Punches, hugs, and air purifiers
11/12/19: As I was putting the kids to bed last night, Cora asked: “Why does God punch us to victory?” I wasn’t totally listening, and I just wanted her to stop fooling around and get in bed, so I said something brilliant like “I don’t know. Hurry up and get under the covers.” Then my brain caught up with my ears. “Wait - what? Did you say God punches us to victory?”
“You know. Like the song,” said Cora.
A moment’s thought brought clarity. “You mean...’He plunged me to victory, beneath the cleansing flood,’ right?”
“Yeah!”
When I was able to stop laughing I tried to explain the difference between ‘punch’ and ‘plunge,’ and also why the concept of why, in this context, being dunked in a fountain of blood isn’t as gross as it sounds. (I kind of like Cora’s version better - or at least equally well.)
11/17/19: We’ve been watching the Hobbit trilogy (extended edition, obvs) for family movie night lately, and yesterday we finished it. It seems our family falls into two distinct camps when it comes to crying at sad bits - Chad, Gwen, and Brock are unmoved, whereas Brahm, Cora, Ruth, and I take it Very Hard. The twins were still sobbing when I tucked them into bed, poor little critters...not that the deaths of Fili, Kili, and Thorin took them off guard. They ask “Does he/she survive?” about every single character in any movie we watch from the moment they come on screen.
12/3/19: Out of the blue, Gwen came up to me today, looking kind of sad, and gave me a hug.
“What’s wrong?” I inquired.
“I don’t want to grow up and leave you behind, Mom.”
Not sure what brought that on...I assured her that no matter how grown-up she gets, she’ll never be rid of me.
1/13/20: We bought an air filter/purifier about a year ago, hoping it would cut down on the dustiness in our house. It sat in a corner and hummed away, its indicator lights going from red to yellow to green and back again depending on whether I was cooking or sweeping or whatever, but never made any noticeable difference in the dust level. Concluding that it was a losing battle in a 120-year-old farmhouse, we left the purifier unplugged for the last couple of months.
Today I offered to lend it to a friend who is moving into an apartment plagued by the smell of cigarettes, figuring that it might do better against smells than dust. When I opened the thing up to see if it needed some cleaning before passed it along, I found that it was sparkly clean, for the simple reason that we’d never taken the interior filters out of their plastic! *headdesk* Oh well. At least our friend gets to borrow a VERY clean air purifier! Maybe we’ll give it another try when we get it back.
“You know. Like the song,” said Cora.
A moment’s thought brought clarity. “You mean...’He plunged me to victory, beneath the cleansing flood,’ right?”
“Yeah!”
When I was able to stop laughing I tried to explain the difference between ‘punch’ and ‘plunge,’ and also why the concept of why, in this context, being dunked in a fountain of blood isn’t as gross as it sounds. (I kind of like Cora’s version better - or at least equally well.)
11/17/19: We’ve been watching the Hobbit trilogy (extended edition, obvs) for family movie night lately, and yesterday we finished it. It seems our family falls into two distinct camps when it comes to crying at sad bits - Chad, Gwen, and Brock are unmoved, whereas Brahm, Cora, Ruth, and I take it Very Hard. The twins were still sobbing when I tucked them into bed, poor little critters...not that the deaths of Fili, Kili, and Thorin took them off guard. They ask “Does he/she survive?” about every single character in any movie we watch from the moment they come on screen.
12/3/19: Out of the blue, Gwen came up to me today, looking kind of sad, and gave me a hug.
“What’s wrong?” I inquired.
“I don’t want to grow up and leave you behind, Mom.”
Not sure what brought that on...I assured her that no matter how grown-up she gets, she’ll never be rid of me.
1/13/20: We bought an air filter/purifier about a year ago, hoping it would cut down on the dustiness in our house. It sat in a corner and hummed away, its indicator lights going from red to yellow to green and back again depending on whether I was cooking or sweeping or whatever, but never made any noticeable difference in the dust level. Concluding that it was a losing battle in a 120-year-old farmhouse, we left the purifier unplugged for the last couple of months.
Today I offered to lend it to a friend who is moving into an apartment plagued by the smell of cigarettes, figuring that it might do better against smells than dust. When I opened the thing up to see if it needed some cleaning before passed it along, I found that it was sparkly clean, for the simple reason that we’d never taken the interior filters out of their plastic! *headdesk* Oh well. At least our friend gets to borrow a VERY clean air purifier! Maybe we’ll give it another try when we get it back.