Dear Shea,
You love the vacuum. I'd like to say that's because I am bringing you up in a godly fashion and you're learning from my example to be a keeper of the home (Titus 2:3-5 Baby!), but I think it's just the lights that attract you. Not to mention, your fundamental need to take out every toy in the toy box is not easily disguised by your great interest in domestic duties.
It's also possible, you are in war with the vacuum. Every time I pull it out, you come waddling into the room and follow me with every to, fro and overlap stroke. Sometimes, you get into a staring contest with the machine; I wait, with great amusement, but eventually determine the Bissel is beat and move around you. Other times, you'll sit down exactly where I am about to vacuum next. Perhaps you'll be a social activist when you are older (?); because, I swear, the way you own that small square footage of carpet beneath your bum is like one who owns a tree they have chained themselves to.
Actually, now that I think about it a bit more, maybe you hate the vacuum. Wait a minute, that can't be. You are my daughter aren't you!!?
Bloom for the vacuum... I love you!
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