Dishing With Mom

I like having people over for dinner. I like the drinks, the conversation, and the meal. Usually Mark makes a pretty good meal and I buy some decent liquor which will automatically mean conversation. Depending upon the amount of liquor consumed, that conversation can be interesting or it might veer off into something nutty. But all that aside, what has to be done no matter what, is the cleanup. If the company is good I leave the cleanup for later. If it has already gone off the deep end, I'll stay in the kitchen and do the job right away. What I do not like, is help in that job. Every time, well meaning guests will come into the kitchen and ask if there is anything they can do. The answer is always, "No, I'm fine. Thank you." Seriously, I do not want help cleaning up the kitchen. Too many times things get lost, put away forever in a place that I would never think of looking. I have a place for everything, and everything in our kitchen has a place. In addition to where things go, I have a specific order in which I load the dishwasher. I like the plates loaded just so, the glasses have to be in the same exact place every time, and I also have a system for where the flatware is placed. The forks, the knives, spoons, they all have to be in the correct pocket. So stupid, I know.

I never thought much about why I like everything placed exactly in the same place every time. I simply thought I was being conscientious by loading the dishwasher in a specific order, and putting the dirty dishes in the correct spot. But I now know that it is hereditary. Last week I brought Mom lunch and when I set the table, Mom was shocked to find that I used dining room silverware.

"Well, it was in the kitchen drawer with all the other forks and knives." I explained to her.

"No, that is not where those belong."

So I put the offending silverware away and pulled out Mom's crappy flatware. It made her happy. Later, after lunch, I cleared the table and rinsed the dishes out in the sink. Looking at all the dirty dishes, I opened up the dishwasher and told Mom that I would load them in there for her. Well, you would have thought I was going to stuff a puppy in there. It seems that Mom likes her dishwasher loaded up in a very particular way and I am not capable enough to do the job.