... where family is the source of humor!

Cool Waters by Carol Wells

Help Wanted: Currently seeking to hire one or two dishwashing elves. Flexible schedule and nice benefits package. Shoemaking skills an additional asset. Please submit resume to Carol Wells' oldest daughter.

I admit that some household chores can bring about a bit of procrastination in tending to them. Martha Stewart would have a full time job just shaking her head woefully in my direction. I also seriously doubt that Better Homes & Gardens will show up on my doorstep - unless doing a humorous "before and after" shoot, with another couple's home as the 'after'.

Let's face it, laundry is more helpless than a baby is. At least the baby grows and learns how to crawl then walk. Laundry just sits there, waiting for you to pick it up to carry it to the washer. Otherwise, it will remain sitting there in the hamper. If it did start moving ... then you have waited too long.

No matter how hard I wish or advanced technology currently is, the dirty plates do not take themselves from the table straight to the sink. The time I could save if they did! However, alas, the plates and silverware wait patiently on the tabletop awaiting someone to pick them up. My theory is they saw how the laundry has 'it made in the shade' and figured what is good for the jeans and t-shirts is good enough for them.

Families with children under the roof eventually start assigning those children chores around the house. Being from a divorced family, my oldest child did not have to do dishes at her father's home. However, her stepfather did not feel this permanently excused her from doing a load or two of dishes on her days off from work. My daughter nodded her head as he informed her of this and said she would not mind taking a couple of turns doing this household chore.

So far, so good ... right? The problem seems to be that three people, the daughter, her mother, and her stepfather, had different viewpoints on how one could do dishes.

First off, she attempted to get out of doing several of the glasses; her hands - so she claimed - could not fit in well enough to clean them. Ok, I let her off the hook on that one. After all, it was a good excuse! I went out and bought her one of those handy little brushes just for washing glasses.

This worked out until my then 5-year-old son thought we had the brush in the wrong place and helpfully put it in with the toilet brush. We theorized he might have also attempted to use it as a toilet cleaning brush. Perhaps he thought we were treating him to a child-sized version. Whatever it was that he thought the brush remained relegated for bathroom use only, which helped his sister once again fob off on doing the smaller cups and glasses due to her hand size.

If it was merely a few glasses used as excuses, my husband or I may not have forced the issue as long as the other dishes were done. Now please notice, we only asked her to wash the dishes once, maybe twice, a week. We also only wanted her to do this particular chore on her days off from work so it isn't as if we were being evil parental folks who chained her nightly to the sink's pipes until she had washed the dishes. I doubt that method would have different results anyway.

I am a procrastinator, I confess. I can stall off on doing something around the house if I can find something to divert my attention. This may be a genetic thing, as my daughter can seem to forget about the dishes ever existing after she takes the last bite of food off a plate.

My husband wondered if she optimistically hoped the shoemaker's elves would decide to change occupations and, as a lark or a bonus, become our dishwashing elves. After a few weeks, he shared with her the fact dishwashing elves nor fairies existed; at least, they did not in our home. She sighed, getting her stepfather's actual message as she excused herself from an online conversation with a simplistic, "I have to go do the dishes. Back in a little bit."

This was at 7:30 PM. At 9:30 PM, her stepfather looked curiously at me. At 10:30 PM, we both looked at her curiously. "Hon, I know it takes time to do dishes by hand - but it's been three hours now and there weren't a lot of dishes," I said more so than asked.

"The water's too hot," she replied. "So I am letting them soak a little longer."

"Well, I did tell her to let the plates and pans soak for a few before washing them," I commented to Frank in her defense. Then I looked back at her, "But when I said 'a few', I was thinking more like 10 to 15 minutes. Not an hour or longer."

"Good thing dishes aren't human, talk about getting wrinkled skin and looking like a prune from sitting in water after this amount of time," Frank said, albeit sarcastically. "I can understand soaking them a little before washing, but this is getting ridiculous!"

Her head bowed, "I am going to do them."

"Oh that we know you will," I replied. "If you think dawdling will get you out of doing the dishes, think again. They will be done before you go to bed."

"They will be," she replied with a teen-ager's style whine to the words.

"When," Frank asked. "I mean it is over 3 hours now, and you have washed only a couple of glasses…"

"I can't get my hands into the smaller ones and the glass brush became a toilet brush!"

"Ok," he replied, "you have said that before, and I will not force you to try to fit your hands into the smaller glasses, but outside of the few glasses you have done and some silverware, none of the other dishes are done. By the time, you let this load soak, you will need to drain the water out and pour a fresh batch - then what? Another round of soaking while waiting for the water to cool off?"

"You guys are picking on me," she tried to change the moment from lecture to joking around with each other.

"Yes, we are," I replied. "Think of it this way; what we are saying to you now is great tutorial material for you down the road when you may be trying to get one of your own children to do the dishes. It has been three hours, and you are not getting back online or going to bed until the dishes are done. Not half, not one third of them - but all."

She knew the jig was up; no getting out of doing the dishes as Fate had decreed she would be doing dishes that evening. She went back to the kitchen and emerged an hour later to proclaim - a tad bit grumpily - that she had finished all the dishes, with the exception of the smaller glasses.

Happily, she slid back into the computer chair and typed in, "I'm back! Just finished dishes!"

"It took you five hours to do dishes? How many dishes did you have to do?"

"Oh hush up," she rapidly typed back.

I looked over her shoulder and saw the conversation snippet. I couldn't help it, I cracked up laughing. Let me explain that it was not because of someone else commenting about the time length spent on doing dishes - but who noticed.

She sometimes converses, online, with a young male coworker. They can chat for hours - I think mainly because he likes to multitask while holding online conversations. It is not an uncommon occurrence for us to observe her patiently wait 15 to 20 minutes for him to respond back to something said.

Frank and I refer to their online conversations as "monitor staring contests." She types in something and waits - and waits - and waits for his reply. Once his reply appears, she quickly types in a response, and begins the waiting game again. Frank does not think the young man understands the concept about instant messaging and, ironically, this was person who noticed that my daughter had taken more than a fair amount of time to do the dishes.

"For once, he had to stare at the monitor waiting on you," I laughed.

"Stop it, Mom! It's not funny!"

I don't know. I still think it was.

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