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Hot Water Heater Blues

We took possession of our new place on November 10th.  November 15th we handed over the keys to our old place.  November 21st our hot water heater spews water on the floor.  Yep.

So, we kinda figured, after trying our first bath here, that we’d need to be looking at replacing the hot water system here.  If your heater can’t produce enough hot water to get the tub to your five year old’s belly button?  It’s a good sign it’s not working well.  But yeah…  todays epic adventure (complete with cat stranded on top of the washing machine terrified and mewing loud enough for the whole neighbourhood to hear as the water crept closer, and in the end trapping her in the laundry room) kinda synched things.

This is not fun.  We need to find an eco-friendly professional who understands the need to balance a desire to be as green as possible with a practical need to stick to a budget.  Someone who can help us figure out the best system for our family, which may well include multiple options working together to create a system friendly to both our Earth and our pocketbook.  I’m not looking forward to having to find said professional in a hurry.  This is definitely the kind of search I’d like to take my time with…  but I suppose that’s the way it goes.

Here, something fun.  Go make food in jars:  http://www.bystephanielynn.com/2011/07/50-different-foods-you-can-put-in-jar.html  ‘Cause mason jars make everything look cuter and taste better.  🙂

Our words shape our children, be gentle!

The thing we say to our children now, will impact them for the rest of their lives.  Lily-Ann is five now, but one day she’ll be thirty-five and she’ll hear my words reverberate through her mind.  What I say to her today will one day become her inner dialogue.  It’s a scary and weighty thing.

The one thing I find myself saying, that I try to catch myself on before it slips out, is “How old are you?” in a rather shaming tone.  If she’s acting like a nincompoop, using baby talk, whining, or feigning that something is just too hard (when I’ve seen her do it dozens, if not hundreds, of times before) I’ll ask her how old she is.  If I catch myself after the fact?  I try to goofy it up a bit by wrinkling up my nose and saying in a goofy tone “Are you two?  No…  you’re three.  No, wait, that’s not right…”  I hate the idea that my frustrated “how old are you” may one day be what she hears in her head when she feels needy or stressed.

It’s a heavy thing, knowing the small things we say or do – sometimes out of frustration or exhaustion – may one day shape our children’s inner dialogues.  I do my best to fill her mind with things like “if you work hard enough, you can do anything” or “be gentle to yourself”…  but I’m only human, and, well…  chances are I’ll still mess her up.

Being broken is part of the human condition.  But I’m doing my best to shape my daughter’s view of herself into something positive.  She is strong, she is capable, she is utterly fabulous, and she is deeply and truly loved – THAT is what I want her to remember when she feels weak, when she feels tired, when she feels broken.

We are all just pieces of broken glass.

We are all of us, pieces of beautiful broken glass.  Sharp, dangerous, glistening, yet not quite whole.  It is only when we are melted down by an artist, all the pieces together, hot and molten, that we become whole.  A whole, full of potential, able to become anything.  Yet…  once the artist is finished…  we are once again so easily broken.  But even broken, we are lovely in our imperfection.

 

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