Saturday, October 17, 2009
In her 14 months, Lydia has seen a lot of things, met a lot of people, and has generally liked most of it (her uncle Eric aside...she just does not like that poor guy). But there is one foe so fearsome, so menacing, that even our intrepid little explorer cowers in fear before it:
Ever since she was a youngling, Lydia has been terrified of our newfangled automatated cleaning apparatus. Any time we bring it out, she will seek out the nearest corner to shove herself into--guarded by her blanket, of course. She will there sit and watch the vacuum's every move--every move--until she is satisfied that it not coming to get her...THIS TIME.
That's the great secret of the Vacuum Watcher: Vigilance is the price of safety; complacency is the beginning of the end.
Unfortunately, this morning the Watcher forgot her credo and let her guard slip down. After all, she was playing safely in Mom and Dad's bedroom as they made the bed and straightened the place up. Nothing could get to her here. Little did she realize that she had entered the very lair of the dread enemy.
The realization struck suddenly as her parents left the room, calling after her to follow. She toddled boldly toward the door, and then she saw it, crouched in the corner, ready to strike at any second. The vacuum stared at her, and she at it. She realized she had been betrayed and was now at the mercy of her nemesis.
The only reaction left, obviously, was to freak right the heck out.
Frozen in her tracks, she screamed and stared down the adversary, knowing that if she broke eye contact it was all over. No amount of coaxing from her father could compromise her position. Even as he held her hands and walked her from the room, she kept her head turned to lock the opponent in her stare, screaming at it the whole time, certain that this was the only way to keep it at bay.
As any good warrior knows, the heat of battle can really drain you. And like most good warriors, Lydia needed several minutes of cuddling with Daddy and her blanket.