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Death of the Dishwasher

My dishwasher has died.

It refuses to help me out anymore, the dang thing.

I'm really mad at it. I mean, doesn't that thing understand that this is a seven person family? Does it realize how many dishes we use per day? Washing dishes by hand is a thing of the past, for Pete's sake! Not having a workable dishwasher is like going back to the dark ages.

I really tried figuring out what went wrong with it, but not being a professional plumber has decidedly not helped.

Tinkering with the stupid thing made me realize that I should've gone to trade school before I got married. Considering all the other little things that need tinkering with in this house that would have been a definite plus.

Hindsight.

After verbally blistering the machine in my kitchen for an hour, I came to the conclusion that I had to give in.

I looked on the bright side, though. I have five little dishwashers in the making.

I put the oldest two to work immediately.....with an evil, little grin.

I set to work teaching them how to do the monumental task of making sure the dishes we eat off of do not contain anymore germs.

Like potty-training, this is going to take some stubborn persistance on my part. For instance, teaching them to not to get water all over the floor.

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