19 July 2012

The darling little girl relaxation method

Sometimes I think fate plays jokes on us! Yesterday it definitely did.

Before we committed to buy the ventilation system that was being installed yesterday, we were concerned (paranoid!) about nasty chemicals (e.g. phthalates) that the plastics in the system might introduce into the air in our house. So we asked the suppliers, who had to check with their supplier in Norway. We were the first people ever to ask about this.

So imagine our horror when the system was switched on late yesterday and our house filled with a terrible smell that was something like melted plastic crossed with old fish! The installers had never smelt it with previous installations, and found the motors in the roof to be running super-hot, probably melting something. They are going to get new components and try again.

I reckon I have been forgetting to 'dance with the dinner lady'. This is a concept described by the Barefoot Doctor in one of his many awesome books. What he means by this is that if there is a dinner lady in the sky dishing out what is going to happen to us all, be gentle, subtle and happy when you interact with her. Dance with her. In fact, see the inspiring top article on his website on the same topic this very day! Just what I needed. Instead of dancing, I think I've been binding her with ropes and throttling her!

Fate's little trick on us came hot on the heels of another tradesman mishap: check out what the installers did to the rubber seals on our windows on Tuesday morning when they were installing some enerlogic film (which is supposed to reflect heat back into the room, and have the same room-warming effect as double glazing):

Happily, an assessor came out to look at it this morning and agreed that the way they'd trimmed the rubber seals resembled a fairly rugged mountain range. It sounds like he will sort it out for us. He got scones, too!

So with these little troubles going on (and I realise there are many people in the world who would give anything to have such trifling problems) it was a breath of fresh air to gaze at my daughter's creations:

"Not a windmill, Mama - it's a turbine."

One of her many frequent declarations of love.  (Sigh of happiness from Mama.)

Dance, Mama, dance!

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