First Dyson Fail

Woof. I think the title should explain everything. Especially if you know I have a sticky little boy running around the house. Story time? Absolutely. After Bubz woke up from a loooong peaceful nap (mom loves when those go down, hello productivity?) we sat down to have some num nums. Rather, an afternoon snack comprised of some fresh strawberries, pears and a peanut butter waffle. Num. Nummm. Anyway, the mom in me thought hey, maybe I should tidy up the kitchen a bit before it gets out of control messy. (Sometimes I feel as though us women have the thought of cleaning hard wired into our brains before we are even born.) Since I felt like I had to do it at this point, I began with some dishes and slowly worked over to wiping off the counter. In my mind, I was saving the kitchen vaccuuming for last, because if anybody knows my son, they know that boy loves him some vaccuuming. You think he would be scared of the noises it makes, I know, especially when the Dyson is on turbo blast, but no. Of course that doesn't stop him from trying to trample over my feet and the vaccuum to give it kisses. So I saved the best for last in the cleaning department, because had I went and turned it on, Nyke would have thrown a fit being straight-jacketed into his highchair eating and not being able to come help Mommy. After the num num feast ended, I washed him up for what was about to be the next best thing ever (in his mind anyway). Dun dun duuuunn...Vaccuum time! And we commenced. For some reason, the Dyson didn't have it's normal head attachment on but instead the flattened out hose looking one that allows you to get into crevices. What a great word, crevice. Since I had no idea where on earth the normal vaccuum head was, we just went with it. Then, boom. Kitchen floor clean. The process of it went so smoothly that I had another thought (clearly I was on a thinking roll today) why don't I hit up the bathroom too since it needs a little crevice cleaning? I swung the door open with excitement that another room in the house was about to be pretty.

Side note: Nyke absolutely loves his baths and any and every time the bathroom door opens, he goes running in there like an elementary kid heading to the playground for recess. And begins throwing his bath toys into the bath, anxiously waiting and hoping that it is time to dive into 5 inches of bubble water. Every. Single. Time. 

                        

(not a photo taken of what is about to happen)

At this moment as I swung the door open and began sucking up the mess in the bathroom, I was so caught up in dysoning that I had forgotten that I had given the little monster a bath earlier that day and hadn't drained the bath water or put away his toys that were in there. So la di da me over here finished up and finally turned to my son who had, clearly, followed me right in there. And woah, low and behold he was standing by the bath with both of his hands elbow deep in bath water. Should I mention here that he had a sweat shirt on? Mom fail. Panick hit and I begin the process of wrangling him out of there, without getting myself completely drenched with used bath water too. Which, believe me, is no easy task, especially when my baby boy was just teased majorly thinking that he was about to have bath time for the SECOND time that day. Could he be so lucky?! I was finally able to scoot his soaked self out of the door and close it. Then I kid you not, directly after shutting the door, the Dyson that was in my hand decided to malfunction and dump allllllllllllll of the crumbs out on the floor that we had just spent ten minutes sucking up. Including crusty cheerios, dried old fruit pieces and pretzel chunks. Really Dyson? What great timing you have. Nyke, who mind you was sitting next to me wet on the floor, obviously thought the food Gods had just rained down on him for round two of snack time. So of course during the awestruck of myself frozen in place and just standing there unable to comprehend why the Dyson just took a dump on me when I hadn't told it to, he took off crawling right through that shiz. And it was like watching a lint roller going over a pile of crushed crackers. Cuz remember, he was wet. The definition of a "babymop" was just created at that moment in time. Cheers to praying that the crushed piece of crumb covered pear he was able to shove in his mouth before I snagged him and re-vaccuumed everything up won't bring on any sicknesses. F*ck.

Lesson learned?

Never have the thought again of "tidying" up the kitchen. Because, obviously, it is just going to lead to a bigger mess.

Over and Out

Rach