I *HEART* Our Dishwasher

Today I was the rather misnamed helping mummy at pre school. Apart from not having a uterus and being over a foot taller than any previous helper, I think I acquitted myself fairly well. At one point I had 5 children (only two known to me) clinging to my legs. I took this as a positive vote on my contribution.

The role of mummy helper involves rather a lot of washing up and this was a bit of a novelty because we got a dishwasher just before M’laddo was born. I’d never had truck with that kind of contraption before but it has changed my life. And for the better. Now days we see it as a drudge and a chore even unloading the thing, much less manually doing tonnes of washing up.
Back to pre school though and I was heartily scrubbing away at a sink that’s apparently too low for actual helping mummys. As I’ve headed into my 30’s, my hands get more and more chapped in the cold or when I’m constantly washing them (especially when Rule 1 is enacted). So today, after washing up 20 cups, as many plates, 10 paint pots and various other bits and bobs I sat back and had a good shufty at my hands.
They weren’t in a great state to start with but by the end I had 9 cracks that were down to the flesh and ready to bleed once dry on my right hand and 3 on my left. I was hygienic, and would stress I didn’t bleed on any of the washing up (it got worse when I got on to the paint pots) but even so, it made me appreciate our dishwasher even more.