Please don’t call child services on me.
My three year old has an unhealthy obsession with vacuuming. As we speak, she’s vacuuming saying, “Don’t get grouchy on me!”
A normal conversation goes as follows:
“So whatcha wanna do today? Go to the park? The gym? Play hockey?”
“I wanna vacuum!”
“No, really. Does the gym sound like fun?”
“I vacuum first, right?”
Every night when dinner’s cooking in the oven, I vacuum the rug. It was my mistake to purchase a black rug with a white dog. Oops. Either way, it’s a daily occurrence. A few weeks ago, Claire said, “Mama! I try?” And I figured, where’s the harm? Prior to this, she’d ‘vacuum’ with the ball popper or Swiffer. Fair enough.
Dyson is as tall as she is. I’m not exaggerating. Yet, there she is, Dyson in hand cleaning my floors.
I suppose I should enjoy it while I can since she’ll rebel in a few years when I make her do chores.
Before this, her basic ‘chores’ were to clear her plate after every meal, make sure her dirty clothes go into the hamper, and take groceries out of the bags after shopping. Not a big deal.
Yup. My three year old loves to vacuum. Huh.
Quick random note: I’m making dinner and baking peanut butter blondies for work tomorrow at the same time. My kitchen smells, interesting. Like mashed potatoes and peanut butter. However, to a pregnant woman, it’s intriguing. Wonder how it tastes together?