Yesterday we all enjoyed a moment of levity, which was helpful in a week of sickness drudgery around the house.
It all began when I asked the 6- and 8-year-olds to clean up the kitchen from lunch. Typically, the 2- and 4-year-olds are fading fast during lunch, so I leave the kitchen a disaster area while I get them down for nap and Quiet Time. Then I return and spend at least 20 minutes of my beloved Quiet Time cleaning the kitchen; meanwhile, my perfectly capable Big Kids have been playing and romping around, leaving a big mess for others to repair--their understanding being nobody's fault but mine.
Yesterday it occurred to me (probably because I've been reading "Pioneer Girl") that they could make a lot of progress cleaning the kitchen while I was gone.
"Children, while I'm upstairs with the littles, I'd like you to clean up the kitchen as best you can, please. That means putting away the food, like peanut butter jars. Stack all dirty dishes in the sink for me. Wipe the table, sweep the floor. Be sure that you're both working, I don't want to hear that one child did it all!"
|Too many suds|
I returned and the kitchen really did look a lot better.
My 6-year-old was trying to hand wash the dishes and I noticed the dishwasher was running. I remarked that the dishwasher was practically empty and the new dirty dishes should be loaded into it--and why was it running anyway?
My helpful children, who have never been trained to run the dishwasher, had loaded it with Palmolive dish washing soap and turned it on.
Of course, it filled up with masses of bubbles, prompting me not to scream but to fall into the kind of hilarious laughter that results from exhaustion of cleaning up children's sick bodily expulsions all week.
I couldn't even deal with trying to figure out what to do, so called my husband in his business meeting--this is why I'd never have made a military wife--and he said he'd figure it out. He called me back and told me to soak up all the remaining Palmolive with paper towels, then run a few loads with white vinegar. (Full instructions can be found here.)
All's well that ends well.