So, yesterday the Taz left his unrinsed cereal bowl in the sink. And true to logic, the Rice Krispies on the side of the bowl cemented themselves rather nicely to the glass. I got home from work, and called him over to the sink.
“Check this out,” I said, pointing to the bowl. “Once again you forgot to rinse out the bowl.”
“Oh, sorry,” he said, and started to walk away.
“Hold on a second, mister,” I said, holding onto his hand so that he couldn’t go anywhere. He grinned, knowing he was caught. “Now you get to clean it out.” He grabbed the sponge and started half-heartedly swiping at the bowl while I put groceries away and started dinner.
“How’s this?” he asked, showing me a bowl with soggy Rice Krispies all over the sides.
“Seriously?” I asked.
The cereal bowl war was eventually won by yours truly 20 minutes later when he finally showed me a bowl that was missing most of the gunk that had dried there all day long. The blood and sweat he put into cleaning that bowl was accompanied by plenty of tears, and whining that could probably be heard several doors down (sorry neighbors). But dang it, the kid is going to have to learn how to do dishes properly sometime (you’re welcome, future daughter-in-law). And when he wasn’t looking, I stuck the bowl in the dishwasher to clean properly. Yes, he has to learn how to wash dishes properly. But that doesn’t mean I need to eat off them.
Was his lesson learned immediately? Highly doubtful. Especially when he left his cereal bowl FLOATING in the sink this morning like a boat on a greasy ocean of once soapy water, the milk in no danger of drowning. And along with that, he left the empty cereal box stuck to the counter by a thin layer of milk, every light in the house blazing in vacant rooms, and his smelly shoes walking around the room on their own.
Hey, we’ll get this someday, even if I have to call him up in the middle of the night when he’s in his 30’s just to remind him that the bowl isn’t going to rinse itself.