Vacuum Chaser

So, the title really says it all.  Thaddeus is a vacuum-chaser.  Literally.  A drooling, down-on-all-fours (slow) vacuum chaser.  He was playing in his room, and that is where I started.  He heard the rumble of the fifteen-year-old motor, saw the guiding light (really, 1993, what was that feature for?) and he sprung into zombie-lurching action.  He followed the track as I pushed back and forth over the carpet.  Let me tell you: trying to clean a carpet while simultaneously avoiding determined little fingers is no easy feat.  But, once his room was done, I moved on to the area rug in the living room.  I expected his easily-distracted mind to move on as well, perhaps to a nearby cup or dresser drawer knob.  Wrong, Mom!  That little thrill-seeker came tearing (referring to his hell-bent facial expression, not so much his speed) around the corner from his bedroom and began a low-to-the-ground attack.  It was hysterical to listen to him yelling at the thing, with his final triumphant yelp coming as he used the bottom piece to hoist himself up onto his knees.  Classic.

In other news, renting blows.  Seriously.  I understand it's an investment property for people, but why don't you strap on your fancy pantsuit and take care of your shit.  On the heels of kinda/sorta figuring out The Plan, we may have to get outta Dodge (a.k.a. move again) in order to escape a hostile black mold takeover.  A-holes.

Also, Aurelia loves tutus.  And piles of dirt.  And drawing with sidewalk chalk.  And bacon.  And dancing like a goon.  Honestly, that one is all over the place.