The Zen of Doing the Dishes

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For most of my life, I have despised doing dishes. I'm probably guilty of hiding dirty silverware in the cabinet under the sink when I was a child assigned to dish duty. When I was a young woman living on my own, I may have let my dirty dishes pile up in the sink until every last dish and utensil had been used. During the times in my life that I have been blessed to have a dishwasher, even rinsing the dishes before running the thing was too much of a hassle for me. I hated this chore.

Until now. These days, washing the dishes is an oddly calming and zen-like activity. There's something about it: the way I can arrange everything into categorized piles, tackle the easy stuff first, finish with the pots and pans that have been soaking, dry everything off, and tuck it all neatly away in the cabinet. I suppose it allows me a little quiet time and some measure of control on some of my more chaotic days. That is until a one-year-old sneaks up behind me and bites me on the tush for paying attention to something that has nothing to do with him.

So there you have it. Confession: I enjoy washing the dishes. Just don't tell my husband.