This is a shot of my kitchen sink. I hate doing dishes. If someone were to ask me what my very least favorite household chore was, before they would even be able to finish their sentence I would blurt out "DISHES! No question". I think the reason I detest it so much is because when Gabe and I were first married, we lived in a tiny apartment with a tiny kitchen. With it just being the two of us, we didn't use that many dishes, but as I had not developed the aversion to walking by a sink full of dishes, I had no problem watching half the sink pile up, then the other half, then the surrounding counter space, till we would literally get to the point that there were NO clean dishes left in the cupboards, thus making dish-washing necessary. Since I would let it get to that point, it would always turn into like a 3 hour dish-washing marathon, at the end of which I was soaking wet, I had a kink in my back from having to stand for so long, bent over ever so slightly to achieve a proper dish-washing position, and with a kitchen table (and counters) full of sopping wet dishes (like I was gonna take the time to TOWEL dry them all!). An experience just as horrific as it was traumatizing. Now, I can hear you asking already - "Emily, why didn't you just use the dishwasher???" well, I did, on occasion, but it was a crappy apartment dishwasher that left nasty (and PERMANENT) hard water stains all over my deep cobalt dishes and lovely new silverware. Now, picture the above scenario repeating itself every few weeks for the first 2 years of my married life and you'll understand how deep these scars really are, however self-inflicted they may be... I decided early on that I would NEVER want to live ANYWHERE that did not have a dishwasher that was in proper working order.
After the apartment (which was out on the East Coast), we had just had little Lillie and we decided to move back home to the midwest, and instead of jumping right into a house of our own, we thought it would be a good idea to rent for a while first. We heard about a little house that was owned by a friend of the family and we were told all about it before going to check it out. Size sounded great. Price sounded great. Location sounded great. Gabe had all but made up his mind that this would be the place for us. We went to take the official tour and sign the papers and just as we were finishing and getting ready to sign the papers, I suddenly had a sinking feeling... "I know I walked through the kitchen but I don't remember seeing a dishwasher!"... I RAN back into the kitchen and sure enough, I was right. AHHHH!!! "It's ok Em" I say to myself "this is only temporary till we find a house of our own that will absolutely POSITIVELY have a dishwasher..."
We lived in that house for only about 8 months, during which time I found out I was pregnant with Isabel - SURPRISE!... We started looking at houses off and on while we were renting and Gabe and I were having a hard time agreeing on any houses we both really liked. I'll put it this way, I wanted a cozy old farmhouse with tins of charm and hardwood floors. He wanted a single-level ranch house with no fixing-up required. (FYI: Being pregnant and house-hunting don't mix well.) Long story short (or at least not as long) we found our house. Gabe seemed thrilled, I liked the big master bed/bath. We decided to go for it. We were looking through the house one last time while contemplating our offer and upon final inspection of the kitchen, I couldn't help but be struck by one minor detail I hadn't noticed before... NO DISHWASHER!!!!!! WHAT THE?!!???? WHO the HECK tries to sell a house these days without a DISHWASHER?!???? I actually remember crying about it (though I'm sure the pregnant thing may have had something to do with that).
So, here I am, almost 6 years later, STILL no dishwasher, and I have FINALLY trained myself to do the dishes as often as possible. With 3 kids, who would eat just as much food as you put in front of them and then some, I could LITERALLY do dishes anywhere from 2 to 6 times A DAY... though, a few of those kids who eat so much, have almost reached "dish-washing height"...