In-Between Green


I really feel like I'm getting back to my crunchy roots lately, but without sitting atop the high pedestal looking down on the poor souls who aren't as enlightened as I am. I really used to think I was better than you. Much better than you.

Now I'm only a little better than you. I'm only on a footstool and looking at your gray roots. You should try some henna. That's what the hippies use.

Sure, I use regular hair dye but only because I have to balance out my lifestyle. I can't be crunchy all the time. We're not rich enough for that. Only rich people can afford a completely green home where they sit on locally-made furniture comprised of renewable resources, munching on organic pumpkin seed cereal in cane-sugar-sweetened soy milk before they get into their electric cars and carpool to work.

When I win the lottery that will be me. But for now I'm what I like to call "In-Between Green".

In-Between Green isn't so bad. It's the best of both worlds, really. We get to feel good about bringing our own bags to the grocery store (incidentally they're almost all made in China, which has by far some of the lowest environmental standards in manufacturing. My gift of guilt to all of you who think you're so amazing for buying those bags. You're welcome.) We get to pat ourselves on the back for recycling (which is a process that takes up a lot of non-renewable energy in many cases). We feel proud when we shop regularly at second-hand stores for clothes (made of pesticide-laden cotton and toxic dyes and quite often sewn by children. How cute.). And yet we can still enjoy a cup o' java in a disposable cup because, hey, we can't be perfect all the time.

In-Between Green. It's a wonderful, denial-filled state of being. Try it sometime.

Anyway, my crunchiness was sparked by the wonderful Stay-at-Home-Mayhem reader Amy's idea to see a chiropractor for Spawnling's never-ending ear infections. A chiropractor? For ear infections? Really? Is Amy on crack, I wondered? I had to find out (about the chiropractor; Amy can do whatever she likes as long as she keeps making good suggestions. Thanks, Amy!)

I was also fortunate enough to know a chiropractor. A wonderful one who happens to have a toddler Spawnling's age and who also reads my blog occasionally. Sadly, she doesn't live nearby (a shame, as we could share many chai lattes together). She did, however, suggest some chiropractors in the Ottawa area. I picked one. We went. She's amazing. I'm thrilled!

I've always said that I'm an ignorant person when it comes to most things. I know about children. I know about breastfeeding. I know about addiction. I know that singing along to Justin Timberlake songs while blogging gets on my husband's nerves just enough that he'd like to say something but he doesn't, and that this means he either loves me a great deal or he's afraid of me. Either way it's loads of fun and I'm doing it right now.

I honestly thought chiropractors only helped when your back was sore. Get hit by a car? Chiropractor. Fall off your four-wheeler because you wanted to show off to your drunken hillbilly friends? Chiropractor, ya'll. Fall while trying to kick a soccer ball like the girls in Bend it Like Beckham because you hoped to look as good as Keira Knightley? You're following me now.

I honestly had no idea that back and neck experts could help with ears. My chiropractor friend had to basically draw me a diagram in a Facebook message so I could connect the anatomic dots. When it dawned on me it seemed so... simple. Why hadn't I been told about this wonderful alternative to lengthly rounds of antibiotics sooner? Had I been living under a rock? Nay, I had been living under dirty laundry, backpacks and half-eaten dinners. At-home mothers are not privy to water cooler talk which could contain information such as how the marketing manager's daughter is seeing a chiropractor for her ear infections. We are privy to animal rescues on Go Diego Go and whatever Maury guests have to say about not being the father and just maybe whatever information can be gleamed from 10 seconds on a website that is NOT Nick Jr.

I forgive me. Ignorance has been rather blissful.

Now that the Spawn is getting "adjusted" twice weekly (the nearly frightful term used to describe a very gentle manipulation of his neck vertebrae and muscles) we're also reducing dairy and sugar in his diet and in ours, too. It's supposed to help boost immunity. More importantly, I'm down three pounds. I've all but given up peanut M&Ms. I am, however, madly in love with brownies. Dairy-free brownies. Sadly not sugar-free brownies. But I'm down three pounds. Let's keep our focus on that important fact and not on brownies.

We're all on probiotics. We're all eating more vegetables. I'm drinking mostly organic, fair-traded coffee. Farmers everywhere are celebrating me.

I will continue shave my legs and arm pits, however. In-Between Crunchy allows me certain priviledges. Besides, if I ever meet and begin to make out with JT, I would like him to bypass the cellulite because he's too busy enjoying my smooth legs.

A conversation with Spawnling

Today while the older two were wreaking havoc on Canada's educational system, Spawnling and I went outside to enjoy the mild but sunny weather. We searched for the wack-wacks in the ditch to no avail, but we did see a very friendly chickadee, some purple flowers and a big orange tractor which I presumed would be the highlight of our walk. I was wrong; the non-existant wack-wacks to chase disappointed my little demon spawn, so we went back home to swing in the yard.

"We didn't see any ducks today, Spawn, but we did see a lot of other neat things. What was your favourite?" I asked.

"Wack-wack!" replied Spawn.

"So the tractor, then?" I asked hopefully.

"No."

"The... imaginary ducks?"

"Mm-hmm," which is Spawnling for yes.

"Riiight."

He continued to swing for a while as I sipped my free latte (turning in rewards points for coffee gift cards was by far the best decision we ever made, even better than retirement savings. You can't drink retirement savings). The breeze blew gently across my face and ravens in the nest above us cawed. I looked over at the tulips I saved by putting rocks around them just before they were completely trampled by little gremlin feet. A new yard with new perennials for the boys to pummel with sticks and sand toys. I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude.

"We're so lucky, Spawn. Look at all the nature around us. We're truly blessed to have this home and this yard, and to live in this neighbourhood."

"Weeee!" Spawnling shouted from his swing.

"It's really wonderful. But at the same time I have some guilt, because I know many people on the planet don't have what we have. The level of poverty in third world countries is truly unimaginable. It's almost sickening that we take up so much as a typical middle-class family when others have so little..."

"Mm-hmm. Ball!" agreed Spawnling.

"And you know.. We really have to be careful when it comes to our ecological footprint. I mean, I do what I can but I haven't exactly started composting yet and I've been saying I would for ages. And our fridge is constantly leaking water from the freezer and maybe we should replace it with something more green. Besides, finding soggy cheese is no way to start a morning."

Spawnling began to sing: "Car, car, car..."

"Yep. It's all about responsibility. Like this latte. What am I doing with a latte in a paper cup when I could have brought something reusable from home? And did we really need to drive there? I should think a little more in advance before we go to Fourbucks next time."

"Oooo! Cookie!"

"... Cook?... Oh, right. Your cookie. It's in the van. Do you want it?"

"Mm-hmm! Cookie." I handed the boy his treat and we sat on the front steps. Birds were singing and the sun shone warmly on us.

"I like talking to you, Spawn. Are we friends?"

"No."

As my toddler slowly covered his face with chocolate cookie, I pondered the last few minutes and came to two conclusions:

1. You know you've been a stay-at-home-mom too long when you start discussing ecological responsibility with your eighteen-month-old, and,
2. Like most of the men I've known, Spawnling only wanted to make conversation before I gave up the cookie.