Our dishwasher is still out of action, and we are still taking great delight in making the kids dry the dishes that we handwash. Fun, fun, fun.
Ok, fun is taking it a bit far, but I seem to have it down pat. Perhaps it’s the evil glare I give them when they even think about uttering something along the lines of not wanting to do it. It’s working beautifully, and the job is getting done. They don’t whinge, complain or tantrum. Not that I can hear anyway. Possibly because my fingers are in my ears and I’m saying “LA LA LA” very loudly. Or I’m up the other end of the house sticking pins under my tonails so as to distract myself from it.
But when adult male testosterone is involved. like this