You may remember the fruit fly battle of July 11th. I count that one of the best day of my life - and I was just waiting for another moment like that when I arrived at the home of the Wilcox family in early March.
A bit about the fam: I was introduced to Dad via a phone call I took at work. He explained that he was interested in attending Starting Point, and asked if he could bring his kids.
"Well," I said, "we'll never tell a parent they can't keep their children with them," I said. "You as the parents can decide whether your kids would benefit from being there, or if you'd rather them participate in our children's ministry. How old are your children?" (Innocent enough question.)
"They range from 2 to 17," He said.
I'm glad he couldn't see my eyebrows draw down. "Oh," I said, "How many are there, if you don't mind?"
"Nine," he said, without skipping a beat. I'm wish he could have see my eyebrows shoot up.
"Really!" I said, very intrigued now.
"They're very well behaved, even the 2 year old. They're used to sitting still when we ask them to. I'm sure they'd be fine in the class."
"Well," I said, grinning broadly now, "We'll have to pull out a few more chairs for you, but otherwise there are no problems! See you Sunday! Please introduce yourself!"
I love fateful days like that. They were unmistakable when they walked in that day, and they still are, every time they burst through the classroom doors to greet me and Stephan as we do our Starting Point work, even though they've long finished the class. The whole family is light-hearted, extremely articulate, devoted to each other, well mannered, wildly gifted, they love the Lord - and they're Civil War Reinactors. Talk about a cherry on top.
I was extatic the day Dad extended a dinner invitation to us. We went, we had a blast tripping over ourselves with all their names, hearing all their stories, being shown around the sewing rooms and the bicycles and the enormous pantry. We left really hoping we'd be invited back...
And we were! In early March, Mom and the 2 oldest girls were going to a conference. Dad wanted to take his oldest son to a meeting at church called Manskool (I know, pretty cool 'K' action there), which is for dads and sons, and then in the evening to another meeting (called 10:31), which is for all parents and their teenage kids.
But with mom and the other girls gone, all the family babysitters were away. And so, we were called. Could we babysit the youngest 5 in the morning during Manskool, then again in the evening during the 10:31 meeting? YES!
And so I arrived that fateful morning. Stephan was taking that time to study, so I was flying solo. I and the kiddos cleaned the house from stem to stern, and I only had one "uh-oh, lost one..." moment. We were sweeping out the garage when Dad returned. I bid farewell and promised to see everyone in a few hours, when I returned with Stephan.
And return we did. We had dinner with the family and sent Dad and oldest son off to their meeting. We had a great time with the other kids. Stephan played chess...and I think was beaten by a few of his challengers. We watched Inspector Gadget. Then, it was time for bed.
Stephan is fond of saying getting children to do anything en mass is like herding cats. No exception here. Up and down the stairs they went..."I'm just grabbing water!"..."Look at my PJs!"..."Are you going to sleep here?"
It came up that the 2nd-oldest son was supposed to start the dishwasher after dinner. We sent him to bed (he locked all the doors before going like a good man of the house!) and said we'd take care of it. And take care of it we did! ...Oh, boy did we take care of it...
That morning we'd used cleaning products unlike any I'd ever seen. Very natural and unique. So when I looked under the sink for the dishwashing detergent, I wasn't thinking "box of detergent"...I saw the bottle and held it up to read the lable.
"I dont' see any instructions for how much to use..." I said. "Oh well. Must just be the normal amount." ...and I filled up the cups.
Stephan and I then took a seat at the table. Man, I thought, we're so good at this babysitting thing... not only are the kids in bed on time, but they're intact. We've done the dishes and started the dishwasher. They're sooooo going to want us back...
What's that proverb? "Pride before a fall," or something?
"Stephan, is there any tea?" I said with a pretty little flick of my wrist. "Let's brew some and just sit and talk until Dad and Son get home."
We did brew tea. We did sit and talk, and it was a great talk for about 20 minutes. Then I set my cup down, and in turn set my hand down in something on the table, and noticed it hadn't been wiped down after dinner.
I'm going to push this right over the top, I thought to myself, standing. I'm going to wipe off the table!
So I round the counter to get a rag, and the rest I can tell only from Stephan's discription. Apparently I froze and looked like a tarantula had just crawled out from under the counter.
"What's wrong?" he asked, getting up.
At first I couldn't answer. "W...we did something wrong!" I finally managed as he rounded the counter.
The dishwasher had rabies. It was foaming from all edges, and a little ocean was puddling in front of it. I had no idea what to do.
Thank God for husbands. Stephan stepped up to the dishwasher and opened it, revealing wall-to-wall foam in side. Everything was encased. I raise my hands to my face and let out a long breath. "Oh my..." I said.
Stephan pulled the bottle of 'detergent' out from under the sink. "Is this what you used?" he asked, holding it up to me.
"Yes..." I answered weakly.
He replaced it and shut the cabinet with a smile. "That's dishwashing liquid," he sang. "You put that on rags in the sink."
I covered my face with my hands. Then I started laughing. "What do we do...?" I said.
Stephan pulled the bottom rack out of the dishwasher and handed it to me. I took it an looked around me, finally just putting it down in the center of the kitchen floor.
"Don't worry," he said. "I've made this mistake before." He then went on to explain how once, as a kid, he'd run out of dishwasher detergent and though "soap is soap", and filled up the dishwasher with dishwashing liquid as well.
"You can't tell a dishwasher to drain," he said as he rolled up his sleeves, reached into the dishwasher, and litereally pulled out a armful after armful of suds, "so we've got to get out as much of the bubbles and soapy water that we can."
"By hand?" I asked.
"By hand," he said, smiling and reachingi n for another armful.
I started regaining fuctionality then, and moved to the sink, rinsing the bubbles he put there to make them dissapate before the next armful arrived. After this, Stephan took a cup off the top rack of the dishwasher and started scooping out the soapy water that had collected at the bottom of the dishwaser. Praise the Lord I'd been there that morning when we were cleaning and knew where the mop and towels were! I took that time to clean up the floor. Last, we took sports bottles (fortunately they're all cyclists too - did I mention that?), and as Stephan sprayed down the sides, I filled the next cannon with clean water from the sink, and back and forth we went until the well at the bottom of the dishwasher was full again. Stephan scopped that out with the cup again.
About this time I realized that Dad and Son could return any minute. "What od we say when they get home?" I began rambling to Stephan as I stood behind him, mop in hand, soaking up new drips of water the moment they hit the floor. "How do you put someone at ease when they come home to find this? 'You're kids are sleeping soundly?' 'You're kids are alive?'"
Stephan endured it patiently, as he aways does. We were beginning to think we might get the whole mess neutralized when we heard banging on the garage door. I remembered that second-oldest son had locked all the doors before going to bed, so now Dad and Son were trapped outside.
A bit about the fam: I was introduced to Dad via a phone call I took at work. He explained that he was interested in attending Starting Point, and asked if he could bring his kids.
"Well," I said, "we'll never tell a parent they can't keep their children with them," I said. "You as the parents can decide whether your kids would benefit from being there, or if you'd rather them participate in our children's ministry. How old are your children?" (Innocent enough question.)
"They range from 2 to 17," He said.
I'm glad he couldn't see my eyebrows draw down. "Oh," I said, "How many are there, if you don't mind?"
"Nine," he said, without skipping a beat. I'm wish he could have see my eyebrows shoot up.
"Really!" I said, very intrigued now.
"They're very well behaved, even the 2 year old. They're used to sitting still when we ask them to. I'm sure they'd be fine in the class."
"Well," I said, grinning broadly now, "We'll have to pull out a few more chairs for you, but otherwise there are no problems! See you Sunday! Please introduce yourself!"
I love fateful days like that. They were unmistakable when they walked in that day, and they still are, every time they burst through the classroom doors to greet me and Stephan as we do our Starting Point work, even though they've long finished the class. The whole family is light-hearted, extremely articulate, devoted to each other, well mannered, wildly gifted, they love the Lord - and they're Civil War Reinactors. Talk about a cherry on top.
I was extatic the day Dad extended a dinner invitation to us. We went, we had a blast tripping over ourselves with all their names, hearing all their stories, being shown around the sewing rooms and the bicycles and the enormous pantry. We left really hoping we'd be invited back...
And we were! In early March, Mom and the 2 oldest girls were going to a conference. Dad wanted to take his oldest son to a meeting at church called Manskool (I know, pretty cool 'K' action there), which is for dads and sons, and then in the evening to another meeting (called 10:31), which is for all parents and their teenage kids.
But with mom and the other girls gone, all the family babysitters were away. And so, we were called. Could we babysit the youngest 5 in the morning during Manskool, then again in the evening during the 10:31 meeting? YES!
And so I arrived that fateful morning. Stephan was taking that time to study, so I was flying solo. I and the kiddos cleaned the house from stem to stern, and I only had one "uh-oh, lost one..." moment. We were sweeping out the garage when Dad returned. I bid farewell and promised to see everyone in a few hours, when I returned with Stephan.
And return we did. We had dinner with the family and sent Dad and oldest son off to their meeting. We had a great time with the other kids. Stephan played chess...and I think was beaten by a few of his challengers. We watched Inspector Gadget. Then, it was time for bed.
Stephan is fond of saying getting children to do anything en mass is like herding cats. No exception here. Up and down the stairs they went..."I'm just grabbing water!"..."Look at my PJs!"..."Are you going to sleep here?"
It came up that the 2nd-oldest son was supposed to start the dishwasher after dinner. We sent him to bed (he locked all the doors before going like a good man of the house!) and said we'd take care of it. And take care of it we did! ...Oh, boy did we take care of it...
That morning we'd used cleaning products unlike any I'd ever seen. Very natural and unique. So when I looked under the sink for the dishwashing detergent, I wasn't thinking "box of detergent"...I saw the bottle and held it up to read the lable.
"I dont' see any instructions for how much to use..." I said. "Oh well. Must just be the normal amount." ...and I filled up the cups.
Stephan and I then took a seat at the table. Man, I thought, we're so good at this babysitting thing... not only are the kids in bed on time, but they're intact. We've done the dishes and started the dishwasher. They're sooooo going to want us back...
What's that proverb? "Pride before a fall," or something?
"Stephan, is there any tea?" I said with a pretty little flick of my wrist. "Let's brew some and just sit and talk until Dad and Son get home."
We did brew tea. We did sit and talk, and it was a great talk for about 20 minutes. Then I set my cup down, and in turn set my hand down in something on the table, and noticed it hadn't been wiped down after dinner.
I'm going to push this right over the top, I thought to myself, standing. I'm going to wipe off the table!
So I round the counter to get a rag, and the rest I can tell only from Stephan's discription. Apparently I froze and looked like a tarantula had just crawled out from under the counter.
"What's wrong?" he asked, getting up.
At first I couldn't answer. "W...we did something wrong!" I finally managed as he rounded the counter.
The dishwasher had rabies. It was foaming from all edges, and a little ocean was puddling in front of it. I had no idea what to do.
Thank God for husbands. Stephan stepped up to the dishwasher and opened it, revealing wall-to-wall foam in side. Everything was encased. I raise my hands to my face and let out a long breath. "Oh my..." I said.
Stephan pulled the bottle of 'detergent' out from under the sink. "Is this what you used?" he asked, holding it up to me.
"Yes..." I answered weakly.
He replaced it and shut the cabinet with a smile. "That's dishwashing liquid," he sang. "You put that on rags in the sink."
I covered my face with my hands. Then I started laughing. "What do we do...?" I said.
Stephan pulled the bottom rack out of the dishwasher and handed it to me. I took it an looked around me, finally just putting it down in the center of the kitchen floor.
"Don't worry," he said. "I've made this mistake before." He then went on to explain how once, as a kid, he'd run out of dishwasher detergent and though "soap is soap", and filled up the dishwasher with dishwashing liquid as well.
"You can't tell a dishwasher to drain," he said as he rolled up his sleeves, reached into the dishwasher, and litereally pulled out a armful after armful of suds, "so we've got to get out as much of the bubbles and soapy water that we can."
"By hand?" I asked.
"By hand," he said, smiling and reachingi n for another armful.
I started regaining fuctionality then, and moved to the sink, rinsing the bubbles he put there to make them dissapate before the next armful arrived. After this, Stephan took a cup off the top rack of the dishwasher and started scooping out the soapy water that had collected at the bottom of the dishwaser. Praise the Lord I'd been there that morning when we were cleaning and knew where the mop and towels were! I took that time to clean up the floor. Last, we took sports bottles (fortunately they're all cyclists too - did I mention that?), and as Stephan sprayed down the sides, I filled the next cannon with clean water from the sink, and back and forth we went until the well at the bottom of the dishwasher was full again. Stephan scopped that out with the cup again.
About this time I realized that Dad and Son could return any minute. "What od we say when they get home?" I began rambling to Stephan as I stood behind him, mop in hand, soaking up new drips of water the moment they hit the floor. "How do you put someone at ease when they come home to find this? 'You're kids are sleeping soundly?' 'You're kids are alive?'"
Stephan endured it patiently, as he aways does. We were beginning to think we might get the whole mess neutralized when we heard banging on the garage door. I remembered that second-oldest son had locked all the doors before going to bed, so now Dad and Son were trapped outside.
"That's them..." I said, beginning to giggle. I leaned the mop against the counter and stepped over the bottom dishwasher rack on my way to the door. I grabbed the doorknob...then firmly planted my other hand on the doorframe. When I opened the door, there was no way around me. It was son.
"I just want to preface your entry with 'nothing's broken,'" I said, cheerfully.
His eyebrows dropped. "Oooooooookkkkkaaaayyyyyyy......" he said, shouldering past me. Behind me I heard his reaction. "Oh my gosh! What did you do?!"
No time to celebrate with them. I still had to break the news to dad, who was just getting out of the car.
"Hi!" I called from my place in the doorway, and repeated what I'd said to his son.
He paused, one foot out of he car, one still in. "Alright," he said, perfectly controlled. "And what's the bad news?"
I toyed with saying something cute for only a millisecond. Dad was a military man, and I knew how that crowd rolled. I decided to just be direct. "Bottom line up front," I said, "I put dishwashing liquid in the dishwasher, and now your floor is really clean."
He was coming in the door by that time, and came in, percieving the dishwashing rack on the floor immediately. "Wow," he said. "So, what happened again?"
We told the whole story again as Stephan scooped out the last of the water and I took a rag to the counter, then the mop to the floor. Here I want to extol this family for how good-natured they are. They listened and laughed appropriately (espeically when I recounted how I poured the liquid in even after not seeing any dishwashing instructions on the bottle). They then poked fun at me, but all the while assuring me everything was fine. I love people like that - ones who can laugh when things are funny, but without making anyone feel condemned. What could have been humiliating turned out to be pretty edifying.
Everything was under control by the time we left. We'd left the dishwasher opened so long that the cycle settings all reset and we were able to restart it with the appropriate detergent. All reports since then indicate no permanent damage done. Phew.
No comments:
Post a Comment