Dishes and Pooper Scooper

 

Did you ever try to get out of doing your chores? I did. I used to hate to wash dishes. My sister, brother, and I used to have to wash the dishes after dinner. We alternated each night. One of us would wash, and another would dry. I hated doing both. I would do whatever I could to get out of doing the dishes. One thing I remember doing specifically, is stating that our Frankoma dishes were to heavy for me to wash and dry. It meant I had to wash the glasses, silverware, and pots & pans.

I also can remember having to clean up after our dogs. The worst part was what we called “pooper scooper.” We had this yellow plastic trowel with these slots in it. We took turns walking around the yard cleaning up after the dog. It was never fun. We had a big backyard, and somehow we would wait for ages to clean the yard, which meant it took forever to finish the job. Looking back I do not know how we ever got away with waiting so long to clean up after the dog. It would have been easier to do it more often, but we did not think like that back then!

The little things we do to get out of doing work. I do actually remember that those Frankoma dishes were heavy, the plates especially, but I wonder if my parents knew I was trying to get out of washing them. These days cleaning is actually therapeutic to me. Although I do not get overly excited to clean, I like the feeling of calm I have after the house is clean, the laundry is done, and the sheets are freshly put on the bed. Bliss. Why is it that having everything in my house in order means that I feel clear and ready to tackle the week ahead?

Frankoma mugs

What chores did you try to get out of doing when you were a kid?

 

2 thoughts on “Dishes and Pooper Scooper

  1. Nice avoidance tactics Tami! I always claimed “too much homework” after dinner, and that usually worked. I think my Mother decided she’d rather do the dishes herself than use up energy arguing with her children. In the summer, with no homework excuses, I had the job of dusting every other day. What a waste, I thought — no dust in sight… so why bother? I guess it made me a duster though, because when we visited our son at a boarding school in the Midwest, he wanted to show us an unexplainable phenomenon he’d discovered — “Look, when I lift this comb off of the dresser, it leaves behind a perfect imprint! It’s so weird!” No…it’s called dust!

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