The Runaway Roomba

I’m just going to give it you straight. I have been in crisis. Coming back to school from vacation hasn’t been the smoothest of transitions. One moment, I’m in the Denver airport yelling at my kids to pick a slice of pizza before we miss our plane; and the next, I’m making lunches wishing for that overpriced food court. As backpacks come home stuffed with forms and homework, the piles of laundry remain neglected. Even, the dirt and dust have started having babies.

Finally, I made a pot of coffee and pulled out Robert, my Roomba robot that vacuums my house, garage and mini-van. I can’t say enough nice things about my favorite man in the house. He cleans without complaining, eats dirt for dinner and never hogs the remote. While he is a solid member of our family for three years, we’ve definitely had our scary moments. Most recently, he beeped three times and then died. No coaxing or cleaning of his private chambers helped. After further examination, the diagnosis was clear: He needed surgery. My husband donned the plastic gloves, sterilized the area and gave Robert a new sensor and drive wheels. My boy was as good as new.

I turned Robert on and set him free to attack our post-vacation mess. The last time I heard his motor churning, he was in the living room. I didn’t think much about it until my bedroom was ready to be cleaned and Robert was nowhere to be found. My kids came home and looked. As did my babysitter and husband. We searched under every bed and piece of furniture. A flashlight scanned every closet, but we found nothing.

Thetruth was obvious: Robert had run away. He had rolled out the front door and kept on moving. Frankly, I can’t blame him. Our house was such a mess I felt like running away. I asked my neighbors, but no one had a seen a red vacuum rolling down the street. My babysitter and I became so obsessed that we contemplated posting reward flyers.

After a week, I gave up and said my good-byes. I wrapped up his charge cord and put it to rest in a special place. Our relationship was over and, sadly, I needed to buy another vacuum since our house was still dirty. I opted for the push vacuum and added it to my daughters’ chore list.

Last weekend, I was moving my daughter’s dresser and screamed! There was Robert, hiding deep against the wall. How his 3” little frame fit under the ledge is beyond me. Obviously traumatized, I dusted him off and promised not to abuse him anymore.

It feels good to have him home. The only problem is I’ve forgotten where I laid his power cord to rest. I’m sure he won’t mind a longer vacation. If only I could join him.