"I don't want to have to wash any dishes, so from now on, drink straight from the faucet or milk carton."
There can be a large gap between what Abbie wants, and what Abbie gets. For example, Abbie wants to go outside; Abbie gets to watch me take the trash out through the screen door. Abbie wants more Goldfish in her dish, or better yet, someone to hold the bag over her mouth and gently shake them directly into her gullet, saving her time and effort; Abbie gets told “no.” Abbie wants the boys’ pacifiers; Abbie gets them as soon as I turn my back.
I’m locked in a power struggle with Abbie sometimes. She’s usually a sweet little girl, content to play nicely as long as I’m devoting full attention to her. As soon as I do something frivolous, like changing a boy’s diaper, she sets off to find new limits to push. One of her current favorite limits is playing with the contents of our dish drying rack.
Despite owning a dishwasher, I still hand wash dishes twice a day. A lot of children’s dishes don’t really fit in the dishwasher, specifically bottle parts. Other children’s dishes aren’t dishwasher safe, possibly because they’re made by the same people who make children’s clothes with cleaning labels that say things like “hand wash only,” “lay flat to dry,” and “wash with like colors” even though the garment contains bright hued versions of every known primary and secondary colors plus a few other shades previously thought to be purely theoretical. I use the rack to hold these dishes, plus anything that comes out of the dishwasher wet. Our dishwasher does a poor job drying things, especially those sippy cups it blasts into an open-end-facing-up position.
Most of the dishes in the rack are Abbie’s dishes, and she knows it. She loves playing with her dishes, and by “playing with” I mean “chewing on,” or at least “slobbering all over.” After playing with them, they inevitably end up on the floor, in the dirty sink, or in another location that defeats the purpose of washing them.
Ordinarily when I want to put something off-limits, I move it to an inaccessible location, but that’s not an option here. By definition, the drying rack has to stay adjacent to the sink so the excess water can drip into the sink instead of ruining the important papers that we foolishly pile next to it, so I can’t move it to higher ground. I can push it away from the edge and closer to the wall so she can’t reach it from the floor, but she’s frighteningly adept at reaching it by climbing into the high chairs and booster seat we keep in the kitchen. It is physically impossible to simultaneously position all three climbable chairs in our tiny kitchen in a location beyond an Abbie arm reach away from the rack. Even if we somehow manage to find that perfect arrangement where Abbie can’t easily reach into the rack from a chair, she knows how to slide the chair next to the counter.
With prevention mostly ruled out, I’m keeping an eye on her to keep the dishes clean. When she leaves my sight, I listen to her to make sure she’s only doing approved activities, like reading or chasing the dog. When I’m changing a diaper, I change it fast so I can get back into the kitchen before too many sippy cup valves go through her mouth. When I take the trash out, I make sure she watches me longingly through the screen door during my entire walk to the dumpster.
I’m locked in a power struggle with Abbie sometimes. She’s usually a sweet little girl, content to play nicely as long as I’m devoting full attention to her. As soon as I do something frivolous, like changing a boy’s diaper, she sets off to find new limits to push. One of her current favorite limits is playing with the contents of our dish drying rack.
Despite owning a dishwasher, I still hand wash dishes twice a day. A lot of children’s dishes don’t really fit in the dishwasher, specifically bottle parts. Other children’s dishes aren’t dishwasher safe, possibly because they’re made by the same people who make children’s clothes with cleaning labels that say things like “hand wash only,” “lay flat to dry,” and “wash with like colors” even though the garment contains bright hued versions of every known primary and secondary colors plus a few other shades previously thought to be purely theoretical. I use the rack to hold these dishes, plus anything that comes out of the dishwasher wet. Our dishwasher does a poor job drying things, especially those sippy cups it blasts into an open-end-facing-up position.
Most of the dishes in the rack are Abbie’s dishes, and she knows it. She loves playing with her dishes, and by “playing with” I mean “chewing on,” or at least “slobbering all over.” After playing with them, they inevitably end up on the floor, in the dirty sink, or in another location that defeats the purpose of washing them.
Ordinarily when I want to put something off-limits, I move it to an inaccessible location, but that’s not an option here. By definition, the drying rack has to stay adjacent to the sink so the excess water can drip into the sink instead of ruining the important papers that we foolishly pile next to it, so I can’t move it to higher ground. I can push it away from the edge and closer to the wall so she can’t reach it from the floor, but she’s frighteningly adept at reaching it by climbing into the high chairs and booster seat we keep in the kitchen. It is physically impossible to simultaneously position all three climbable chairs in our tiny kitchen in a location beyond an Abbie arm reach away from the rack. Even if we somehow manage to find that perfect arrangement where Abbie can’t easily reach into the rack from a chair, she knows how to slide the chair next to the counter.
With prevention mostly ruled out, I’m keeping an eye on her to keep the dishes clean. When she leaves my sight, I listen to her to make sure she’s only doing approved activities, like reading or chasing the dog. When I’m changing a diaper, I change it fast so I can get back into the kitchen before too many sippy cup valves go through her mouth. When I take the trash out, I make sure she watches me longingly through the screen door during my entire walk to the dumpster.
posted by Matt at
11:57 PM
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