It sucks.

I think I'm in love.

Like, head-over-heels, no-doubt-about-it, shout-it-to-the-heavens in love.

With my vacuum cleaner.

While I was in Florida, I was lamenting the fact that my cheapo Wal-Mart vacuum cleaner doesn't actually suck anything up, (go figure... you get what you pay for, right?) and hooray, hooray, hooray! Mom and Dad just happened to have two extra vacuum cleaners, and offered me one of them. It's one of those teensy-weensy Eureka bagless jobbys, so not only can I easily vacuum the floor when it's covered in dirt that the kids drag in on their winter boots, but now I can get the little ones to clean up, too. My vacuum is THAT small and portable. Score!

And now that I'm rereading my post, I can't believe I thought that was exciting enough to blog about.

I apologize. Profusely. But it's staying up, because honestly, if it's even possible to be in love with an inanimate object... I totally am.