The Little Dishwasher

I walked into the kitchen and saw that my little girl was at the sink again, washing a plate.

“What are you doing there, honey?”

She turned to me in all seriousness. “I’m washing this dirty plate, mom!” And she went back to soaping her dish. I watched as bubbles danced around her, getting caught in her cheeks, her hair, her jumper.

I leaned on the door frame, smiling. “Isn’t that the 10th time you’ve washed that?”

She stopped. I could see her little brows furrow, perhaps in irritation. “But it’s not clean yet!”

I stepped closer to her and kissed her soapy cheek. In her ear, I whispered, “You just want to play with water, don’t you?”

She grinned as I said this, but immediately tried to hide it with a frown. “No, it’s just dirty!”

She then turned on the tap, and the water cascaded on the plate and bounced her way, dampening the front of her already soaked jumper.

I laughed. “All right, love. Make sure it’s clean, okay?”

Her eyes were sparkling as she nodded at me, and she happily rinsed the suds off the plate.

I ruffled her hair and stared at the pool of water forming at her feet. I shook my head and left the kitchen, smiling.

–
Image source: deviantart.com/tobigurl19/art/Kitchen-Sink-125163492
First written January 19, 2018.
#110