On Sunday afternoon, he was happily vacuuming the boys' bedroom after having done our bedroom and the downstairs earlier in the day. I ran downstairs to grab more paper towels for the bathroom. As soon as I reached the kitchen, I heard shrieking cries for "Mom! Mom! Mom mom mom!" and flew back up the stairs, where I found him crouched in front of the roaring vacuum with his fingers jammed into the brushes area. Thankfully (?), the vacuum had sucked up a strap from the bedrail which had jammed the spinners, (which is why he was poking around with it at all, thus the (?)), and so he was stuck but the vacuum wasn't actually spinning anymore.
I turned it off, slid his hand out, and then we both curled up on the bed crying out of fear and gratitude. He refused to let me turn the vacuum back on and wanted nothing to do with it when I put it away.
Monday found him curled up with the vacuum as he fell asleep mid-afternoon.
"Oh, backyoom. Let's never fight again."