The Vacuum Cleaner Died Today

With two dogs in my house I vacuum the carpets a lot.  Like four or five times a week a lot.  I've had my Hoover V2 superwhatever vacuum for about nine years now, so I should not have been surprised when in the middle of vacuuming smoke started pouring out of it, the beater bars stopped, and the electric circuit breaker for the living room was tripped.  I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was.  The living room was full of smoke.  The smell was horrible!  Burning rubber and something else, something electrical.  Opening the windows to the house was not an option with all of the heat and humidity outside, so I turned on all of the fans & sprayed air freshener everywhere.  Yeah, that really helped, NOT.  The dogs actually asked to be let outside.  Their normal attitude is that being locked outside is a horrific punishment, however under these circumstances they were happy to sweat it out in the heat & humidity for the benefit of fresh air.  My gut told me to just chuck the thing in the trash, it was definitely dead.  However, the part of me that really doesn't have the money for a new vacuum insisted I at least make an attempt to see what was wrong.  I spent the afternoon taking apart the entire vacuum & hoping it was just something as simple as a belt that needed replacing.  I hoped in vain.  The engine had obviously had a meltdown & I know of no cure for a dead vacuum cleaner engine.  So, into the trash the pieces went.  And off to Sears I went.

The salesman probably thinks I'm a bit nuts.  I looked at every model there & just wasn't thrilled with any of them because none of them were my dead vacuum.  The design of vacuum cleaners really has changed in the last 9 years.  I finally settled on the latest generation of Hoover's V2 superwhatever after the rather confused salesman managed to find one that wasn't orange.  He tried to explain that the color of the vacuum had nothing to do with the accessories or cleaning power - duh - and was befuddled when I told him that I knew that, but just couldn't live with an orange vacuum even if it was on sale & I'd go to a store that had a different color if I had to.  Men just don't get the color thing - especially if it happens to be the color of their favorite sports team & Tennesseans LOVE orange.  So now I have a red & white upright boxy looking thing that tried to suck the entire carpet up with the dirt when I turned it on tonight.  It's got a pretty cool detachable hose with an extension hose for getting the cobwebs and a bare floor attachment that my other vac didn't have, I like that part of it.  But it doesn't maneuver as well (it's too busy sucking face with the floor) and I don't like the design of the bagless dirt cup as well as the one on my old vac.  I suppose, given time, I'll end up liking this one too.  

I know that the vacuum cleaner's death is not the end of the world.  In the grand scheme of things, it's nothing.  But, it consumed pretty much my entire day and put a huge dent in my pocketbook by the time all was said and done.  So, today, the vacuum cleaner's death was a large part of my world.  I hope I won't have to say that again for another nine years.

Six Months Ago I Adopted A Beautiful Little Girl

My little girl interrupts my intentions of writing.  She is good at distracting me from what I mean to do.  "Mommy, rub my tummy."  And, of course, I comply because nothing at this moment is more important than a good tummy rub and the smile it puts on Lilly Ann's face.  She has been mine for just barely six months and I could not imagine life without her. She is bold and confident now.  No longer timid and petrified of everything.  She defends what is hers and easily asks for what she wants.  She knows twenty hand signals now - a dramatic increase from the five she knew only six months ago.  And she has become friends with Sylvester the cat.  A friendship good enough to play "chase the tennis ball" together.  She makes me smile and laugh out loud several times a day.  I am so blessed to have found my Lilly Ann.

I think I finally got all of the green snot off of the kitchen cabinets... maybe.

I have spent most of this summer with my neighbor's 10 year old daughter.  She's a great kid and this summer has been incredibly fun!  It's been tiring too - I'd forgotten how much energy ten year olds have!  We've been hanging out at the zoo, reading a few books, going to various parks, went to a movie, some museums, even made it to a mall once (I'm so NOT fond of malls).  But mostly we've stayed home gardening and baking.  She has dug too many rocks out of my yard to count, learned how to use a power drill, picked and ate her first zucchini, and has been getting a whole lot more confident with fractions (it's all the baking).  

If y'all know anything about zucchini, you know that it's the gift that keeps on giving and giving and giving and...  So, we had more of the stuff that one could ever want.  In situations like this, my great-grandma used to make us Zucchini Bread.  After getting the recipe from Mom, I put my young protegee to work grating zucchini with instructions not to shred her fingers off.  Then I left the kitchen for a while, the child happily shredding away.   

OOPS!  

When I came back, the child had a huge grin on her zucchini covered face and declared, "I've been having fun!"  Well, I'm no expert, but one must definitely be having a good time in order to cover oneself and the ENTIRE kitchen in shredded zucchini.  It took almost ten minutes to get it out of her hair!  It was all over the counters, floor, cabinets, dishwasher, oven... basically anything under six feet high looked like it had been covered in green snot.  Yuck!  I thought I got it all cleaned up.  Then the next day I found some more.  Two days after that I found some stuck to the cabinets above the microwave (which is above the stove & I had to stand on tiptoe to get it wiped off).  I haven't found any more for a few days, so I think I might have actually gotten it all.  But she didn't shred her fingers off, got to practice fractions some more while mixing the ingredients, it was very good zucchini bread, and most important of all she had a great time!

I am still clueless as to how she managed to get zucchini everywhere!

Update on my clumsiness...

Yeah, I know.  I'm really bad about posting these regularly.  My wrist is much better, still gives me twinges from time to time, but definitely better.  I didn't break it - even the Dr. was surprised at this.  I did manage however, to poke a hole smack dab in the middle of the ligament that connects the two knobby bones on the wrist.  Don't ask me how falling did that - even the Dr. seemed puzzled.  But, if it's an injury that just doesn't happen & is impossible to replicate, I'll figure out how to do it.  Anyhow, Doc said it would take care of healing itself in about 10 weeks.  I was confined to a custom wrist brace until last week when Doc said that if I behaved myself I didn't have to wear it anymore.  Of course I agreed to behave myself and not do anything stupid with my wrist.  Obviously Doc hasn't a clue about me or I'd be confined to the thing for another month!  I've already managed to mess it up a bit more  & voluntarily put the brace back on for a few days (it was really hurting).  I'm just glad to not be wearing it constantly & having people ask what I did. 

It's not my fault I'm physically challenged!

Blame my parents.  More specifically, blame my father.  It's the fault of those physically challenged genes I got from his side of the family!  No one on my mother's side of the family will ever be a professional athlete, but at least they're capable of walking through parking lots, walking up and down stairs, and can even play a pick-up game of softball without ending up in the emergency room.  It's completely normal for my paternal relatives to end up twisting an ankle walking down a perfectly paved road wearing tennis shoes.  We've been known to break or tear various bones & tendons doing stupid stuff like falling off a chair while playing choo-choo train (my uncle swears they took the corner too fast), tripping over the dog, running down a basketball court, diving into a swimming pool, jumping off a flatbed truck, jumping off a runaway forklift, or running over ourselves while driving an ATV (oops, guess you're not supposed to put your foot on the ground while taking the corner).  Guess that's why the most competitive sport at our family reunions was a rousing game of Horseshoes.  Don't get me wrong, we're strong.  We've definitely got the farmer muscles going for us.  Nope, no wimps on this side of the family.  It's just that we're a rather accident prone & uncoordinated bunch and my father is King of them all.  I think he's broken or torn more parts of his body than all of the rest of them combined.  And, of course, these would be the genes that I inherited.

There is a purpose to this rant... really there is.  You see, I'm trying to elicit a bit of sympathy so that you all don't laugh your asses off when I tell you about my latest accident.  Usually I can get by without anyone knowing that I did something horribly uncoordinated like tripping over the dog and falling down the stairs (it's true), but this time I really managed to hurt myself good.  I have managed to fracture my left wrist (a very tiny unsubstantial fracture) AND tear a ligament in said wrist.  It's been two weeks & immobilizing it has not helped, so I've got an MRI scheduled for next week to see if I need surgery.  It's all very dramatic until you hear HOW this injury occurred.  

Ready..... 

Drum roll please ..... 

I fell off of my shoes in the Lowe's parking lot.  I really can't even say that I tripped 'cause there was nothing to trip over.  I was just walking along in my three inch slip-on wedge heels, stepped on a bit of slightly uneven ground, and fell off of the shoes.  I caught myself with my hands.  The last time I pulled the fall in the parking lot maneuver (1998) I broke my left hand - it snapped nice and loud, a very obvious break.  So, this time, (after I made sure no one saw me fall) I was quite relieved that nothing appeared broken and my thoughts went something like this, "Hallelujah!  No one will ever know I was dorky enough to fall in a parking lot AGAIN!"  I'm sure the universe had a good laugh over that one.  So here I am, broken, in pain, embarrassed about how I got that way, and wishing that somehow I could trade some of these genes I inherited from my father in for genes from some star athlete.  While I'm waiting for that to happen, I suppose I'll start over on those "walking through a parking lot" lessons.