This is my vacuum cleaner as of today...
I remember, when I was about ten years old, reading this book called "Crummy Mummy" and at times I feel like Crummy Mummy.
The main character in the book was a ten year old girl talking about her slap dash Mum. I can well imagine that Crummy Mummy would tape up her vacuum if it wasn't working...although I'm pretty sure Crummy Mummy was allergic to housework. So I can't be all that crummy.
Although, the jury might still be out on that one. I have at least eighteen years to prove myself. So far, I'm doing a good job, but this is the "easy" part (I'm waiting for it to get harder, but the only thing I find hard is the interfering that people seem to love, the judgements from stupid people who've not had kids in about twenty something years plus or people who have kids and I shudder seeing them with their children and the glut of "advice" from well meaning people).
I'm not a great Mummy to my vacuum, however, as it decided to commit suicide tonight. I tried to save it from the brink a few times. It got over heated (my OCD was in full swing today, so a lot of things got cleaned) and well it looks like a trip to Argos might be in order...the tape won't help it. That's just masking the bigger problem.
I don't really have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I wish I did. And I wish it was the stereotypical kind that every one believes is OCD. You know, scrubbing the house top to toe for about twenty hours a day until it's perfectly organised, cleaned and sorted. Living with it for real is boring, frustrating and at times you feel like throwing a very hot iron in the face of the sufferer - just sayin'.
So...where were we? Broken stuff in my home.
Well, when I was a newly wed and didn't have a job (them were the days) I bought an expensive
charity shop bought photo frame. An Umbra one, if you're really interested and I was so excited. However, what I did not realise was that you need a Masters Degree in Engineering to put the blasted thing together. It was mighty complicated and took me about an hour (I kid you not) to build a flipping photo frame.
So, following the very complicated instructions, which consisted of basically looking at the picture on the front of the box I felt a building sense of achievement at having "made up" the frame - it's a pendulum photo frame, don't worry I will illustrate my point with a photo very soon - and having the hang of where all the nuts and bolts (again, I kid you not, this thing has more nuts and bolts than Dr Frankenstein's monster) went I thought it sensible to try out the different photos I might like in the frame. Sensible, yes?
Not so much.
On my second attempt of unscrewing the bits and pieces that made up the frame, a crack started to appear in the glass. I panicked, moved one of the bolts round too quick and cracked the blasted frame. I was devastated. Here was my lovely frame, ready to house my even lovelier wedding photographs and my stupidity had destroyed my hopes.
I put it back in the box and pretended it had all been a horrible nightmare. I was sure that the photo frame fairies would fix it. If not, I had just broken a £42 photo frame. That I had purchased for £2.60.
We moved to a different town, different flat and the months passed. The photo frame stayed in it's box and I was sure it was dead and buried. Then Bryan glued back the glass and lo and behold, it was fixed!
|Click to enlarge.|
This is the part where you think I have concluded the story, that we all lived happily after in a World of fixed photo frames and patched together vacuum cleaners that are held together by the hair of their chinny chin chins...well a few weeks ago, a chip of glass came off the photo frame, and a few days ago the chip of glass accidentally
I was too lazy to dust the photo frames got swallowed by the vacuum. Now the vacuum isn't working.
I don't think it's related to the glass sucking up incident. Or at least I keep telling myself that.
Also, on a picture related note - did you notice the "Roman" name train? I have been secretly hoping someone would go to Rome (the only place in the World they seem to be available) and buy me one of these. Because I think it's very clear to all those that know me I am not going near Rome for a good while yet. My parents bought one of these name trains for my nephew when he was a baby and they got it in Rome and I absolutely loved it. I told myself if I ever adopted - was no way I would have dreamed of being pregnant or giving birth all those years ago - my kid I would get them a name train. They were (and are) adorable.
I actually started to fantasise about the name train when Roman was born. I went looking on-line for one and considered - but not for too long - perhaps making one myself. Then my Mum paid us a visit this week and like the magical mind reader she is at times, she had one for him. I couldn't believe it. I was gob smacked when I saw it. I almost didn't want to believe this could be a name train. And it was. Also, my Mum didn't travel to Rome to pick up this "Roman." Nope, just got it at the county fair. Yes, they still have those these days. My Mum comes from a different part of the World called Thurso. It's magical and not unlike Narnia (both in winter and summer).
Everything's fantastic. Oh and my vacuum managed to work enough so I could vacuum the bed and mattress - does no one else do that? My sleepless nights shall be cured! And I make no note of sarcasm when I say that.