Landslide

Lately, with all those bottles to mix up and give to the babies (aka bottle lambs, bummer lambs, etc.) along with barn chores and making Matt's dinner and lunch for the next day, washing dishes is the last thing I want to do when I am dead on my feet. With being home for a sick/snow day, I couldn't find a reason not to wash the dishes. Believe me, I tried. Dirty dishes have played a major role in my life and I mused about it as I was building this mountain. I was the only female with four brothers. Don't get me started. They were the founding members of the A.M.M.O. club - the American Macho Male Organization. My husband, Matt, is the current president of that group. I didn't have any choice as a child, as my brothers would threaten to do things to my cats if I didn't "clean up the kitchen." I have a choice now, but I do enjoy things like spoons in the drawer when I want to stir my coffee, clean mugs, etc. I cook every night, and always have. It just seems like the right thing to do. The family dinner holds America together, even if the family only consists of Mom and Pop (and a whole lot of critters sitting around the table waiting to lick the plates clean - my pre-wash cycle.)