I hate picking things up.
Blame it on my bad back. Or better yet, blame it on my bad work
ethic. No matter the cause, the process of bending my body in half
in order to collect Legos, rubber bands, clothes, and shoes might
as well be considered a circle of hell. Especially when you're 7
Now to be fair, I do have my own self-supplied labor force that
is put to work on a regular basis. Sadly, they are not the most
fastidious of minions:
Me: THE PEN. Pick the PEN up off the floor. You're practically
STANDING ON IT, Dan.
Minion #1: Where is it? I don't see it.
Me: There are 300 Rainbow Loom bands still on the floor, Jack.
Get them now.
Minion #2: I did! I totally got them all!
Me: Go hang your coat on your hook, Joey.
Minion #3: I like cake.
When I told my husband I wanted a Dyson for Christmas last year,
he thought I was kidding. When I bought one of those gripping tools
(the ones that work-release prisoners use on the side of the road
to collect cans and garbage), he thought I was being ironic:
My Grip 'N Grab. So precise, it can pick up plastic pegs
from Battleship and chocolate chip fragments.
My husband doesn't always understand me.
But you know who does understand me?
The Dyson people. When I wrote about my umpteenth vacuum
breaking last week and my decision to order a refurbished Dyson to
replace it, you know what those most blessed of people sent me? One
of these babies:
That's right. A hand-held, cordless Dyson DC 44. With countless
rugs strewn around my house, bending, plugging, unplugging and
re-plugging had just become a way of life.
Until this week.
Cordless changes everything.
When I realized how easy it was to suck cobwebs off the high
corners of my ceiling, I poured myself a glass of red wine. When I
brought it out to my minivan for a quick once-over, I cackled like
a loon as three pounds of beach sand was eradicated.
Best of all? When it comes to vacuuming the floor after dinner,
YOU DON'T HAVE TO MOVE THE FLIPPING KITCHEN CHAIRS. The thing just
maneuvers around everything. It was like the Dyson people knew my
every lazy quality and built the Mother-Sucker of all vacuums.
Despite this miraculous instrument of modern ingenuity, Joe
still won't let me sleep with it.
No matter. Dyson's U.S. headquarters are here in Chicago, the
old Montgomery Ward building in fact. The nice corporate
people told me I could pop in and "check out their vacuums" anytime
And by "check out," I assume I will be allowed to lick them.
Stay tuned as I've already lined up fellow Chicago Parent writer
Kari Wagner to come
along and fondle the fancy vacuums with me sometime before
Dyson's corporate offices may never be the same again. And they
may want to think about disinfectant wipes once we leave.
Marianne is mother of three sons and the wife of a southside Irish fireman. She has learned that sometimes you're just too dumb to know what makes you happy. She blogs regularly at We Band of Mothers (webandofmothers.com) and curses with even greater frequency. Her material is written for the imperfect, the imprudent, and the impatient mothers who know that all this stuff is really very funny if you just give it a minute.
See more of Marianne's stories here.
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