As a family of six, I run my dishwasher everyday.
Sometimes, twice a day.
But at least once a day, my house is filled with the quiet hum of yucky dishes being turned into sparkly dishes.
I am thankful for a dishwasher.
But I hate that thing.
Because every morning, right after hobbling down the stairs and donning my hat as short order cook ("Hot cakes right up!" "Oatmeal's ready!" "Cereal with blue milk instead of red milk, coming your way!") I have to empty the dishwasher.
So my morning goes like this:
-Slide out of bed at 5:45
-Have my arse handed to me by some ultra-fit Wii Nazi who thinks squat holds are a grand way to start the morning
-Cook for the troops
-Empty the dishwasher
And every day it's the same.
Since I have this little game I play with myself each morning, aptly called Can I Have The Whole Kitchen Cleaned Up Before The Carpool Charade Begins, I hate, HATE, leaving the house in the morning with an unclean kitchen. If I have to come home to grimy counters and a sink full of dishes, I might as well just crawl back into bed right then and there.
I. HATE. IT.
So this morning, when I began the dance of all mothers-in-the-morning, I opened the dishwasher, prepared for the worst, and found the best present ever.
It was already empty.
And waiting for all my dirty dishes.
Some little elf did that yucky little job for me and in turn, my day is off to a kicking start. I'm thrilled. Overjoyed. Completely ready to tackle the day ahead which is great, because it's a doozer.
It's silly, really, how something so small can make such a huge difference in my mood. But it did. And it does. And I'm ready to take on the world.