Less. Step 1.

I can get easily overwhelmed with all the things I'm not doing. I am a lazy person with a strong sense of guilt. Nowhere in my life is this more evident than where it comes to my environmental impact. Sometimes I will read something, and it will become so very obvious that I'm wasteful and irresponsible and so utterly consumed by consuming. Earlier this week I fell into one such funk. I had stumbled upon Zero Waste Home, and it put me in the worst mood.

So often I read about these really inspiring projects, but instead of being inspired, I am overcome with paralyzing guilt. I know this sounds dramatic, but I swear I could barely sleep Wednesday night because I felt so stuck in my ways.  I felt stubborn and resentful of even being forced to consider my choices. I can't be that woman. I can't (or rather don't want to) devote my life to this very honorable cause.  It made me feel awful.

But yesterday, as I drove to work I realized that I didn't have to be perfect. I don't have to be zero waste. I just need to be less waste.

I decided that the easiest way to start was pick three ways to reduce my waste.  So here they are:

1. Olive oil. The Whole Foods near me sells it in bulk. My bottle is empty, so I'm going to refill it this weekend rather than just buying a new bottle. Also, I know every meat eating homesteader already does this, but I've been saving my bacon grease and using that instead of olive oil a lot of the time anyway.
2. Toothbrushes and toothpaste. I made myself natural toothpaste. The recipe might need tweeking.  I'm not forcing it on the kids and Tom until we run out of the rest of the toothpaste we have and I've figured out something a little more palatable. And from now on, I'm going to buy compostable toothbrushes instead of plastic ones. (Added bonus: they look prettier too.)
3. Coffee. I am no coffee snob. I drink cheap stuff from a plastic tub, but I'm going to up my coffee game and buy better beans sold in bulk. I'm going to bet it tastes better too.

It feels so much better to have a plan in place. It removed some guilt and got me excited about the whole concept.  It actually is becoming fun to think about all the places I can remove waste, but I'm not pressuring myself to implement every idea RIGHT. NOW.  I am also giving myself credit for the things I improved this past month. I have not used a single use bag. I haven't had a soda. And I curbed my Amazon book buying habit in lieu of ordering things from the library, all of which are saving me money, making it a little easier to afford the more expespensive coffee.

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Not Terrible

Oh sure, they can be dramatic and include an overabundance of temper tantrums.  They are trying, and they will keep you on your toes, but the two's have a beauty to them. I listen as my little monster learns to string words together, witness him saying "please" and "thank you" without prompting. Watch as he develops his own ideas, as he appears to demonstrate a sense of humor. There are days he wants me all day long, and other times he politely tells me good bye and let's me know he's staying at his Oma's house, even when he hasn't been invited. He follows after his brother whenever he can, chanting "play, Gus, play," and he insists on wearing a hat anytime he goes outside. If you ask him what animal he is, he will answer cow or cat depending on his mood.

He climbs on to my lap to steal Brussels sprouts or half of the Ruben I get when we go out for sandwiches after church. I can't eat an apple around him without him claiming it for his own, but mostly he just wants to eat bowls and bowls of yogurt. He turns on the record player and fills the room with the sound of static. He doesn't sleep through the night.

And yes, he will crash to the ground in anger and frustration, bury his head under his hands, forget how to use the words that usually come so easily to him, crying real tears. But I am not willing to call any of it terrible because even those tantrums are sort of wonderful. 

I worry what this will all look like in a few short weeks, how he will adjust to a new little sister. But quite frankly, Arlo was never meant to be a youngest child. We all knew it from that start.

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While the Sun Shines

I don't have many nice things to say about Maryland winters. They aren't particularly pretty. They are cold enough to want to keep you indoors, but not long enough to teach you to properly prepare for them. If they were colder and longer, you might buy the right clothing. You might get excited about winter activities, get involved with winter sports. You might be forced to engage with the elements. However, Maryland winters are short enough that you know you can get away with waiting them out, but the waiting has the affect of making them feel longer and colder than they really are. It's a vicious cycle.

One of the few things I do appreciate about the season is the constant hope of a snow storm. Almost any snow in Maryland cripples us because we aren't prepared the way states who actually get substantial amounts of snow are. So whenever an inch or two falls, schools are canceled and roads become almost undriveable. Everyone stops and rests for a few hours while winter has her way. Almost any examination of a 10 day forecast throughout January and February will show at least one day with a 40 or 50 percent chance of snow. This tiny bit of hope keeps me constantly refreshing NOAA's web page, seeing if they have increased or decreased the likelihood of perception. I remain optimistic, always eager to believe we will have a day off. This winter I have rarely gotten my wish. 

All weekend, I was convinced we would have an extra long weekend: no school on Monday or Tuesday. In that spirit, I decided we should make the most of the sun shining while we could, and so we explored and picnicked. The park is perfectly eerie- a primeval bald Cyprus swamps at its northern most limits.  It feels ripe with mysticism and something ancient, the knobby knees of trees peeking out of the swampy shallows, hawks circling above, though my shadowed fantasies were interrupted by children excited about arching trees and the sound of birds and the clementines they snuck in their pockets.

The wintry mix didn't come, not yet at least. But that doesn't mean you won't find me frantically checking the weather, hoping that maybe tomorrow will bring snow and quiet moments indoors, a chance to catch up on sleep and laundry. 

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Making Home

I grew up in a pristine home, kept by a mother who never seemed to tire of cleaning, and who never required any of her six kids to do chores aside from setting the table and unloading the dishwasher.

My mother never seemed to resent Saturday morning cleaning sessions. In fact, I never even remember seeing her clean, although I also never saw her sit. Our house being in a constant state of near perfection was just a given. I only remember one time ever being fussed at your making a mess. My sisters and I happened to discover that you could squeeze pomegranate seeds at each other and wage beautiful, pink warfare. As it happened, my mom's newly hung antique lace curtains became the most tragic casualty.

My own house and attitude towards housecleaning are almost 180 degrees from my mother's. My house always needs a minimum of four solid hours of deep cleaning, even after I've spent four hours deep cleaning. I force my children and husband to help me vacuum and wipe off baseboards and deposit things into the appropriate location. And I resent almost every minute I'm doing it. I just want to be reading a book, watching a movie, taking a walk, or engaged in pretty much any other activity that isn't cleaning.

I try to remind myself that my house doesn't need to be perfect. I read books that assure me in their very titles that "A perfectly kept house is the sign of a misspent life. " I start a blog series on the beauty of other people's messes, but despite my best efforts, I just can't come to peace with the dusty corners or the act of dusting.

I have a "source" who told me that after having been invited in to several old money, New England houses, that she discovered that these people, the paragons of class and culture, had boarder line dirty houses.  I think it's like the house keeping equivalent of French women's hair; when things are incredibly beautiful and tasteful, grooming is superfluous.

I don't think that I am supposed to admit this, but I have always sort of wanted to pass myself off as some sort of bourgeois bohemian, although I'm pretty certain that the fact that Tom and I both work actual jobs and receive actual paychecks forever precludes us from being such. Regardless, in my bobo fantasies, my untidy house is charming and whimsical, not simply a testament to lackadaisical nature.

I'm not certain that I will ever come to accept my mediocre house cleaning skills. I hope to one day feel confident enough in my home making skills that I no longer care. Meanwhile, I will blame my mother for this problem because I'm pretty certain that is how to deal with most problems in life.

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This Weekend We / Took It Outside

This weekend I did something pretty out of the ordinary for myself: I scheduled my time. I knew that there were lots of things that I wanted to do, a few things that I needed to do, and some other things that I should do.

Generally, I am not much of a list maker or a scheduler. I usually have a rough idea of what I want to happen, but  it is never put pen to paper.  I am easily distracted, and sometimes, the time just gets away from me, or my energy gives out, or the lure of doing nothing overcomes me.

But not this weekend. I wanted to keep my resolve to get outside, and I made sure it happened, and then I packed in everything else around those hours I carved out for fresh air and dirt.

Some families seem to have figured it out, the whole living life out of doors thing. I admire them but sometimes feel a little inadequate, like I'm failing, afraid we might spend too much time within four walls. But the truth is, I really like these four walls. And I like the time spent within them. But I know that it's better for our moods and our health and our overall wellbeing to get the heck out. So that's just what we did. 

Friday afternoon was spent at the beach that feels a little like an extension of our backyard. Saturday we spent time wandering my sister's farm before a birthday party that impressively featured lots of great outdoor fun for kids, no small feat when it comes to January in Maryland. Sunday we snuck in an evening marsh walk after the rain cleared.

The beauty of this resolution is that it gets easier as the year marches forward. Come spring, we end up outside without much thought or effort, but for now, I'll do my best to schedule it in, to make the effort to be one of those families.

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