We bought our house about 5 1/2 years ago now. When we bought it the dishwasher was a little bit wacky. As in, none of the buttons did what they were supposed to do, but if you twisted the knobs and pushed enough buttons it would eventually splash hot water around to the point that your dishes were clean…enough. I think it even rinsed them. But if I’m being real I’m not totally sure. We have well water so the glasses were never sparking regardless. And this is real life…so with 2 babies and our crazy work/school schedules “clean enough” dishes were always good enough for us.
But this past week, the thing finally quit for good. As in, it decided that it no longer wanted to drain its splishy-splashy hot water. It just wanted to maybe get my floor “clean enough” as well. It did not. I had to scoop all of the water out of it with a bowl, and then a cup, and then a spoon. Because sitting water stinks, and no one wants that, no matter how ghetto their dishwasher is.
I’m going to make an assumption here… that Josh and I aren’t the only married couple who find themselves pit against each other when it comes to whose turn it is to do the dishes. Josh is not a fan of housework and I… well I resist domestication at every turn. If it doesn’t involve painting, staining, or wall shelves… I’m out!
SO you can imagine my horror when the dishwasher broke. And having mentioned it’s preexisting ghetto tendencies, I don’t think I want to pay someone to come out and tell me that they can’t repair it. So for the past few days we’ve had to…wait for it… wash all of our dishes by hand. The horror!
I imagined the piles of dishes that would accumulate in the sink, as Josh refused to wash any and I therefore refused as well. (Yes, I know that I am stubborn and he is bull headed. Yes, I know this gets us nowhere. But this is real life.) Then I would likely give in first because I only like the silverware with the circle-y designs on the handle and I would run out and be forced to wash everything. Sigh.
But surprisingly, the piles never came. I don’t know what kind of parallel universe I am living in, but Josh washes the dishes after each meal he makes the kids (usually lunch,) and so I wash them at dinner. I don’t know if he’s even aware of it, but this is quite shocking. Perhaps he knows that I might snap and lose it if I have to wash all of the dishes…by hand…every day? Maybe it is an act of self preservation on his part? OR crazier idea… he’s intentionally helping me.
Who would have thought that a broken appliance could say so much about a relationship? I approach everything in life via some type of warrior complex. I expect to battle difficulties at every turn, even before they’re there. Josh goes about things in a painfully practical manner, “my wife will straight up lose her marbles if I don’t help her with this.” Don’t go giving him all of the credit… he is painfully lazy sometimes. His attitude is easily carried over into “if I don’t want to do that, then why should I have to?” Regardless of how necessary a task it might be. (Like doing dishes, ahem.)
Nevertheless, I am deeply appreciative of the simple gesture. It’s funny how something so simple can highlight so many different things. Have you ever read that book, The Five Love Languages? Me either, but I have skimmed it enough to know that I am an “acts of service” love receiver. Our dishwasher fiasco has only further confirmed this for me. And maybe, I should try harder not to expect fights that aren’t there yet. Small problems have a way of seeming like big problems sometimes, it can make you forget how lucky you are to only have small ones.
