It's baaa-aaaaack...

As some of you might remember, my Roomba bit the dust a couple of weeks ago. I just received a new one via UPS, and Jason is THRILLED that it is back! If you look closely at the picture, you will notice that in his rush out of the bathroom to save his toys from being "sucked up by that thing," he didn't quite have time to pull his pants all the way up before climbing onto the coffee table in fear. I've never seen those chubby little legs move so fast.



Just look at him, pleading with me. "Mommy, make it stop!!!" Okay, I'll admit it. I deliberately redirected the Roomba in Jason's direction a few times just so I could hear the scream and watch the dance of panic. I have clearly hit rock bottom in my quest for entertainment. But really, what is wrong with this child? He wasn't afraid of the defective Roomba I sent back. And this new one is the EXACT SAME model. (Did they send me the evil twin?)

Actually, I'm beginning to think the other Roomba's problems went far beyond a Failure to Charge. I think its mental condition was on unsteady ground from the very start. A touch of schizophroombia, perhaps. I had just assumed that it was supposed to wander aimlessly from room to room, going over the same area over and over again, until I would find myself yelling, "The dirt is GONE there, you dumb-ass! What about the rest of the damn room?!" In fact, I guess I can see why Jason developed a fear of the thing. He's used to hearing me talk to it as if it's a real member of the household. "Get away from there!" and "Man, you're stuck there AGAIN? Don't you ever LEARN?" and "Don't you go in that bathroom! Don't you DARE eat up my rug!" One time, I heard the thing struggling in the other room. I went to see what was going on and it was trying its darnedest to get in between the chair and the wall and it kept getting stuck and making a frantic squeal. ("There's dirt in there, by God, and it's my job to get it!") So, I scolded it. "How many times are you going to get stuck there before you realize that YOU! DON'T! FIT!"

Another strange thing was, it would often give off a cheerful series of beeps that indicated it was finished when half the room hadn't been touched. And it never, EVER, found its way back to its "home base" to recharge, a feature that is touted on the box. Well, it's just a robot, I reasoned. What do you expect?

But this one! This one gets the job done on a timely basis! No goofing off; no wandering aimlessly. It has intelligence! And determination! If I even dared to try to nudge it in a different direction with my foot, it would not give in. "I. Am. Going. THIS. Way. Lady." And I backed down. (And I NEVER back down. Just ask Paul.) And when it finished the entire first floor, it found its way back to its charging base and announced its arrival with a triumphant, "Da-da-da-dah da-daaaaaah!" ("Charge!" It even has a sense of humor, people!)

How silly of me to endure two pregnancies that wrecked my body in too many ways to count, followed by two major surgeries, followed by thousands of hours of lost sleep and teething and potty training and cleaning up vomit in the middle of the night and Poopapalooza when all I really had to do to be fulfilled in life was drive to Target and fork over $280 for a household member who is self-sufficient, doesn't talk back, and cleans dirt instead of creating it. I mean, DUH.