Vacuum Cemetery

At home I'm known as the Vacuum Queen. Silly as it is, I love this chore. I vacuum no less than three times a week, and usually mop twice.

Now don't forget, I also have 2 small boys, a husband and a dog. I haven't figured out just yet if they are in charge of making the mess, or the mess follows them. Either way, it's a constant battle for cleanliness.

Because of this strange habit of mine, you can probably imagine that I have gone through more than one vacuum. Well, this August my husband and I will have been married for seven years. Exactly 4 vacuums have gone to heaven since we've been together.

I can't exactly explain what happened to any of them. All I remember is one day I was bringing home my shiny new vacuum and a couple months later there was a funny smell. This would often be followed by regurgitating dust particles, sometimes smoke, and only once a little flame. (Not a full blown fire. Just something that was easily put out with a palm, shoe and old shirt.

Most people probably think I put my vacuums through hell just by using them so much. The truth is, I'm actually quite gentle. I clean the beater brush regularly, empty canisters and change bags, but to no avail. The closest I came to torturing a vacuum was the time my husband threw his fishing line in the guest room table. Only he accidentally left a little hanging on the floor. In I came with the vacuum. You can imagine what happened next. Imagine having your car in Park, the ignition turned on. Now place your foot on the gas pedal all the way to floor, and don't let up for about 10 seconds. That was the sound I heard. It was followed by a flume of smoke, a small chuckle (yes, it laughed at me), then finally silence. Poor guy never stood a chance.

After vacuum #4 went into the light, my husband vowed that we would spend some money and buy a nice vacuum. Something "top of the line" I think he said. So that Christmas I received an Oreck. I know some women would be completely disappointed with receiving an appliance for a Christmas gift. I however knew what was in that box. I think I heard angels singing.

And so, after sending 4 vacuums to the cemetery, I have been the proud owner of a trusty Oreck for the past 2 years. That is until yesterday. I was vacuuming (of course) when that all too familiar smell of burning rubber began to resonate from the undercarriage of my favorite appliance. Immediately I ran to the receptacle and pulled out the cord. "No no no, not you," I cried. I can't let this happen again. I turned it on it's side to see if I accidentally grabbed anything (like invisible fishing line). There was nothing to be found. "It will be all right," I promised my friend. "It will be all right."

Well tomorrow is a new day. Hubby will be home during the morning shift. I have already added "Change the belt on the Oreck" to his Honey-Do List. It's an easy remedy, and one that I hope will work. The thought of putting another vacuum to rest hardly sits well with me. This guy was truly loyal. In it's short life span it must have tackled at least 100lbs. of cheerios, not to mention the countless other morsels that have fallen from our dining room table.

Until then, it's back to the basics. A broom and a dustpan. Tear :(

Tune in tomorrow (same Bat Time same Bat Channel) to find out: Did Honey change that belt? Did Mr. Oreck respond? or Did another vacuum "Beat the Dust?"

Warning: Do Not Vacuum Your Car While Wearing A Scarf!

I think my voice took off today. You know, that voice that whispers to you right before you dive into something stupid (with both feet).

So there I was this morning at the gas station with Scooter waiting patiently in his car seat. With all the bad weather we've had lately, the inside of our minivan was beginning to resemble the Rocky Mountains. The pebbles and rocks that had been stuck in the bottom of our shoes now found their way onto the carpet. I had put it off long enough, so I decided today would be the day I vacuumed the inside of my van.

I had forgotten that apparently there is some unwritten rule about dress code before you begin vacuuming the inside of your car. Let's just say, one should not be wearing a scarf.

You can probably guess where this story is going, although it happened so fast, my reaction time was a bit slow. I never saw my scarf go up into the vacuum. There was just a terrible sound, then a tight hold around my neck.

"Oh my God," I yelled.

"Mommy, the vacuum is eating your scarf," Scooter screamed.

"Mommy is O.K, Scooter," I yelled back. I quickly began to rescue myself from the possessed hose which had an obvious appetite for pretty accessories.

"Mommy, the vacuum is eating your Target bag now!"

"Dear Lord," I thought to myself. "Could you please help me out here?"

Just then a stranger pulled up. "Could you tell me where the Warminster Diner is?"

"Are you flipping kidding me," I thought. I just got done rescuing my scarf and purchases from a vacuum, and now you want me to give you directions?

"It's over there," I shouted.

Finally my five minutes had passed and the vacuum saga came to an end.

I have recently been thinking about reentering the work force. But let's be serious, my days won't be half as exciting as they are now.