Washing dishes...

I don't have a dishwasher.  When we planned our house we didn't even make a space for one.  The reason?  I like to wash dishes.

In my family the cooking gene and the dish washing gene skipped a generation.  My mom and Andy's mom were wonderful cooks.  My daughter takes after them.  I, on the other hand, raised Nina on Rice-A-Roni and Chef Boy-ar-dee.  She must have thought that all meals came in a box or a can for a long time.  But now she cooks up a storm and makes delicious meals for her own family.

I came by my love of dish washing honestly.  As a very small girl, probably four or five, my mother would put an apron on me and stand me in a chair at the sink.  And I would wash all the dishes.  I really enjoyed it.  Made me feel like a big girl.

When I played with my dolls I always washed the dishes that I used.  I dried them with a little towel and hung the towel out to dry on a miniature clothesline.  My grandmother was proud of me.  I told her that I could hardly wait to have my own house and children and then I could wash dishes all the time.

My mother disliked cleaning up the kitchen more than anyone I have every known.  She had good reason for this aversion.  Her older sister Rosa would come home from college with new recipes that she wanted to try.  According to my mom, Rosa would dirty every dish in the kitchen and then call my mom in from play to clean up the mess.  My mom was very creative.  She would go upstairs and hide in a closet and read magazines while Rosa called and called her to come and clean up the mess.

I guess early training helps to make household tasks easier.  If you are raised to clean and wash and make the beds, perhaps it will stick with you as you grow up.

So bring on the dishes.  No matter how many or how few, I'm the person to wash them.