Some genius decided to organize an afternoon of games for dads and kids at church so the moms could have a break. After convincing my husband that he should take the kids, I settled in for a peaceful break involving making food for parties this week, vacuuming, and mopping the kitchen. I preheated the oven and starting mixing ingredients for chex mix. I went to get the bag of pretzels that I had just bought, and it was missing. Wasted ten minutes searching for it before concluding that someone must have eaten all the pretzels without my knowledge. The oven was all ready, and I didn't want to take time getting dressed and driving to Kroger, so I wasted another ten minutes calling all my neighbors to see if they had pretzels. None of them did. Doesn't everyone keep pretzels on hand at all times? Apparently not.
So I turned off the oven and moved on to my next project: vacuuming. I hate vacuuming, so I put it off as long as possible. Today it was long past shamefully overdue. I turned up some music and fantasized about lying on a beach, mindlessly pushing the vacuuming all over the kitchen. I was more than half done when I glanced up from the ocean to check on the dirty floor. It was as dirty as ever. I inspected the vacuum to determine why it wasn't doing its job. Nothing was coming to me. After all, I'm not a vacuum repair person. But then I saw this:
Then I remember we have another vacuum in the basement. So I drag it upstairs and finish the vacuuming. Now I only have 30 minutes till my family returns, so I need to get the mopping done so the floor gets dry before they get here. I had just barely started when they arrived, a full 30 minutes early.