Something happened a couple of weeks ago that made me dance and sing for joy. Unfortunately, it didn’t involve the purchase of a big-screen TV or a certain combination of numbers on a lottery ticket. Still, this was pretty special.

We said goodbye to sippy cups in our house.

I don’t think anyone can fathom the importance of this development. I have carried this burden for more than four years.

You see, we don’t have a dishwasher. Well, we do, but it is me. I wash the dishes by hand. I have to give Maria credit because not only does she almost always dry them, she does her share of washing as well.

When we bought the house, we thought not having a dishwasher wouldn’t be that big of a deal. We didn’t throw dinner parties so we could get away with paper plates once in a while.

Plus, we often worked separate shifts and didn’t eat that many meals together. When I worked nights, I did the dishes late in the afternoon before she got home, giving me a great opportunity to look productive.

That changed when we started a family. The dishes did pile up a little more, but I managed. Since Bridget nursed, I didn’t have bottles to mess with. Instead, we moved her to sippy cups as soon as we could. That looked like a great idea on the surface. They didn’t have to be sterilized, just washed with the rest of the dishes.

They weren’t the easiest things to clean, but I survived. I had to learn the tricks of how to use the scrub brush to clean stuff from inside the lid. I discovered the art of using a toothpick to scrape dried milk from nooks and crannies. I handled it well for a few years, but it eventually got old.

When I would do the dishes, the sippy cup got a special place in my organizational system. Part of me wanted to make sure I gave it special attention. Part of me wanted it right in front of my face so I could curse it for making a simple job so maddening.

We had a pretty decent collection of the cups so I didn’t have to rush to do the dishes each day to make sure Bridget had a sippy cup. But she didn’t take long to develop an attachment to certain cups.

That ratcheted up the pressure. I couldn’t ignore the purple sippy cup anymore knowing that Maria would have to handle a fit when Bridget found out her favorite sippy cup was dirty.

Plus, some days we needed one cup for white milk, one for chocolate milk and one for juice. They overtook my life.

Several months ago, we started using a regular cup for Bridget at the table. Then we had the final breakthrough a few weeks ago: a plastic cup (no lid) in the living room at lunch.

Sure, we have to have some rules, but she’s pretty good about that. We have had no spills from what I know, which is good.

I just got a lot of time and energy back from not having to wash sippy cups. I don’t want to start having to scrub the carpet now.