No One can come between a Mother and her Roomba … Its not Friday?

There is such an empty sadness that fills your home when children whose laughter and shouts of anger have left the hallowed halls. When as a parent you are lucky to receive a text message from your child who used to speak real words to you daily and smile at you like they meant it, not to mention whisper words of love; that these children had the audacity to actually grow up and continue on with their lives, leaving you somewhere behind. And I am so proud, but I am also so invested, letting go is definitely not in the mother’s manual of learning how to cut the cord, because there isn’t one.

I was a teenage mother who graduated high school six months pregnant. The whole of my life has been my family. My first born daughter was an only child for six years; her father and I were still quite young and considered her being our only until her little sister and brother decided to join her. (You would have to speak to their counselors to decide if they are happy with the way things turned out.) But darn-nit – that used to be a word of profanity I believe – this is about me and how hurt my heart has become in their departures and growth into amazing people. (And as far as I know, they don’t have counselors, but then, I am only their mama, madre, mommo, monster.  They were never allowed to call me by my given name.)

So you can imagine my extreme distress and shock when these beautiful children sat me down over their spring vacation, yet again, for a domestic device intervention. A meeting of their sibling minds that I had a damaging affiliation with Roomba, an appliance and fostered-child-robot vacuum of mine they were seriously considering removing from my home. How could they be so unkind, do they not have internet withdrawals, data deprivation and all consuming smart-phone obsessions?

I believe it went something like this – with me sitting at the same table, like I wasn’t even there – (I’m surprised they even voiced their thoughts out loud when they could have just texted each other while in the same room.)

“I think it’s time we got her something else.”

“Yea, I agree.”

“It’s embarrassing. She needs something different to talk about.”

And then they spoke about different objects they could purchase to end my fixation, but who or better yet what would clean my floors? These three little pieces of amazing-ness (not a word) surely weren’t going to do it.

So spring break is over, Roomba and I stare out the window wondering where all the time has gone, when next my sweet ornery munchkins will return and the endless cycle continue. The immense joy at having your home again filled with their bubbling presence – only to have it end, equally as painful – as the first time they drove away with packed bags in the back of their cars. The tail-lights waving good bye and a mom’s tears and prayers that they understand just how much it is that a mother and her robotic device can love them.

Find Love, Be peace, Vacuum on.  Send Sunshine.

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Roomba Please

Roomba Please, say it isn’t so…You have got to be kidding me!

A detailed conversation with my vacuum cleaner:

Tell me there is no possible way that I accidentally pushed the red button on your dirt reservoir while picking you up off my beautiful dark carpet.  Tell me that your plastic sleek lined body did not just separate into two pieces. Tell me I am not holding your motor in one hand and the grime receptacle in the other upside down, as all your hard work falls out in clumps of dust and debris.

Tell me my dearest Roomba that my company is not to arrive in less than five minutes.  Tell me your battery is still charged.  Tell me your are a master of your craft and in my haste can undo all that I have created.  Tell me I did not just holler a sailor’s rich variety of profanity while my cherub faced three-year-old grandchild is watching me in wonder. 

And lastly, I ask you to tell me that this is not the way my day should continue.  

In conclusion…Your poker player’s steely gaze and blank stare tells me everything I need to know.

PS…No rechargeable devices were hurt in the creation of this post.

Send Sunshine your Friday is here and weekend near.

Oh’ Roomba if only …

My sweet little Roomba are you lonely?  Do you need a household playmate?  A furry creature who will jump on top of you and ride you for hours?  Not happening…

I have always had an aversion for indoor pets.  (Not that I don’t like pets)

Please understand I have severe allergies that will send me into a reactionary event that is not pleasant, lay me out for days and one I wish to avoid at all costs.  And yet, somehow over the years I have acquired Pomeranian grandchildren who frequently visit and use my house with the same respect as well…we should not go there.  You can imagine the consequences of eating play dough and glitter.  If these human children of mine brought home cats, I am sorry, I would have to move out.

But then I saw these videos where the cats literally “Hop on Pop” and power Roomba on, just like my visiting toddler team.  It made me re-think…okay, that’s a lie.  I really just wanted to show you that I am not the only Roomba nut out there in this world.  🙂  Happy Friday Funnies and as always, send sunshine!

Friday the 13th & Roomba!

I thought it was me at first.  I go into a room and suddenly Roomba would be at my feet like an annoying cat brushing against my ankles.  I then move into another area of the house and sure enough she would show up again, bouncing against my heels as if that were the only spot in 1500 square feet that had not been addressed in her cleaning routine yet.  I gently, okay maybe not so gently, kick her away and usually carry on about my business.

My fascination with my robot at times preoccupies me and now this obsession has been past to new generations, pushing Roomba’s buttons and making her spin is great entertainment. My granddaughter and nephew look for every opportunity to power her up.  So when visitors happen by, Roomba is usually buzzing about, and lets just say, she is much more than white noise.  She is headache worthy.

And now discovery has led me to this, she does not just pester me but my guests.  It is as though La’Robot is on the prowl and hunting, wherever you might roam throughout my house her course suddenly changes, and she begins to stalk her prey. I thought her heat seeking skills where only in my imagination, but when others are in the zone she accidentally bumps into them, repeatedly.  (Note to prospecting visitors-shoes are a necessity.)

As bothersome a pet as any other.  A glutton for attention this disc is, I am well pleased she does not speak, stands more than 3 inches off the ground or can wield any sharp object for that matter.  Jason, meet Roomba…Roomba, Jason.

My money is on the robot.  Have a blessed day, send sunshine and remember a number is just a number, a day is just a day and a vacuum is just a vacuum.  Be <3!

Click photo for sound

Friday! Roomba! Fun!

Little black Magic box

Spinning round the floor

How you make

my Life so Great

While doing

all My chores.

When you whine

I cannot hear

so I beg You,

Please speak up

or Repeat 

these words

You speak to me

until I tell you, stop!

Send Sunshine and shine and shine and shine.  Much <3!  PS…Click photo for fun!

Click photo for sound
Oh’ geez so many choices…so little time!

Let the Celebration Begin

Let the celebration begin with party hats and latex-free gloves on!  Today is the day for roller change out and filter re-newel.  Roomba is excited, as your car would be with an oil change.  Good times are coming.  I believe even my floors can’t wait to feel her soft unhindered brushes tickle their hardwood faces.

This little robot and her adoptive mother are doing a happy dance.

After quelling her obsession for socks, she has earned her new baubles and can wear them with pride as she diligently does her domestic chore list.  It would probably do the two of us good if I actually researched how often this change of the regulatory guards should occur.  

Oh well, I mean…I reminisce with a vacuum, probably shouldn’t push our luck.

At this moment, I can hear her footsteps happily gliding over the upstairs floors; a song on her lips, a breath of exhilaration she hums that her air filter harbors particles not.  The sun is shining through the windows and Miss Robotic is basking in the light while she does a series of endless twirls.

And then silence.  This is never a good thing.  I will return.

I got to the top of the stairs and needed to venture no further.  In the middle of the floor lies a bad habit I had hoped to not see, a smoking gun if you will.  Roomba is nowhere to be seen, but there is a single 2 x 3 inch hot pink Hello Kitty bootie abandoned and alone.  We all know that can mean only one thing…Roomba?!

I feel a twelve step program might be in order.  Send Sunshine, let there be hope for us all.  Together there is possibility in absolutely everything.

Friday, Saturday, Sunday…to my shame I cannot distinguish a difference.

Friday, Saturday, Sunday…to my shame I cannot distinguish a difference, this wild vortex called life picks us up and drags you along.  This past week dealt with some revelations, a few hard truths, in which, I am willing to share.

I am sure many of us have had this experience…

The lore of the missing sock.

The happy couple goes into the washing machine, but by the time the load makes it out of the dryer, and by the time we get around to folding the batch of mountainous laundry that continues to grow, somehow there is only a lone survivor.  A solitary sock, who not long ago had a matching partner.  A teammate now lost in the quest of warming toes.

Life’s curious mystery.

Our appliances of convenience have a compulsion that I believe must be satisfied.  A sacrifice that must rendered in appreciation for use of these amenities.  Socks seem to fit the bill, no letting of blood, just a poly-cotton blend.  It has been long implied the assumed guilt of the washing machine and dryer, the obvious partners in crime, but this week somebody new entered into the life of criminal delinquency and her name just happens to be, yes, you got it, Roomba.

Oh’ my fostered favorite child, what am I to do?

I came to find her most innocently, but shame and guilt immediately gave her away.  She had parked that cylindrical body face first into a corner and stopped.  A self-imposed time-out for villainy.  At first, I did not understand why her face was long and mood dour, and, so like many a parent I asked.

“Roomba, what is it?  Why are you over here?  You silly, little creature.”  I moved to turn her over and rub that molded plastic belly of hers, as you would your family pet and there it was; the evidence of her crimes for not only one but two completely different socks lay lodged in her under carriage.  And as you would imagine not a breath of guilt did she breathe.  Her hand had been caught in the cookie jar.

I fell to the floor beside her with my mother’s guilt and disappointment.  I’d realized I had failed my robotic vacuum.  The many temptations of life that I should have warned.  With Roomba in hand I led her to the laundry room door and knocked, it was time to meet the Maytag’s, Mr. Washer and Mrs. Dryer.  My sweet, no longer innocent, robot had a confession to make, and we both had apologies to proffer.

Send Sunshine, I hope your weekend is filled with light and laughter.

Emergency… Call V.C.P.S

Emergency…call V.C.P.S in South Korea!!  My sister recently sent me an article from the Daily Dot in regards to a woman sleeping on the floor while a robotic vacuum cleaner tried to swallow her head one hair at a time.  She phoned the fire department, but failed to save the suffocating machine from her tresses.

I personally would like to call the Vacuum Care Protective Services.

It is very apparent this particular owner of a robot vacuum, similar to my beloved Roomba, had no business having such a device under her supervision.  To think she was sleeping in the zone of a programmed robot, that she set up, is tragic at the least.  I can not rest, thinking of whatever other household horrors this poor machine had to endure.

Possibly the robot has never received maintenance.  Dust prohibiting proper air flow.  The electronic walls, no doubt, with bleeding batteries inside.  It’s mouth stuffed, asphyxiating on dirt and debris from improper removal.  The lithium power cell poorly charged and starving.  Every vacuum deserves a fighting chance.

Another dismal fact is the care-giver did not even know her vacuum, if this lady understood its intricate mechanisms she could have removed the roller herself.  Honestly, it pops out of it’s plastic body.  It would have then hung on her head like a beauty salon curler weighing less than a pound.  In which she could have extracted without the paramedics help.  It leaves you to wonder why this woman went to such extremes for attention at a little black discs expense.

This vacuum cleaner should be removed from her home and put up for adoption to a kind and loving household.  Someone who would protect, honor and respect this rechargeable creature.  A relocation program for unfit guardians of robot vacuum devices. 

And, before there is a widespread pandemic, outlawing homes from owning robotic cleaners, I would lastly like to point out that; the I Robot Roomba series would scream at you to get your ass off the floor, so it could continue the daily chores.  The machine would knock you upside your head, and its blaring, warning signals would yell at the blundering obstruction in the way.  A pathetically unqualified purchaser in this case.

Send Sunshine, save a Roomba or their friends.  🙂   Have a safe and blessed day!

P.S…(I am happy to say the woman did not sustain any serious injury.)

Roomba Envy-Friday Funnies on Saturday? A day here or there, it is all the same, right?

Roomba envy is this obsession that follows me wherever I go.  Like a madness, that plagues me, I cannot overcome it.  When visiting friends I do not look for cob webs in the corners of their homes or dust clinging to the top shelves.  (Definitely, my grandmothers influence.  Love you Nana.)  My eyes scan the floor.  I search for charging stations, electronic walls or any other indication a robotic vacuum occupies their space.

I quickly comment when I notice such paraphernalia. (Yes, I had to look up how to spell that word.)  I hope they, too, have a similar attachment to their gadgets.  When spotted, immediately, I am drawn into conversation about particular device models, performance and, or, general fascination.  It would be similar to the ooh’s and ahh’s of fawning over a new baby.  So when recently at a friend’s home I could not ignore the pained look in a Roomba’s eyes.

This young, male robot was working.  Her floors gleamed with his attentions.  (My granddaughter informed that it was a he and not a she.)  He was a newer member to the Roomba line.  A handsome, dashing fellow cleaning the best he could from his computer chip memory.  But, there was a haunted look about him.  You could say he walked with a limp, a hiccup in his giddy-up.  I was drawn to his side.  

It was possible, only I could hear his cries.

“What is wrong with him?” I asked.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“Roomba.  There is something wrong with him.  He isn’t working right,” concern arched in my brow I moved into his zone and picked him up.  I believe I frightened her, that I should comment on her vacuum cleaner and then have the audacity to flip him over, like a pup, and rub his belly.

If he had any obstructions, I would have gladly taken it upon myself to clean him up good and tidy, but he was free of any visible performance impediments.  I must say, I was impressed with his general clean bill of health and care he was receiving.  Yet, those frisky whiskers of his were not spinning for the added benefit of sweeping tight spaces

Being, the savvy penny pincher I try to be, and to avoid the costly expense of my Roomba expert, his traveling costs, hourly rates, after hours fines and the added bonus of his condescending, mocking voice, I first resort to the millions of internet advisors found on the famed GOOGLE.  Again, these machines are fairly straight forward and, like Dyson, have colored coded Lego-like parts that snap together with puzzle type accuracy.

“I think you are going to have to return him,” I advised.  “He is too new to not be working properly.”  The little black disc cried a little as I held him, shuddering he should have to go back into a box and be permanently removed from this loving family.  It couldn’t be helped.  I shook my head sadly and placed him back on the floor.  I pushed his clean button and watched him sulk off crushed by my analysis.

My girlfriend was heartbroken.  She stared at him forlorn and concerned.  She had not even realized he was sick.  Her loving, motherly good nature took a hard hit.  How could she not have known?  “Are you sure?” she asked me.

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”

A few days later, I received an uplifting phone call.  “I fixed him!” my friend told me excitedly.

I couldn’t believe it, “What?  How?”  A true glutton for Roomba knowledge and continued education.

“I took him apart, screw by screw and sure enough there was something lodged inside his body that kept his spinner from spinning.”

An in home operation.  Even I don’t think I could be so brave.  A true inspiration.  She could not bear the separation from the newest member in her household, and only he would do.  I had believed I was alone in having that kind of affection for a robot vacuum cleaner.  I couldn’t help but be overjoyed and smiled.  Now that is love.  🙂

Send Sunshine, we are all more alike than we would like to believe or care to see.

Oh’ Roomba

Oh’ Roomba, how you make my heart go thump. 

Last week, I ignored her cries for recognition in Friday Funnies, but as the stern task master, I made her do her dirty-little chores in the usual fashion without writing Roomba, dear, in a post.  The newest development in our relationship is that I no longer hide my vacuum fascination from my husband.  I have grown courage to voice my obsession, and am like, “Hey babe, have you seen Roomba?”  As though it is a perfectly normal question, and she is the family pet or absent child who has momentarily slipped out of the room.  In his mind he’s probably saying, crazy bat, but he casually replies, “No, babe.”  It is possible he does not hear me or chooses to ignore the fact his wife has figuratively, lost it

Such a sweet man.  Goodness, how I love him.

Is that not how life should be?  To accept one another as we are different?  To save personal judgments for a higher power?  In fact, we were never created to be faultless, or identical in any form, but compassionate, loving and do our best to follow a path led by enlightenment.  Is it obvious I grew up in the ‘seen but not heard’ generation, where you ‘speak when spoken to’ and ‘if you have nothing nice to say, you say nothing at all’?

It is so perplexing how this cannot be a standard for sharing breath on the same planet.  Make it our motto, our pledge to each other as individuals who were created equal, let us Send Sunshine, swallow negative tendencies and replace them with a positive, brighter riposte.  Let light in and love.  Every day is the right day to say something, nice.