Wednesday, June 16, 2010


I find it rather ironic that I spent over an hour this afternoon taking the vacuum cleaner apart.

Today sucked.

(insert laugh track here)

Rather than write about all the things that made today suck, I will write instead about my battle with the vacuum cleaner. It's far more entertaining anyway.

I don't vacuum upstairs nearly as often as I should. I vacuum downstairs ALL the time. Upstairs, not so much. I justify it because the dogs don't go up there, no one ever wear shoes up there and food and drinks other than water are forbidden. Plus, the kids rooms are their own private sanctuaries, and I let them get away with having messy rooms far too often.

I only have one vacuum. And I don't want to haul it up the stairs all the time. Okay, so that's probably the biggest reason I don't vacuum upstairs enough.

We built a house here. Not this one, but the one right behind us. We designed that house from the ground up. And do you want to know what it has in it??? A central, whole house vacuum cleaner. With ports upstairs and down, and a kick plate in the kitchen. We changed houses at the last minute because this one was done already, had a bigger garage and a bonus room. Better house overall, but no central vacuum.

I'm thinking I got screwed.

Anyway, after forcing the kids to pick up all their stuff, I hauled the vacuum upstairs and got to work. I started in Aidan's room, which is just a bad idea. For many reasons. The kid has a ton of toys with teeny parts and a loft style bed with a curtain he can pull shut to create the illusion of cleanliness. He's a magician, that one.

I was in the zone, trying to vacuum his room fast, before the girls had a chance to mess their rooms up again. I get very short windows of opportunity to vacuum. Very short.

I got to the edge of the dreaded curtain and heard the characteristic noise my vacuum makes when it isn't happy. Like a drowning cow, sort of. Not pretty. But, at least you know something is wrong right away. You know, before the motor starts to smell like smoke. We had a vacuum without an early warning system before. It didn't end well.

I sighed, turned off the vacuum. Then turned it back on real quick after crossing my fingers that it would magically get better. No luck. I unplugged it and called down to Aidan to get me a screwdriver. And a trash bag.

I could have waited for Tom to do it, yes. But, he was at work, with a tennis match afterwards. And has something to do tomorrow too. If it was going to get done, it wouldn't be until Thursday night, which wasn't going to do me any good. So I started taking out the screws. Tried to take the bottom off. Said some bad words. Took out more screws. Pulled out the guilty clogger. A tiny plastic bag from one of Aidan's LEGO sets. Stupid LEGOs.

Then, after the dust cloud cleared, I set about putting the vacuum back together. Except it didn't want to go back together. More bad words. Bigger dust cloud.

Then I sat there, almost defeated by the vacuum, realizing that Tom would just come home and laugh at me if I couldn't get the damn thing back together. Then he'd pat my little female head and remind me that such tasks were meant for men alone. I couldn't let that happen.

So I did what I had to do. What I've seen Tom do. I manned up. I hit the vacuum until it went back together.

And it worked.

Though there was that little entertaining break, the day promptly went back to sucking.

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