Get Off Your Lazy Blogging Butt and Help Me Put Away These Dishes, Mom

So, I am innocently taking a few minutes off from child-entertaining and housecleaning this morning while my son seems to be thoroughly distracted by educational public television to briefly visit a few favorite blogs, and suddenly, the kid runs up to me with a newly clean, still-damp plastic bowl from the dishwasher. Which he unlocked and opened himself, after opening the baby gate to the kitchen (which had not been closed properly, because I am a dumbass before I have my coffee).

"Mommy have it?" he asks sweetly, while I am thinking to myself, Holy $^%@! There are STEAK KNIVES in the dishwasher.

So I jump up and get the knives, which thankfully he has not touched, out of the washer (I guess I've done a decent job after all of teaching him the meaning of "sharp"-- yesterday he pointed at my sewing basket, which he once attempted to raid immediately whenever I got it out, and said, "Sharp! No touch Isaac. Owies," and stayed four feet away from me the entire time I was hemming some curtains, so hey. Maybe I won't get that call from Child Protective Services this week).

And then he insisted on helping me unload the dishwasher, by very carefully taking out the dishes one by one and offering them to me to put away.

This is actually the fifth or sixth time he's asked to help me unload the dishwasher (although it's the first time he's STARTED unloading it himself). He also insists on helping me put laundry in the washer and the dryer. Sometimes insists upon doing laundry together first thing in the morning, in fact. Before breakfast.

So anyway, after he finishes helping me unload the dishwasher, I start putting in a few dirty dishes that didn't fit in the first load (because our dishwasher is REALLY small), a task which I won't let him help me with, because I don't want him getting dirty dish germs all over the hands he is constantly sticking in his mouth.

But he stands there watching me intently from the other side of the kitchen gate while I load the dishes, and every single time I put a dirty dish in, he says:

"Thank you, Mommy."

If only his half-assed Momma can manage to keep him from impaling himself on a steak knife, he is going to make SUCH a great husband one day . . .