Whenever my siblings get together these days, each of us tries to outdo the others with our stories of waxing floors, doing laundry and being the indentured servants working our way to adulthood and freedom. And although I often join in with exclamations of "yeah but I had to do three days' worth of dishes every morning!", I am actually grateful to my mother for being so gracious as to delegate these menial household chores.
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I get further these days because, well, we use many fewer dishes in my small family than we did in my mother's house with five children. And I don't "scald" the dishes anymore (although I sometimes entertain the thought). Scalding the dishes was my mother's way of eradicating any nasty germs that might have survived the washing and rinsing process. She'd heat a kettle full of water on the stove until it was boiling and pour it over the newly washed dishes. My mother was always good at adding one step to any already too long task.
I have to get back to the kitchen, now. I have the pot from yesterday's beef stew soaking in the sink. Oh, I am not going to wash it just yet. I am going to get a cup of coffee. We'll just let that pot soak a wee bit longer. It may be ready to wash tomorrow.
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