Near-sighted, I am, you know.

"Can't find it!"  I'll wait until DH, darling hubby, comes home to see if he can see it.  Or when I sweep maybe it'll make a chinking sound.

Nevermind. It came to me.  

I've been babysitting Miss Lilly and Master Jacob.  He's only been walking a few weeks but he's a master.  He goes fast, he goes high, he goes low, and he's strong.  He can push, or pull anything.  "Jacob!  Just get a toy out of the tote!  You don't need to pull the whole tote out into the middle of the floor, baby."

Speaking of strong, well I wasn't, I was speaking of his love of clear crystal, but for now I'll speak of strong.  We've lived here since 1987, that makes it....uh...33 years.  When we bought the house it came with a phone jack almost in every room - bedrooms, den, living room, kitchen, and yes, even the bathroom.  You and I know those white square connectors on the wall are for landline phones.  Yet,  I have to explain.  The younger generation will one day hold it up and say, "Name that tool.  Prizes awarded for best guess."

Anyway, a white phone jack had been screwed into the baseboard, beside my computer desk, since the house's creation in 1973.  It survived 6 boys from birth to wi-fi modem; from wrecking Crash Dummy cars, to coverage from flung Tommy Hilfiger t-shirts. 

Today, 2020, almost 50 years later, death and destruction.  Not only did Master Jacob yank that jack off the wall, he drug it 3 feet into the middle of the family room!  "Stro-ong BOY!"  

Remember that one?  "Stro-ong BOY!"  Strong Boy was an animated character in the cartoon Mighty Heroes in the 60's.  Anyway, I digress.

Master Jacob was walking by with tightly pursed lips.  "Ut-oh!"  I went fishing.  Yep, he had a crystal in his mouth.  One of those tear drop light catchers that dangle from lamps.  Evidently, he'd yanked one from the bedroom lamp.  I never did find the little wire that kept it connected to that lamp.  That's another, "Ut-oh!"

Later, instead of stuffing the newest object in his mouth, he silently toddled up to my knees and handed me a clear cap to a spray bottle.  "Sheesh, where'd you get that, little guy?"  Another mystery.  None of my bottles are missing caps.  

So, what?  What?  Do these things come to him at the snap of a finger like Samantha of Bewitched?

And then it came to me.  I didn't have to meditate, I didn't have to seek the Good Lord, I didn't have to ask DH to get on all fours, my memory wasn't recalling either, it just came to me.

He was bright eyed, he was happy, he was talking jibberish, and he was slobbering.  He pouted his lips, he reached into his mouth, he pulled it out, and he handed it to me.  

He handed it to me as if he was giving me a tortilla chip dripping salsa.  I gladly accepted, slobbers and all, "MY LENS!  Jacob!  Where'd you find it?"

One day he's gonna flex his biceps, fists up, and open his mouth to speak.  With a lisp we'll hear, " 'tho-ong BOY!"

Sons Shaking & Shaking Spices

"La cu-ca-ra-cha, La cu-ca-ra-cha!"  You can sing it, "La cu-ca-ra-cha, La cu-ca-ra-cha!", and, picture it.  Here he comes!  At shoulder heightl, he's shaking maracas!  

Short, stout, young, excited, using newly found walking legs he comes stepping around the corner of the kitchen's pony wall happily shaking a pair of spice jars, one in each hand.  Spice jars?  Yes, spice jars.  The peppercorns and mustard seeds make great rattles for one happy little toddler.

This wasn't Master Jacob's first foray into my cupboards.  Earlier he pulled out a couple bottles of vinegar and rolled them this way and that like rolling pins on dough.  I figured he was thirsty 'cause he picked up one and upended it like a bottle of milk.  Shew, still screwed!  He hasn't mastered removing a cap yet!

With a sippy cup of water from GrammyPam, Jacob stayed sitting there patting a vinegar bottle like a pet dog.

This isn't my first repurcussion for switching cabinet contents.  Where Jacob found the spices is where I used to keep pots and pans.  A few years back, I switched them.  Clinton, Jacob's dad, was still living at home and upset at the time.

For many months after, he would complain, "22 years the cereal's been in the pantry!  22 years!"  ROFL.  Even though today he has his own home and family he's just now getting used to my switch.  

This day he looked at his son Jacob, looked at me, and shook his head.  Jacob can shake his spice, Clinton can shake his head, but I'm a mind reader, and I could read his thoughts, ROFL, "22 years!  22 years!"

"Everybody! Maracas high!  Sing it, "La cu-ca-ra-cha, la cu-ca-ra-cha"!