Dead Dishwasher Delimma

On Mother’s Day, like a giant middle finger to my awesome mothering, my dishwasher died and took all the power to the kitchen bench with it.

That same night, in protest, I headed to the supermarket to stock up on disposable plates, cups and cutlery because I don’t give a crap, I AM SPOILT. I will wipe bums, clean up cat vomit and I will mop up boy wee from unspeakable places in our bathroom but I draw the line at being a human dish washer to 6 people. No siree. I just really, really hate washing up. I’ll wash, cook, clean, iron but dishes. Hate.

When I rang the following day to get a serviceman out they told me the first available was friday. FIVE WHOLE DAYS OF HAND WASHING AWAY. I nearly vomited. I begged and pleaded for an earlier appointment but it was to no avail. As the receptionist gleefully declined my request the amount of hate I felt for that woman was incalculable. Bitch.

Never mind that I had a specialist appointment I have waited months for on the same day. I cancelled it because obviously my dishwasher is more important than dying from an overactive thyroid.

The grief of losing your dishwasher is one like no other. The panic of knowing what a pain in the arse it will be until it’s either fixed or replaced is overwhelming. If you are me anyway. Of all the appliances to die it is by far the worst.

Plus lets face it, dishwashers are hardly ever fixed. Dishwasher repairman have an uncanny knack of delivering the news of “The electronic panel has blown. That will be $850 to replace so best just buy a new one”. As though you have a pile of money set aside for white goods that unexpectedly die.

That and their other uncanny knack of giving you a five hour window and then turning up one minute before the five hours is up. Or in my case right before you need to pick up the kids leaving you with no option but to leave a total stranger in your house for 30 mins. I would never ever leave someone I don’t know in my house alone but when it comes to the dishwasher all the rules go out the window and you trust the man with the Miele shirt on. (Confession: I don’t really and hid all my jewelry in one of my pillows. Untrustworthy dishwasher murderer that I am).

When the repairman left at 4.45pm he said if I hurried I could probably buy one and have it installed the following week. This wasn’t music to my ears because I wanted one IMMEDIATELY. “Don’t you keep one in your van???” I made a mental note that we were all going on a no food diet until my one and only true love (sorry Rob) returned to me.

So I rang Miele and begged them for a new dishwasher. I told them I didn’t care what model, as long as it was in stock and could be installed first thing monday. Luckily for me the woman on the other end of the line wasn’t an evil witch like the service place and didn’t see dollar signs and we bought one that didn’t cost more than my first car. Scheduled to be delivered monday.

The week days, although they sucked, weren’t as bad as what I had coming dishwashing wise by the weekend. With all the kids at school I could keep plate usage to a minimum and we only ate meals that used as few pots, pans and cutlery as possible. Like a nutritious meal of boiled pasta with some chopped ham (obviously not chopped on a chopping board and when I say chopped I mean ripped apart with your hands so you don’t use a knife). The kids were only allowed one plastic fork each and water in plastic cups with their names on it in black pen. Boy I can be ruthless.


All weekend when they’d inevitably say “Mum, I’m hungry”. Rather than my normal response of “Have what you want but nothing in a packet”, I’d say “Go for it, there are packets of chips. Have what you like as long as it doesn’t involve any cutlery, plates or water”.

Mother of the year .. again. I swear my trophy room is bursting at the seams.

Charlie pretty much ate dry Saos all weekend. Jude ate about 30 bowls of cereal and the rest of us ate toasted sandwiches on paper plates. The remainder of the meals were had in restaurants.

The fridge is full of leftovers from the week before last because I knew if I threw them out I’d have to wash up the dishes they are in and all the cooking crockery I had no choice but to use has been rinsed and are piling up in the oven waiting for the dishwasher to return.

So much gross all in one paragraph, right?


Now is probably a good time to admit that I didn’t realise we don’t own a plug until the dishwasher died.

Anyway today my one true love returned to me. After the extortionist dishwasher delivery people left I sat down beside it and had a little quiet chat about how sorry I am for whatever I did to make it leave me and that from now on I promise, for better or worse, in sickness and in health, that I am theirs for life. Like two peas in a pod and all that.



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