Dishwashers

So, I've figured out this whole blogging thing - why I like it. I'm assuming you're like me, having random, semi-interesting thoughts or reminiscences throughout your day but never taking the time to really think about those things because they're quickly over-run with all the other demands on your time. Blogging is a way, or an excuse rather, to capture those thoughts (even if, like me, you might have to do it on paper sometimes :-)) so you can write about them later . . . oh, and more importantly, give birth to them and send them out into the universe where no one can argue with you! I digress, however; this morning I was thinking about a little plaque that used to sit over my Mimi's sink. You've probably heard or read the poem before. The most recognizable part of it goes, "Thank God for dirty dishes, they have a tale to tell. While others may go hungry, we're eating very well." It came into my mind because I was in my usual spot this morning, enjoying my coffee time, staring at the dishes in the kitchen which are taunting me, daring me to get out of my chair and just try to NOT do something constructive. I suspect there are a lot of people, moms in particular, who can relate to my coffee time. It's that time of the morning, after having hit the ground running much too early to get breakfast and pack lunches made, feeding the baby and the cats, finally sitting down to enjoy the meal you made (which is now cold, by the way), only to find that the family you had hoped to spend time with at the table is simultaneously wiping their mouths, shouting the obligatory "thank you for breakfast" and leaving you at the table alone while their own lives whisk them off into different directions. I know this is the plight of many moms, since I've witnessed it happen with most of the moms in my life, but I've learned to make the most of this alone time, at least after breakfast, because there's coffee time to look forward to. For a moment, I can block out the baby who's got to be getting bored of playing with the toys in his high chair by now, the kitty who's nuzzling my arm certain there must be some dairy products somewhere on the table I can share, (the same kitty who just left a nice hairball-induced mess that needs cleaning up to add to my chores for the day), oh, and the DISHES, while I nurse a monstrous cup of coffee until I've drained every last bit of the sludge from the bottom. It's coffee time. This, ladies and gentlemen, is where the magic happens. Whilst sipping my coffee, I answer the great philosophical questions about love and life, solve the world's hunger problem, and calculate just how long the pan that's been sitting on the stove since yesterday will need to soak to get all the grits off without having to scrub. Today this magical time is consumed with thoughts of my Mimi. Maybe it's because my baby reminds me so much of her . . . or maybe it's the aforementioned grits since I enjoyed many grits-related meals with her over the years. Maybe it's because I'm thinking about how many times I watched her wash dishes while I ran off to watch TV and it's making me a little less resentful of the task that awaits. After all, I'm bigger than they are and I can take 'em, no problem. So today, I'm thanking God for my dirty dishes, the food on my table and in my family's bellies, for fond memories of my Mimi . . . and for dishwashers.