I don't do much anymore without an audience. At least three pair of eyes studying me intensely. Is she putting on her shoes? OMG!!! She's going to the bathroom!!! Lets go! Here we go everyone!

And we all troop into the bathroom.

Violet stares. The dogs stare. Is it number one? Maybe number two? The suspense is overwhelming!

And we all troop out of the bathroom.

Here we go everyone. Into the bedroom. She's making the bed now. Max, also known as The Professor, stares intently at me while Crazy Train Milo decides that now? When she's making the bed? It's the best time for a snooze. On the bed. But wait! Oh. My. God. Is she putting on her shoes? Are those her shoes? Are we going outside? ARE WE GOING OUTSIDE? Violet watches all and chuckles, pausing occasionally to investigate dead leaves or dog hair tumbleweeding across the floor.

Most recently the vacuum has become a source of intense study in our household. Not three weeks ago both Violet and Milo had an obvious aversion to the dirt sucker. I'd switch on the vacuum and they would visibly cringe. Milo would hide and Violet would cry. Max is sixes as far as the vacuum is concerned and would continue reading Dan Brown's latest novel in the corner.

But just this week, in addition to everything else I do, I have a rapt audience for vacuuming. A vacuum patrol, if you will. I'll finish a rug or section of carpet and they'll offer a solemn nod in approval: Looks good. Sometimes, though, Violet crashes her walker into the vacuum: Lady! You that makes the babas of milkies! You missed a spot! There!

Without further ado I present to you The Vacuum Patrol: