Thursday, February 7, 2013

I heart washing dishes

Lots of thoughts today.
 First of all; I am washing dishes.
I heard some story somewhere, prob at church, of a man that told his granddaughter that he LOVED washing dishes. This was untrue, as he actually hated it. But the more he told himself this lie, the more the lie became true.
(have I posted on this before? if so, take note and we will add repetitive thinking to side effects)
I actually do love washing dishes. Sometimes I can forget that I love them, especially if they have had time to really build up. Four days worth of love build up.

And this is when the 'ol negative thoughts creep in about your important duty- that of dish washer, floor washer,. Mess cleanwe-upper; toilet bowl cleaner:  i.e.
 The Hand that Rocks The Cradle!
 Being down on those front lines, doing the grunt work can make you feel like you are getting walked all over, unappreciated. Over qualified. Heck, 'they' can make you think your work is simply mundane.
(aww. don't we love that my pics are uploading again and you I can post more?)

It takes some positive affirmations to shove those thoughts out and remind yourself that you are the tip of the sword- nothing happens unless you start. I mean how can the minnions eat breakfast if there aren't clean dishes??
 You, with your mundane routine, are what makes this world go round.

So.... Facing my crucial and important task; I begin.
(That's always the hardest. To begin. But Madre always puts it in perspective. Once she said just grab whatever piece of clothing at the the top of the basket, fold it, and you will find that you are at the bottom of the basket.
Isn't she brillaint? Start at the top..
So I grab the black stool and put it in front of the sink.

I sit on my black stool, keeping my posture so as to keep my back from wigging out before the job is done.

I clean out the sink with disinfectant, turn the water on- a notch hotter than scalding hot and it falls into my (Madre's) white sink, add suds and then dip my hands into the Yellowstone thermal hot pot temperature water until my hands are numb and commence to wash what I love;
(As important as decorating for holidays. You can't tell but this is a wad of heart garland around twig tree from Christmas. But the real gem is the vintage Ricks College T-shirt in the background.  my aunt gave it to the Torment years ago.  I wonder what it's worth? I'm glad Madre kept some of our baby clothes. And you should too. Because some day they may end up in a blog.)

Pretending that every piece of silverware were a creation of art, to be held gently and cleaned thoroughly as if the Prince of Peace Himself were to walk in and have lunch with you and then present the Virgin Mary with one of your spoons, is in and of itself, a great feat and Grammy worthy.
But that is how I have to go about slowly cleaning under my circumstances.

Because when your hands feel like club size apples it is takes longer and the job is a more concerted effort.  Being able to even do the job is a miracle, and taking your time to do it right and feel that it is the most important job in the world, worthy of celestial beings applause, amps your self worth.

*Washing dishes gives you time to listen to the hum of the fridge.

*Take note of the heater kicking on and off.

* Most importantly;

Havce a conversation with Padre ,telling him of your big gun medication side effect woes.

Which goes like this:

Cell phone in pocket: beep

Me- remove yellow gloves from hands, read text: "Maybe you shouldn't be on that drug."

Me-  Roll eyes, replace yellow gloves back on hands while recalling the months of decision making, praying, reading medical material, talking to patients, reading patients testimonials of side effects and personally weighing the risks. And recalling the moment when it felt right. Then going in that direction- knowing it was right and unless something took me in a different direction, then that was my plan.

Me- Remove gloves, grab cell phone and tell Padre essentially what I just told you.

I hit send and think of my conversation with Dar- yes, Dar. The bearded male nurse who infused me with the drug that I studied so much and pondered over. I have never heard this name. Was it a Viking Ancestral name?

Short for Derrel and sounded cooler?

Star Wars junkies who named him "Darth" and then went with Dar as a knickname?


Dar:" My parents were hippies. No story to it. Just Dar."

Dar and I talked about furthering research, science etc. while he placed my I.V. and handed me a big binder to read about my med.  I thought of those who will come behind me and if what I go through is helpful. I look at the other people in the Infusion Room. The older lady who is on a bed. The really skinny gal who still has taken time to put on her make-up, do her hair and wear something stylish.

I went for comfy. But I did have make-up on. Remembering these faces from my time being infused helps put life back in perspective. But the nauseau is really making me doubt my decision.

So I text this to Padre, too. And resume washing dishes.

Cell phone: beep.

Me- Remove gloves again, grab cell from pocket from the Maternity pants that are soooo comfortable during this time on prednisone that I could weep tears of gratitude. My stomach gets so sensitive and I've found this to be an answer. However, having prednisone redistrubute fat cells to your trunk opens you up for the: Are you expecting? question. Maternity pants can only induce more certainty.

Padre: "Well, that's a positive outlook, but don't dive off the bank unneccessarily!

Feeling the nausaue rise in me, I think how frivolous it must seem to allow Dar to put in potent meds, the size of a  Nestle's cocoa packet through a drip line over an hour and again doubt my decision. Man that little packet packed a punch!

But the one lady on You Tube said her first month sucked. But after the second infusion she felt awesome..... I gotta hold onto that initial feeling of it being right.

ugh..... but going through with a decision and knowing there will be the side effects looks a lot different after the fact. So, I continue to wash, slowly, methodically.

The KEY to loving dishe washing while sick, is taking breaks.

 So you take one in Padre's chair.

Hold your hands up in the air so the blood flows back down.

You see your clever typewriter and take its picture and recall all the Valentine's you made the previous days before and avert your attention to the lover's month.

 ( one of the craft piles son pulled out in my bedroom to help make his Tee-Pee for school cause it's Idaho History year. I love the rock amongst the chaos.)

This break gives me time to think back on the day frenzy of the previous evening finishing a project.

Dish washing can help you Recall the idiotic things you said to your child before they left for school.

Child hands mother glasses suggessting she clean them as he scarfs down oatmeal.

Mother: Jaden, what do I look like? (in my polka dotted fleece bathrobe, well, a clown. Or Heffner. )

J: Can you just clean them? (he has .09 seconds before the bus leaves.

Mother: I will this time. But you gotta take care of your stuff. (See book I'm reading below to help save J. from becoming entitled.)

Mother: This [cleaning his glasses] is something you could do right before you go to bed. (Pillow time is when he asks me to do this easy chore as well.)

Child: I know. I know.  And he rushes out the door with a Tee-Pee.

Mother to self: What kid is going to become overly entitled by their mom cleaning their glasses for them?

Dishes also help you....

Watch what takes place outside of your window.

Water to pool in your feet.

Since you need to pace yourself,

This means you get to go over to your neighbor's. So your dishes can air dry and you can get some exercise, move that water retained everywhere around your body and get a gulp of fresh air.

 And tell someone, besides Padre,  you don't feel well.

Unfortunately, the snow is melting. And I can see all the spots in the driveway where Jaden used the shovel/spade thing to chop up the ice. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!

(can you see the white marks? The drive is riddled with them)

 It is to SCRAPE the ice. Young boys like to drive sharp objects into hard things and thus there are little bird like dents ALL over the driveway.

This money making job backfired.

I have no idea how much it costs to resurface a drive. Def. not what he earned to shovel, and remove the ice from.


It took the whole day to accomplish the dishes. The only time left over was to take in J's game.

I am going to go clean his glasses right now. A kid is entitled to have his mom do sweet stuff for him, to make life just that much easier.

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