A couple of months ago, I threw a hissy fit over the lack of help I was getting from my family with dishes. Everyone would eat dinner, usually accompanied with complaints about what I had fixed, then get up and walk away from the table, leaving behind dirty dishes, piles of napkins and spilled milk. I can’t remember when this started or why I let it happen, but NO MORE!
You will put your dishes in the dishwasher after you eat. Clear your plate into the trash can (I have to be VERY specific!) Don’t pile anything in the sink. Don’t leave glasses with dried milk in the bottom sitting on the counter. If you spill, wipe it up with a damp wash cloth. If it is milk, rinse the cloth out. Easy, right?
They complied half-assedly with grumbles and groans. In an effort to return things to the old way of life, ie. I am their slave, they put dishes in the washer backwards, lay glasses on their sides, put a small plate where a big pot should go. Determined to make things work out my way, I would make them come back and figure out a better way of loading the dishwasher…MY WAY!
Progress!! For a couple of weeks, they were doing a good job. I didn’t even have to remind them to take their plates with them when they left the table.
This morning, all of that came crashing to a halt when I caught Riley Dog standing on the open door to the dish washer. Not just his front paws, all four feet! (Of course, he wouldn't repeat this pose when I got the camera out!) When I called his name, he turned around with half a cheeseburger in his mouth, torn between the thrill of the find and being caught doing it. Back to square one!
If I wasn’t sure they would just crawl into the bed and sleep on it, I would start putting their half eaten burgers and pop tart wrappers in their beds. Knowing I would have to wash their sheets and re-make their beds is a good deterrent for me!