Tap Tap Tap

Been thinking about you a lot lately. Yes, you. Reader of my blog. I miss you. I miss writing. I miss having a spot where my verbal diarrhea can go on for more than 140 characters. I've been thinking a lot about things to talk about. The issue is time to write them down. But isn't that pretty much everyone's issue? We have this finite, unknown amount of time, and we tend to fill it up. And then some. If we're evolved properly and smart about it, we fill it up with the important stuff, and we recognize what the important stuff is. If anyone else is like me, then our optimism outweighs our actual ability to finish all we start off to do...but we keep trying.

I'm planning on trying to get out some of the nonsense in my head...hoping that it works out ok. Oh, and if you're still there...thanks for hanging in with me. :)

Save The Earth Fail

I'm heartily indignant right now. Indignant at conversations had long ago and with people I don't even know, but if they were here and now, I'd give them a tongue lashing, oh yes.

6 years ago I commited, via New Years Resolution, to start using canvas/reuseable bags when I shopped. This was waaay before the greening/eco movement had made it so that everywhere, including my local latin market, has their own, logo stamped, re-useable bags for sale. I got weird looks. I had bagboys tell me, perplexed at my repeated requests to NOT wrap my groceries in plastic before putting them in my canvas bags, explain to me as though I were stupid, that the plastic bags are free. "Not for the Earth", was my usual retort. We went from having a surplus of plastic bags in the house, bags of bags in the garage, bags of bags in the kitchen, under the sink...everywhere there was space because this was before you could recycle them, and I wouldn't throw them away...to having one plastic bag holder packed to the brim with bags. But where did these bags come from, if I've been so good at taking canvas? Well, sometimes, ladies and gentlemen, I forget, ok? I'm not perfect. I end up at the store and realize my bags are at home. Oh well. Also, and this is the part that's got me somewhat indignant- I save ALL plastic bags. The ones that carry my pita bread, the ones that carry the bread, the ones that carry the ones that carry my bread. Despite my best intentions to eliminate plastic bags, they're everywhere. And you know something? It's ok.

Sometimes you just need a freaking plastic bag, ok? As the conversations fueling the indignation reminded me, the justification for why we're packing our groceries in multiple bags to carry the 50 feet to the car, then another 50 feet to the house....or even to walk home with (triple bag it then) is that sometimes you need a plastic bag. We uuuuuse them. Ok. I get it. I use them too. But I cannot believe that anyone who goes full gangbusters at the store on the "free" bags actually uses all of them. And I'm aggravated today because I just had to pack up a BAG OF BAGS because I had too many than fit into my little happy chef's butt (this is my grocery bag storage. And I don't even want them. As I bundled up a bag from the wheat bread I bought from Costco, and went to shove it in his butt, I marveled at the thought that these people who tell me they HAVE to get the bags, because they uuuuuuuse them, though I never say anything about their bag consumption...it's obviously their guilt upon seeing my canvas bags and the need to justify their consumptive behavior. How many of them throw away the bag their bread comes in? And this pisses me off.

Yesterday I sold my first eggs to strangers. I've sold to friends before, but never to strangers. I put an add on Craigslist, and boom! Business. I met the cute hippie couple next to the theater before rehearsal and sold them my eggs, then chatted with them for a little bit about chickens, compost, veggie gardens, and flax seed. You know, hippie talk. They were lovely and brought me cartons for my future eggs and gave me some flax pulp they had just received for their worms to try feeding to my chickens. All in all, a nice experience. On my ride home after rehearsal, I was chatting with a castmate and I said something to the effect of having not paid attention to something as it was "hippie talk" and he laughed and rebutted that it was ironic that me, raiser of chickens, would be berating that sort of thing. But I'm not a hippie. I do have hippie tendencies, but I mainly just have eco-OCD. And I like keeping chickens.

This notion that in order to care for our planet you need to be some kind of liberal, labeled hippie person is so very damaging. 18 years ago I took on the challenge of the purple rag, which is a challenge to define a noble life and then to live it. In my journal entry from the night I took on this challenge, I espouse very clearly the importance to me of living a life that is careful and respectful of the earth. This is 18 years ago, people. I'm not saying I started the green movement or anything, but I'm pretty damn impressed with 19 year old me. I also talked about not "preaching" about my life choices, but to just live the best life I can and to lead by example, not by words. But here I am blogging about it. Oh well, it's supposed to be a lifelong challenge.

Make a conscious effort to stop using plastic bags at the grocery store. I promise you, you will still end up with bags you can uuuuuse. Look to ways you can stop throwing so much away, and think of things you can do that won't even change your life much, but will help the planet. And if you need a tote bag, I know where you can get some.

Afternoon with M and M

Children are crazy. Honestly, crazy and also- hellbent on making their parents crazy. Since it's been so long since I've brought you a "morning with Max" story, I thought it's high time I share something. It's brought to you by our school system.

We're in the car after school today, running errands, and I hear the following from the backseat:

Max: Eat my nuts, eat my nuts, eat my nuts!

Stunned, I look back to get a visual on what is going on, but since I'm, you know, driving, I don't get a good look. The chant changes:

Max: Up my tree! Eat my acorn! Eat my acorn!

I sigh a sigh of relief, knowing that my sweet 6 year old boy is just being squirrel obsessed as we, in this house, all are want to do on occasion. Then, a pause in the chant...and Max explains:

"My acorn is my penis!"

I choke a little...but say nothing. With this child, I've now learned it's better to not make a fuss. He LOOOOOOVES fusses.

Evidently, at this point, we're in a testicular nickname discussion, so Magnolia chimes in:

"Today in class I had to read a sentence which said 'She was playing with some balls' and a bunch of kids laughed at me. "

At this point, I have a small stroke. I recover enough to hear her say- "But I don't know why they laughed, do you?"

Channeling my mother, I think "Because they're a bunch of uneducated, classless asshats whose parents don't bother to teach them right from wrong or how to read or add but have no issue teaching them multiple inappropriate euphemisms for body parts and letting them watch movies and tv shows that make those euphemisms a joke."

But what I say is: "Because it's a word that is a way to say testicles and children who aren't taught any better think that it's funny to say those things".

Now, considering at this point, I have some mild brain damage, here is my recollection of the conversation that followed:

Max: Testicles are like the little balls inside your scrotum.

Me: Yes.

Magnolia: Is that the hangy down thing behind the penis?

Me: Yes.

Max: Maybe people call them balls cause they're ball shaped. But on the inside.

Me: Sure.

Magnolia: If there wasn't a scrotum, where would they go?

Me: I don't know.

Max: They'd just fall out

Me: um...

Magnolia: That seems uncomfortable.

At that point, I am pretty sure I blacked out and just auto-piloted to the bank. It's not that I mind having these conversations with them, I really don't. I'm certainly not squeamish, and I'm happy that they ask me things and trust that I will give them honest answers. It's just weird that the 12 year old who lives in my head who giggles at Beavis and Butthead like remarks and who can't help but blurt out "That's what she said" at every possible opportunity collides with the June Cleaver, minivan driving, PTA vice president, soccer mom part of me that comes out when I have my kids around. Or at least, that I think *should* come out. :)

yeah, ok, fine

I am supposed to be going to Seattle tonight. Just me. No husband, no kids, no real reason...just a trip cause I have lots of friends there I've promised repeatedly to visit, and the fares were cheap. Of course, this makes me feel incredibly, incredibly selfish and guilty. I don't do well with selfish. I have a couple things I do that could be construed as entirely for me and even fall within the realm of being selfish, but they are, for the most part, private, free, and don't take up a lot of time. This trip is none of those things.

Yesterday was a banner day of issues. My Driver's license expired about a week and a half ago, and the new one hasn't arrived. Yesterday I realized this would be an issue getting on an airplane (and possibly paying for things). No problem, I'll use my passport, I thought. Except it wasn't in the passport place. Panic ensues, but I have errands to run, so Michael promises to look when he comes home for lunch and he finds it. The passport had jumped out of it's proper drawer and was residing against the back wall of the cabinet underneath it's proper home. Great. Except it expired. 18 months ago. *gulp* Ok, we call the airline and determine that if I allow extra time for searching, I should be ok. 2 different friends echoed this sentiment via IM, so I was ok, but not great...so I went to the DMV to get a temp printout, which shockingly only took 40 minutes and wasn't entirely unpleasant.

Woohoo! We're back on! Until this morning. Max woke up with a nasty, croupy cough. The sort he gets about 2ce a year. He is due, but REALLY? NOW? I know the drill...he's gonna be mellow but ok all day, but tonight (when he's supposed to be at my mom's) he's gonna be up coughing all night and miserable. This won't do. What's a mother to do? Cancel the trip, of course. Brief moment of tears, but really, there isn't a choice in the matter...so I call my mom and tell her. Her headache is so overwhelming, she is ok with it...which of course makes me more annoyed, but then feel guilty over being annoyed. UGH, guilt. I call Michael, he's in a meeting. UGH UGH UGH. So I tweet...not ready to admit defeat on FB yet. When I finally get a hold of him, it's via IM, and he tells me that I'm being ridiculous and I need to go anyway. After much back and forth and more tears, he convinces me, we work out a new plan and so I'm going again. Of course, I've stopped working on laundry in the interim, so I need to get on it. While I'm shoving clothes in the washer, Max meanders over to me, bowl of ice cream in hand and we have the following conversation:
Max: Mom, can I have a BB gun?
Me: No.
Max: But WHHHHYYYYYYYY?
Me: Because.
Max: Because I'm not old enough?
Me: Sure.
Max: But Andrew and Ian (his cousins) have BB guns and Andrew is YOUNGER than me.
Me: I don't really care. They have issues.
Max: But, what do you even DO with a BB gun?
Me: I don't know.
Max: Shoot things?
Me: Yeah, I guess.
Max: (pause) Can you shoot your eye out?
Me: Yes.
Max: (ponders this) How?
Me: I really don't know.
Max: Huh. (walks away)

Vacation? Yeah.
Changing my perfectly planned out plans? Ok.
Mother's guilt? Fine.