Today, I thought I would share an old story from February 2003. Elder would have been six years old. My husband would have been old enough to know better…
After a day filled with housecleaning, my vacuum exploded in a puff of smoke in the middle of sweeping the boys’ room. “I think you have it too full,” Elder told me, posed in the middle of the room with two Nintendos lifted high above the danger zone. “You need to empty it.”
“I don’t think that’s the problem,” I told him. Now, I will admit the canister needed to be emptied. But the hose extension worked while the base did not. Besides, I had been fighting with the thing since July. “I don’t know what’s wrong. Maybe Daddy can fix it. Or maybe we’ll have to buy a new one. Just don’t make any unnecessary messes.” Then, when my husband arrived home, I announced, “Something’s wrong with the vacuum. I need you to look at it.”
Walking towards the bedroom to change clothes, he glanced carelessly at the vacuum propped against the sofa. “Looks like you need to empty it.”
My jaw locking, I glared at his back while another voice pitched, “See, Mom, me and Daddy think –“
I switched by glare to Elder. “Shut up.”
Grinning, he followed his precious Daddy. And I really think I could have found a good use for a broken vacuum and any woman on any jury would have let me walk.