A Dishwasher

I know this is my 3rd post today but this is what happens when the time changes and the kids sleep in forever. I am being productive as well as posting, I promise!

Anyway, I am blaming the lack of a dishwasher on the trauma of my day. I was in the kitchen for what-felt-like-an-hour-but-I-am-sure-it-was-less doing dishes. Samuel came in once with a wet wipe and I said something like "Oh, are you cleaning?" in my bright, cheery voice. I then finished dishes, came out to see what was happening in the living room. Nothing seemed weird. I then started to head downstairs to get some mac/cheese (the big Sam's boxes have to be kept in the laundry room!) for lunch. Samuel came up, hands outstretched and said his usual "Uh!". I looked--they are covered in poop. I gasped. I picked him up and started washing his hands in the sink and this is when I notice that it's not just coming right off. Almost like it had been there for awhile. I get his hands clean and put him down. This is when I notice that his shirt is covered. His pants are covered. I strip him down, try to pull up the diaper and take him to clean him up. I open the wipe container and all that's in there is wadded up, BROWN wipes. He had been trying to clean himself, apparently. I then start wondering where else he has been. I scrub his tummy and his back (both covered) and get him all cleaned up in a calm state. Seriously. That's pretty good for me.

The point is that if I had a dishwasher, this wouldn't have happened. I could have loaded and unloaded in a snap! Although, I guess when Samuel attempted to cover his body in diaper cream on Saturday, I wasn't doing dishes. Ah, either way, I am off to see if I can enter a kitchen makeover contest.