Dear Lauren, You Were Right

Before we dive into the meat of today’s story, let’s start with a short quiz. In the Laws household, who loaded the dishwasher in the manner seen in the photo?

(a) Gordon
(b) Lauren
(c) Graham
(d) Dobby

Correct answer and at the end.

Well, today is tough to write. We evaluated the weather last night and decided the wind was not so bad and it would be safe to take the recycling out—a month’s worth of recycling, recycling that was threatening to take over the garage, a volume that would no doubt incense the driver coming to get it, a volume that he or she would surely leave half of behind.

“How much are we taking up to the curb?” I said to Lauren.

“All of it,” she said.

“All of it? Don’t you think that’s going to be a problem?”

“No.”

“You don’t think they’ll leave half of it?”

“They’ll take it all.”

“I doubt it.”

Readers, I was certain. I’ve even seen the recycling truck stop at houses, pull stuff out of bins, and leave it behind (okay, it was styrofoam, but still). I took this picture so I could share with you how reckless we were being.

And then, I went out to drive Graham to school this morning. I drove up the driveway, and at the top, I saw this.

It’s like the recycling fairies swooped in totally unnoticed and devoured everything. I have told my kids for years that I am not always right, but I am more times than not. Obviously, I have coached all my readers on the three little words to save your relationship. So I am going to practice what I preach:

Dear Lauren, You. Were. Right.

As I was writing this, Lauren came in exultant: Well, they took all the recycling, didn’t they?

Me: Sure did.

Lauren: That’s great news.

Me: So now you’re here to end zone dance on me?

Lauren: No. I’m just saying. It’s great news. We can put a lot out.

Okay, well, I’m not sure I draw the same conclusions from that, but obviously, I’ve been proven wrong before.

Now, as for the quiz question. To those of you who selected me, how dare you? I’ve been a pro at dishes since I was a small child. To those of you who selected Lauren, well, there were none I’m sure. To those who selected Graham, I know you had your doubts—“A fifteen-year-old couldn’t be that incompetent, right?” But you overcame those doubts because you said, “Dobby doesn’t have opposable thumbs, and he’s not tall enough to have flung a bowl that deep into the dishwasher, and besides, why would he when everyone picks up after him?” To those who selected Dobby, I mean, really?

Upon seeing this bowl arrangement, I called Graham over for some training.

“You’re not in trouble. Just come over here.”

“What, Dad?”

“What sends the water through the dishwasher?”

“Uh, I guess those things?” he said pointing at the arms.

“Right. And what direction are the holes on those arms pointing?”

“Up.”

“Correct. So if the dirty part is not facing those arms, what do you think happens?”

“Stays dirty.”

“Plus, what goes up must . . .”

“Come down.”

“Correct. So when the water comes down, what’s it going to do?”

“Fill up that bowl?”

“Riiiiiggghhht.”

“Okay, Dad.”

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