This is an update to this chapter, if you have or have not read it before.
John dropped us off at Uncle Bobby's last week. He said he was going on a business trip. I think he was lying, though. I fully believe my dad is a ninja who goes around the world fighting criminals.
"If you want dinner come and get it!" Bobby calls. I leap up from my coloring book on the floor and race into the kitchen. As he sets our plates of macaroni and cheese with carrots on the table I crawl into a chair. Dean walks in closely followed by Sammy. He tries lifting our little brother into the chair stacked with phone books but he shouts, "No!" He tries but fails to get more than one of his chubby feet off the ground.
"Here, Sammy, like this," I say and slide down so I can show him. He mimics my actions and with a little help from Dean is able to successfully sit atop the mound of books. Sam does not want to eat his carrots. "If you eat enough carrots they'll turn your skin orange. Wouldn't that be cool?" Dean asks. Dean always knows how to handle situations, even Sammy's stubbornness; that is why he is the oldest.
He turns to Bobby with wide eyes. "Really, Uncle Bobby?"
"Sure."
"Cool!" and Sam stabs one of the steamed carrots on his plate eagerly.
I like it when we eat dinner at Bobby's house: he puts extra cheese on stuff and gives us popsicles for dessert. Once we are finished eating he clears the table. When he starts washing dishes Dean climbs onto a stool and helps to dry. I then stack them under the specific cupboard each dish goes under. Sammy watches us while happily eating his popsicle.
"See, Sammy, when you're older you can help, too," I say. He nods and licks at the blue dripping down his hand.
As soon as the last person is finished eating Dean jumps up and begins clearing the table.
"No, I want to do the dishes!" I shriek, "Uncle Bobby, tell Sam that it's my turn to wash dishes!" at my brother an accusing finger pointing. He continues washing dishes, humming and ignoring my protests. Bobby sighs and puts the leftovers in the fridge.
"Next time you can do them. I promise." Sam grins up at him with one tooth missing.
"Can I help Uncle Bobby?" He ruffles Sam's hair with a smile and agrees. Maybe there is something wrong with us because as far as I know my brothers and I are the only kids in school who enjoy washing dishes. Maybe it is because we don't ever get to do them besides at Bobby's house, doing simple chores is invigorating.
After dinner the next day, I hop from the table and dragging a stool to the sink, turn the hot water on and tip the soap upside down, dribbling a stream of bubbles out. Sam stands beside me on another stool and with a towel begins drying the dishes. There is a reason we use plastic plates at Bobby's house, for within thirty seconds the first is dropped. Sam crawls off the stool, scoops the plate out of a sudsy puddle on the floor and resumes drying. After assisting in clearing the table, Dean comes to the sink. He is tall enough not to need a stool.
"No, Dean! It's my night for dishes!" I scream. Bobby winces behind us.
"WIll you two quit your whining and get along," he growls. "Why don't the three of you work together?" he suggests. I don't like the idea, wary of Dean pulling the "I'm the oldest" card and claiming his right to where I am right now. But instead, he turns to Sammy and helps him dry, his hands over the chubby fingers of our little brother.
Bobby shakes his head fondly from the doorway at the children standing on footstools. "Igits." I glance over my shoulder and throw him a toothy grin, accidentally sloshing water over the counter where it runs down to the floor. Bobby reaches for the mop kept handy for when we visit. I suppose this can be considered a normal event.