So by now you’ve all heard my constant whining about Mac’s fascination with the dishwasher.
It was getting so bad, I was beginning to wonder if it was even healthy.
He was full on obsessed.
“Mac, did you know when the dishwasher is on, we call that running? Isn’t that funny? The dishwasher isn’t really running. Giggle giggle.”
That quickly changed to mild annoyance. Oh shit, I have to open the dishwasher and he’s on the floor. Can I sneak this fork in there before he hears the door latch or the squeaking rack? It’s hell to get him out of there.
“Mac, Mac, Mac, come over here and watch Mommy do stupid stuff with your wood blocks. There’s nothing to see in the dishwasher. Look! I’m banging some blocks on the floor making a cool noise. For the love of gawd, get the hell out of there. . .That’s a KNIFE!”
And finally, it happened: He figured out how to stand up, unlatch the door and rapidly drop to his knees and pull the door open from the side. Mothereffer! AGAIN? You have no fewer than 18 toys within two feet of this stupid appliance. What is wrong with you?
“MACKINLEY, MACKINLEY, MAC MORRONE! Please please please get out of the dishwasher. It makes Mommy want to cry. . .or drink. Please? Ok. Ok. Let’s get out of here and take (another) walk.”
And just when I thought it couldn’t get any more annoying, he realized he could turn off the dishwasher mid-cycle by pushing the buttons. You know how hot it gets in there? So now, I wasn’t only living in fear of his grabbing a knife, I was also scared to death he’d get burned by hot steam when he opened the door.
I was losing the battle. I resorted to letting all the dirty dishes pile up in the sink for an entire day, loading, running and unloading the dishwasher only while he slept. But I really really hated all those dishes in my sink. It was gross.
I started washing more stuff by hand. Except, I feel much better when sippy cups and bottles are run through a sanitary rinse cycle.
I was desperately spending more time wandering aimlessly with him outside the house. And when in the house, I often kept him in a Sleepy Wrap to keep him away from the stupid thing.
And finally, I couldn’t take it any longer and I stopped trying to keep him from the love of his life. I allowed him to open the door, rip out the racks, jump up and down on the open door, spinning the blades, opening and closing the little latch where the detergent goes. He was systematically destroying the dishwasher. And I no longer gave a shit.
BUT then my Husband came home with one of these suckers: A Safety First Appliance Latch.
It was better than any bouquet of flowers he’s ever come home with. . .I’d dare to say it’s even better than when he brings home champagne. . .
It has some sticky surfaces on the backside that you can use to attach it to your appliance and it thwarts the little monster’s attempts to open the door. . .almost.
I’ve noticed he can still unlatch the door and get it cracked open. However, I’m hoping once he realizes he no longer has full access, the thrill will wear off.
I have no idea what that adhesive might be doing to the surface of our appliance, or how well the plastic buckle might hold up but honestly, I don’t really give a rip. I’ve already had nearly 48 blissful hours not worrying about the dishwasher. . .Which I totally love.