So this evening I set out to make dinner in a VERY messy kitchen. With Roo’s new mobility, getting much of anything done has been pretty difficult. As we struggle to find the “new normal”, we plod along getting as much done as possible. So the laundry is done, but the dishes? Haha.
I needed a large pot to cook up some orzo pilaf, but I was TOTALLY SHOCKED to find it caked with marinara sauce from dinner last night. I put it in the sink to soak for 10 minutes or so while I set about playing on Twitter tidying up the living room. Vio had been in the kitchen trying to “help me” with the dishes, and I left her at the sink stirring the water in the soaking pot with a big spoon. (This activity? I don’t know why I don’t think of it ALL THE TIME. She freaking loves stirring dirty sink water with a big spoon.)
After a few minutes, I noticed it was REALLY QUIET. I ventured into the kitchen, peeking between my fingers, afraid of what I might encounter. What I saw was this:
She was WASHING DISHES. And not just the one dish, like I originally thought (and reported to Twitter, because that is so the first thing all the rest of you would do too, DON’T LIE). She did a whole sink full of dishes.
Seriously? I could eat up this cuteness. But where did the dishes come from? SURELY they came from the counter overflowing with disgustingness:
No? Let’s check elsewhere.
Ah, there we have it. They came from the dishwasher. The dishwasher that was sitting open because I ran it this afternoon, and I was letting everything air dry. My freshly cleaned dishes were all coated in soapy marinara water.
Also coated in marinara water? Vio, her clothing, the floor.
And yet … I’m pretty sure I’ve never been more proud. (Also? I blogged this so I can show it to her when she’s 12 and thinks doing dishes is SO TOTALLY LAME, MOM. GOD.)