I’m trying to track back to find out where I got the urge to finally make my house a “home.”  For a long time, our house has been a place to store our stuff and for us to hang out in, but I’ve never actually made any place I’ve lived feel like it’s where I want to be.  I used to have pity parties for myself (okay, still do sometimes…) that usually ended with “I just want to go home!”  But I was already home.  It just wasn’t making me feel very welcome. 

So, let’s walk back the cat.  Most recently, I’ve found a home for all the little odds and ends that have been shuffled from this shelf to that table to that countertop.  That started from the purchase of a cabinet for the living room, because I put almost all the kids’ toys in there and suddenly had room to put other stuff, then got motivated to find a home for some other stuff just by looking for a home for stuff I had handy but rarely needed, then decided some of that stuff I really didn’t need. 

I got the cabinet (hutch?  technically it’s a buffet, but we’re not using it that way) mostly on a whim.  The Christmas tree made us move the furniture around, and we decided we really liked that arrangement, but we would need something where the tree was to keep it “right” after Christmas.  I think we rearranged the furniture in the same way last year, but we didn’t have a coffee table last year.   The coffee table really ties it together.

A few weeks ago, I wandered into a thrift shop and found an old Ethan Allen coffee table – a little beat up, but for $10, I thought we could risk whatever damage the boys might dish out to it.  It turns out to be an excellent table for a child who likes to play cards but can’t hold them all in his hands.  The drop-down sides form a perfect card sized track against the main section of the table.  But I digress. 

Now that I have the cabinet and the boys can actually get the games away, they are following the rule of  “Put it away before you pull out another thing.”  Yes, they sometimes need reminding, and some games require more than one set of equipment (my favorite was army guys with Bakugon bombs and Cuisennaire rod and Connect 4 Stackers battlements), but my floors have remained miraculously clear since we got the cabinet. 

Maybe it’s that I can finally look at my house and see something besides toys that need putting away.  It feels like my brain finally got sucked through the domestic vortex and can clearly see that the globe belongs on the desk in the office, the square trivet should be hung over the stove, the Monet print scrapbook paper can be framed and hung over the bed for some cheap and easy art, paint the bathroom the same green as the bedroom but put a blue wash over it and for God’s sake, get the curtains put up and the trim touched up.  Just to be clear, I am not on display to my neighbors at all times, I have “temporary shades” in my living room and office.  Temporary means they won’t be there forever.  So what if it’s been three and a half years already! 

Maybe it’s because it’s finally sunk in that we live here and will be living here for quite some time.  I was surprised last year that we were still in this house.  There’s no way we’re moving  until the real estate market recovers considerably (or we become independently wealthy and don’t care if we take a major loss on the house).  

I’ve had the urge to make my house homey before, but I’ve never been able to pull it off.  When we left the B&B, we let the new managers move into the living quarters right away since we were already mostly packed and would be leaving in a couple of days.  Within a couple of hours, Emily & Jorge had everything out of boxes, pictures hung, fabrics draped, furniture arranged and had it looking nicer than we had ever managed to get it or, for that matter, any other place I’ve lived.

Where does this knowledge come from?  How do people instinctively know that you need a red vase just there, or that a little statue here would have a stunning effect?  I have a friend who is interested in interior design.  She tried to help me down this weird path by asking me what kind of energy I wanted.  Huh?  She offered some examples – warm?  calm?  cool?  exciting?  It was, I now see, a good question, but at the time I had no idea what I wanted.  She suggested looking through magazines and pulling pages of rooms I liked.  I liked a lot of bizarre combinations.  I liked (and am still somewhat slightly obsessed with) an Indonesian wedding bed (or like this), preferably with a lot of rich fabrics and the smell of good incense.  I liked the blue and white scheme that looks like your windows will be open at all times to let that gentle breeze in to waft to all corners of the house the fragrance of the fresh flowers on your kitchen table.  I liked the simple, clean lines of Ikea’s displays.  I liked the Shaker look of bare wood, simple furnishings and (what used to be) utilitarian decorations of the herbs drying in bundles and bonnets hanging from the wall, a spare bobbin lying on the sole side table.  I liked the fussy look of too many fluffy pillows with tassles everywhere, with so much art it felt like a museum for people who were allowed to touch.  I liked the Holly Golightly incredibly stylish yet tiny apartment look.  I liked the artsy snob look, with local art on the walls and funky things the resident produced all over the place.  The only looks I could really nix were anything that had a lot of hearts,  toile or camoflauge in it.  

Currently, I’m going for warm and comfortable in my living room.  Since we rearranged with the cabinet, I enjoy sitting on the couch much more.  It’s motivated me to try to make something out of the “parlor.”  Technically, our parlor is a dining room, but since I won’t be serving food over carpet for quite some time (as in, probably enough time to get the hardwood floors put in), we call it the parlor.  Ideally, it would be a room that was always fit for drop-in company, especially since it is right next to the front door.  It is perfect for most of our guests right now – it has a train/lego table, a rocking chair and a sideboard full of books.  I’m not sure how many playrooms my kids need, but they only play in the living room and actual play room now. 

I bought a candle plate to use as a soap dish for my bathroom that looks very mermaid-like – kind of a pale turquoise mother of pearl looking thing.  It is now my motivation to paint my bathroom, although I’m considering replacing the light fixtures first.  This is the room that I’ll paint green and then put a wash over it.  If it were mine and mine alone and I would never have to think about selling the house, I would use a very pale blue with some sort of sparkly additive for the wash.  I’ll have to ask at the boys’ old preschool – they both came home with something that had a very delicate sparkle to it that would be perfect.  Then I would want a print of Botticelli’s birth of Venus hung next to my sink, and either some greenish-blue-ish-grey or peach towels.  Yes, lovely.   But might that be too juvenile with the sparkly?  Would that bother me later?  Hmm.  Crazy idea – make a sample board, leave it up for a month.  Yes, just nutty! 

As for the boys’ rooms, I’ve been inspired by Ikea.  I accompanied a friend down there to get her bed shortly before Christmas, and picked up a nifty decoration.  Technically, it’s a curtain rod.  It’s a wire that goes from one side of the room to the other.  I’m going to put clips on the wire and let them hang up their artwork, favorite pictures, posters, or whatever on it.  I think I’d like to have a shelf run along the wall a few inches above it, to display the random things that they get (such as the trophy that’s the only thing disrupting my living room).  Ikea had a tiny kid’s room on display.  It was half the size of my closet, and had everything a child could need.  Baskets hanging from the wall held all sorts of little things (which tend to get left on the floor, then they have no idea where to put anything).  I would like to put more bright, bold colors in their rooms, but I’m not sure which way to go.  I love the knight/castle thing I made for John, but the colors aren’t terribly inspiring. 

Back to my original question  – where did this motivation come from?  I think it may be that I am closer to anwering my friend’s question – I want my bathroom to make me feel clean and light (like a mermaid!).  I want my living room to make me feel warm and cozy.  I want my kitchen to make me feel like a master Italian cook.  I want my parlor to make me feel elegant and formal.  I don’t know what I want my office or kids’ rooms to feel like.  Does this say anything about me?  Does it mean that I know myself better?  I could point to lots of other examples in my life that say I do (but I won’t, because YOU don’t know me that well, either!)  Does it mean that sometimes you just can’t see the forest for the trees – in this case, the trees being all the toys and games and junk strewn everywhere?  I’m afraid I can’t just blame the kids, my housekeeping skills have improved vastly over the last decade or so.  Or does it just mean that I’m finally growing up?  Have I finally brought the right experiences together to make me aware of who I am and what I like, and therefore how I want my house to look?

So, I don’t know where the time went.  I mean, really, wasn’t June just yesterday?  Okay, so for those of you who want to know, here’s what’s happened.  John started first  grade, soccer and cub scouts.  I became a den leader.  John & I went on our first cub scout camping trip last weekend, the Spook-o-ree.  It was quite exciting.  John played football with boys for the very first time, did lots of typical scout things, got eaten alive by bugs and we almost stepped on a pygmy rattlesnake.  It was very natural, except for the port-o-potties. 

I’m volunteering at John’s school twice a week, which is interesting to do with Peter.  He usually plays on a computer or watches a movie with headphones, although he also likes to come and watch what the big kids are doing, too.  I help with the reading and math centers, and give physics lessons.  When the teacher’s team won tug of war against two kids, they all cried that it was unfair…  Yes, I said, that’s what I mean by unbalanced forces.  Next:  gravity.  I plan to start with a clip of Wile E. Coyote not falling until he realizes he’s run off the cliff. 

I’m anxiously awaiting the presidential election.  I desperately want Barack Obama to win.  I was okay with McCain winning, just preferred Obama, until Palin came on the scene.  She apparently still does not know what the vice president does, thinking that Cheney has been doing it right. 

Peter is changing a lot – he likes to learn songs and sing them now, he is extremely chatty with anyone and everyone, and he likes to memorize books.  I can’t really say that he’s reading, but he sure can recite a book.  He’s not in school, so it’s been a little weird trying to keep him entertained and happy.  Next year, he’ll be in school every day.  We’re trying to give his little lungs a chance to beef up before he gets another onslaught of germs.  Said lungs are currently under attack.  We think the steroids will be coming out in a day or two, but you never know.  The Flovent has been pretty good so far at making colds just be colds. 

I don’t seem to be quite as rant-worthy lately.  I don’t have anything to get on my soapbox about.  I did find out some peculiar things about owls.  Apparently, if you burn owl eggs and mix the ashes with water, then drink it, you can cure alcoholism or prevent it in a child.  Also, nailing a dead owl to the door will keep evil spirits and sickness away.  And the owl is actually the baker’s daughter who didn’t want to give Jesus a whole cake and thus was transformed into an owl.  Weird stuff.  I was trying to find some way to tie this owl craft in with something useful for cub scouts, and the best I’ve come up with is that owls see well in the dark, we don’t, so we have to use our other sense, so let’s play blindman’s bluff.

More another day…

We’ve  been blaming a lot of our troubles on India and China, with their rising populations and middle classes creating more demand for food and gas.  India is striking back!  Here’s the article, in case you don’t want to just take my word for it.  No, it’s not their fault that there are so many more of them these days, and what could we do about it anyway?  (See previous post for solution coming in 2012)  The problem is that Americans eat too much!  If we would all slim down and quit wasting food, everyone could eat.  Alas, they are right.  The article touches on some of our nation’s idiocy (the money spent in the United States on liposuction to get rid of fat from excess consumption could be funneled to feed famine victims), but it doesn’t give America the tongue-lashing we deserve. 

When the world still has people starving to death, how is anyone overeating themselves into an early grave without an extremely guilty conscience?  It is repulsive to me to think how much effort has gone into taking nutrition OUT of food so that we can stuff more of it into our gullets.  Artifical sweeteners are the biggest offenders to me.  The entire process involves paying more to consume fewer calories and cause extra damage to our kidneys, all so that we can eat more sweets. 

And let’s talk about the surgical interventions we have for fatness.  I can’t really say obesity, because liposuction isn’t for obesity, just that “stubborn fat”.  Of course, we do have lots of surgeries available for obesity.  There are myriad ways to make your stomach smaller, or inhibit your body’s ability to take in nutrition.  And once you have those surgeries, you’ll probably want to have that extra skin removed.  These surgeries EACH cost tens of thousands of dollars.  Imagine if everyone who wanted these surgeries was offered an alternative – take the recovery time from the surgery to travel in a third world country, with the money you’d have spent on the surgery in your pocket.  Every time you see someone who looks hungry, give them a meal.  Eat like the local people do – in substance and in amount.  See how much weight you lose.  Keep it up at home.  

K1 is approaching the end of kindergarten.  One of the things they do is measure your kid’s reading level halfway through the year and again at the end.  The jury is still out on what K1’s is, because the teacher only had the tests to get halfway through third grade.  All we know today is that it’s above early third grade, we’ll know more later.   Not that we would have expected anything less from our kid, considering everyone in our families have always been voracious readers, but it’s nice to know! 

Oh, and lest you think I’m playing favorites, K2 is also smart.  He can sound out words at the age of 3, and contradicted me yesterday with the sentence, “No, Mommy, I was contradicting myself, not you.”  Yes, they’re brilliant.  Yes, I’m bragging.  Yes, this is my blog and I will brag if I want to!

As bathing suit season begins, there is a lot of talk about “bikini waxing”.  There are a lot of options out there that I thought were all under the category of “bikini waxing” but that is merely one level.  There’s also Californian and Brazilian.  Might one of these be the name for the “landing strip” style which appears to be so popular?  What are the differences, and why do I want to pay a stranger $35 to $50 to rip hair out of my delicate private parts?  I’m having a hard time picturing this conversation over the phone, but here’s what I’m imagining:

Me:  Hi, yes, I’d like to schedule an appointment for waxing.

Them:  Oh, sure, was there someone in particular you wanted to schedule with?

Me:  No, this is my first time coming to your salon.

Them: Okay, what did you want to have done?

Me:  Um, my bikini line?

(note that I’ve gone from stating to asking)

Them:  Oh, okay, well, Jasmine has a spot open on Thursday, if you just want a regular bikini wax.  If you want a Brazilian, she’ll need more time for that, so you’d have to wait until Friday.

Me:  Um, what’s the difference? 

Them:  Well, a Brazilian will make you completely hairless, the Californian will give you the landing strip look, and a regular bikini wax will follow your tan line so your hair won’t show while you’re in your bathing suit.

(I have no idea if that’s true, remember, I’m imagining, making believe, pretending…)

Me:  Um, how about Thursday, then?

Them:  All right, 10:00 work for you?

Me: Oh, uh, no, you know what?  Let me check with my husband, I think I have a thing that day, I’ll call you back.

All that in order to avoid saying:  Sure, um, what do I wear? And, like, do I need to trim my hair first?  And, what’s Jasmine like?  Will I feel comfortable having her servicing my girl parts?  How much is it going to hurt?  Should I take some advil first?  How long will it be before I can comfortably put on my underwear and jeans? 

This may be the real reason I have yet to follow friends’ advice to have this done professionally.  Instead, I have my trusty razor and a new trick I picked up from my friend, the minister’s wife, who picked it up from a friend, who got it from a stripper (small world, no?) – put deodorant on after you shave so you don’t get razor bumps.  But why do we do this at all?

I can remember standing in line at a water park next to a lady who had a little bit of pubic hair showing on her thigh when I was about 11.  I thought, “Oh, that’s her pubic hair.”  It wasn’t indecent.  It wasn’t gross.  As an 11 year old, I didn’t have much opinion on the subject.   I don’t think I should have much opinion on it today.  If what we’re trying to do is push back the line of modesty, to say that the only thing that matters is not seeing evidence of a sexually mature woman, who are we really fooling?  In the same way that small triangles of fabric strung up by little strips of  fabrics isn’t really letting you forget what’s under there, shaving (or waxing) pubic hair is really just allowing for false modesty.

If bathing suits were less revealing, would anyone besides porn stars feel the need to remove their pubic hair?  If the only people that were going to see your pubic hair were you, your husband and your doctor, would you want to go through that pain and hassle and expense?  I wouldn’t.  My husband, good man that he is, assures me that whatever I want to do is fine with him.  I’m pretty sure my doctor won’t mind.  Which begs the question, why are we wearing such revealing suits?  Because it’s fashionable?  There’s a great idea – let’s walk around barely dressed so that we can get skin cancer in even more places!  Swimsuits are pretty form-fitting.  They don’t leave much to the imagination.   Can’t we just imagine that there isn’t hair?  Where is the designer that is willing to make a bathing suit that isn’t designed to hide fat, but is designed to allow for some modesty?  I wonder whether the pendulum of fashion will ever return to decency, or if we are heading back to the time of the loincloth.  If loincloths are coming back into fashion, then surely the rugged natural look can’t be far behind.

I just finished watching this week’s Grey’s Anatomy.  In case you don’t watch that show, here’s the general gist of it:  Meredith Grey (main character, get it?) is a resident at Seattle Grace Hospital.  Lots of people dip their pen in the office ink and have other assorted issues.  In most episodes (if not all, but I can’t remember them off the top of my head…) someone makes a decision based on an event that happens that day, an event that is similar to their circumstances.  For instance, in today’s episode, Alex’s sort-of love interest shows up and announces she’s pregnant.  He doesn’t want anything to do with the baby – until the case he has that day plays out: a baby that needs immediate surgery and may have lots of other issues turns out to be okay.   The last scene is he and Rebecca, looking happy about a baby. 

So what if the baby in the hospital had died instead?  Or had a horrible deformity?  Is the whole point of the show that one person’s life really hangs in the balance of whether a chance encounter goes one way or the other?  Or is it just a show that lacks subtlety?  Hmm, philosophical question or theatrical…  It could elevate Grey’s Anatomy from a trashy soap opera to modern day thinking man’s philosophy.

Is that how there really is no free will – that we don’t have control over what we are exposed to, and thus our knee-jerk reactions to life are wholly determined by what goes on around us?

In his On the Freedom of the Will, Schopenhauer stated, “You can do what you will, but in any given moment of your life you can will only one definite thing and absolutely nothing other than that one thing.”  You will do what you want, but what you want to do is determined by everything else that has happened.  

I don’t know what conspired to make me want wine and chocolate, but that’s what I’m off to do.  Form your own theories!

A feeling of general gloom and doom has settled over everything.  Every urge to do something fun has been restrained by worries of how much the gas will cost to do it.  Every purchase has been tempered with worries of whether that money would be better spent elsewhere.  Well, see the previous post to see a good list of all our issues.  If there was more fog, I’d think the dementors were breeding.

But no more!  Today, the tide is changing!  Treasury Secretary Paulson said of the economy, “We are closer to the end of this problem than we are to the beginning.”  Tax rebates have started arriving in bank accounts!  Winn Dixie is having a huge sale on meat and this isn’t one of those weeks where my money gets eaten up with doctor’s copays and medicines so I can afford to really take advantage of the sale!  The weather is warm enough to maybe go to the pool, but not so hot that the walk up there is miserable!  We’ve come up with a fix for K1’s slow work at school and he’s back on the treasure box!  Hillary made a huge mistake with the gas-tax repeal idea!   Obama is picking up superdelegates, both undecided and previous Hillary supporters!

Yes, there’s a patronus.  There’s a change in the wind.  The planets have aligned differently.  SOMETHING has changed, and man, I’m glad!

The headlines are getting more and more ominous, even if they are getting a little ridiculous.  I love the rice rationing story – yes, folks, only in America is it considered newsworthy that you can only buy somewhere between 80 and 200 lbs of rice per day (depends on which news story you read, or maybe which store it is).  But that’s not to belittle the simple math that is playing out:  Bad rice crops over the last 7 years plus more people on the planet plus a threat to the wheat crop equals higher food prices which equals people going hungry.  Just not the Americans, who can afford those higher food prices. 

Or can we?  Our gas prices are going through the roof, we are no longer able to pull money out of our houses at quite the rate we could before (okay, we can’t even refinance our way out of crappy mortgages because houses are worth so much less than when we bought them), electricity costs more…   So maybe we’ll have to cut back some.  That’s okay.

But what about the environment?  Do we really only have about 10 years before we do irreversible damage to the world as we know it?  How many light bulbs do I have to replace to do my part?  How many trips out of the house do I have to forgo (conveniently also saving me money on my gas bill…) in order to make sure the ocean doesn’t rise up over our house?  How much local, organic food can I buy without putting us into the poorhouse?  Stress!  Anxiety!  ACK!!

Well, at least the country is well-governed and respected all over the world.  OH WAIT A MINUTE!!!  No, we have a moron in the White House and freaky things are happening.  Who thought it was a good idea to bring in the title “czar”?  Aren’t we supposed to be the good guys of the world?  Why is the world’s greatest superpower barely making ends meet financially and militarily? 

And Wall Street is a big fat mess. 

So, what is the solution?  Well, we just have too many people.  Not enough food for all these people, not enough jobs, not enough space for all these religions to peacefully co-exist.  There’s only one answer: 

THE POLE SHIFT OF 2012

http://www.howtosurvive2012.com/htm_night/home.htm  You don’t have to worry!  All our troubles will be over in a mere 4 years or so!  Even if things go really well for those in the know, we can only expect the smallest fragment of the population to survive.  Mr. Let’s-Survive says:

We, the survivors of 2012, will be able to compensate for the mistakes that have been made, like those in the area of ecology. You, a follower of an ecological wisdom paradigm, can associate with this for sure. You will have at your disposal an ambitious construction project together with all the relevant scientific information. As a result of that, a paradise-like civilization can rule on earth within a few hundreds to thousands of years.

Ta-da!  Problem solved!  No more overwhelming population problems, everyone will be sorely needed for whatever skills they may possess and even just their DNA if they’re of a breeding age, opportunities will abound, and we’ll all get along with no need for government.  Hooray!

I just finished reading Farmer Boy – for those of you who aren’t die-hard Laura Ingalls Wilder fans, the little girl on Little House on the Prairie did eventually grow up and write those books, but first she got married to Almanzo Wilder;  eventually, she wrote a book about his childhood, too.  If I could snap my fingers and suddenly be 9 year old Almanzo Wilder, I’d be awfully tempted. 

I borrowed the book from the library intending to read it to the boys.  After 2 chapters, I wasn’t sure they were ready for it.  There were big boys that came to school in winter so that they could beat up the teacher.  The previous year’s teacher had been beaten so badly that he died.  This year’s teacher (who was a friend of the dead teacher) ends up with a whip and uses it on 2 of the big boys while the others slip out the window and are never heard from again.   Almanzo isn’t allowed to speak at meals.  He isn’t allowed to play on Sundays.  He must not speak at school except for recess, lunch and when it is time to recite his lesson.  He must get up and do chores before breakfast, and when he comes home he must do his chores again before supper.  Does this dissuade me from believing I would be completely happy living Almanzo’s life?  Nope.

There is always something to do, and there’s something different to do with each season.  The idea of taking my kids out of school because it’s time to make hay is just lovely.  Imagine drinking milk that was in the cow that morning!   Being completely self-reliant – isn’t that the ultimate in a sense of safety and security?  And is it really necessary to chatter away at dinner?  It certainly feels like it.  Study after study is showing the importance of family dinner time in raising decent children.  And it isn’t the act of sitting down together that does it, it’s the conversations.  Usually when I sit down to eat –  after a full day, after cooking the entire meal from scratch – I would like to simply enjoy my meal.  In fact, I usually find my husband taking up the conversational slack when we have guests over for dinner.   I’m downright garrulous once dessert is served.  Refreshment isn’t just in the mouth, it’s in the mind as well.

This story’s intrinsic comfort is its completely zen attitude towards life.  She points out something to enjoy in almost every single  thing he does.  There does not appear to be any joy in the weekly bath when it is 40 below and you live in a house without central heat.   Churning butter is boring, but the butter is delicious and brings a lot of money for the family.  Beating the carpets once a year is a hated chore.  But everything else has its little charms.  Almost everything seasonal has the fun of getting him out of school (which is just doing something out of the ordinary, which anyone can appreciate).   Milking has its own rhythm and satisfaction.  Hoeing the corn has another rhythm and instant gratification.  Making hay has its sweet smell, and he gets to ride on top of the huge wagon load of hay.  So many simple pleasures.

I am happiest on the days when I can find those simple pleasures in my life.  Watching the vinegar evaporate from the mirror with its evanescent rainbows.  Enjoying the warmth of the laundry as I fold it.  Dancing along to a good beat while putting the toys away.  Finding ways to make the kids happy, so I can enjoy their smiles.   Losing myself in thought while I vacuum.  The delight of seeing a delectable meal come together in my own kitchen. 

So maybe it’s not actually the farming that I really want.  Maybe what I covet is the ability to enjoy what I’m doing all the time.  And that’s really up to me.  Still, maybe I’ll go ahead and plant that vegetable garden, just in case.

So I’m at Target yesterday, congratulating myself on only having 5 items in the basket, 3 of which are from the dollar spot and the other 2 are non-negotiable spending.  I think to myself, ‘It’s been a long week.  I deserve a little treat.  Hmm, how about a little something?  Oh, wait, right, there’s that bathing suit that I apparently have to wear in less than  two weeks [who the hell throws a pool party the first week of April?  Oh, right, my neighbor and child's good friend...].  Why is it that every time I think I deserve a little something, my mind always goes to something sweet or alcoholic?’  I wander the aisles a little more, pondering. 

Then it hits me – food is a treat that nobody but me has to see.  I can get “a little something,” as Pooh would say, enjoy it, hide the evidence, and no one but  me has to know that I’ve spent money on myself.  No one has to know that I enjoyed something without sharing it with them.  If I get new clothes or a massage or something like that, it’s either obvious in that I’ve got something to show for it, or it’s obvious on my bank register that I’ve spent a big chunk of change on something just for me.  Now that’s just sad.  I am a grown woman.  I should be able to allow myself to indulge in something every now and then without stuffing my face.  But what do I want?  Do I have to be so consumeristic about it?  My budget will not bear too many indulgences.  My conscience will not let me go buying crap to fill my house and eventually toss into the trash – not only because I don’t want to make my house a wreck, but also because I don’t want the ecological guilt with buying stuff that I don’t really need.  Frankly, I wish I could escape the need for more stuff.  We’ve been brought up to believe that stuff will cure our problems, and foreign countries are really making out like bandits with this plan.  Read Judith Levine’s Not Buying It, and check out Story of Stuff.  Alas, I still feel that a little purchase just for me will make me happy.

So I look at hairbands, and find that I am a pathological cheapskate.  Admittedly, I only thought that they were moderately cute, but that wasn’t what held me back.  I just didn’t want to spend $6 on something to keep my hair out of my face when I already have about 100 ponytail holders at home.  I went off on my errands, no treat in hand.  Sigh. 

I find my way to the Goodwill store – this is now the second time since leaving Atlanta that I’ve shopped at Goodwill (for those of you keeping score at home, that’s 13 years).  The first time (6 years ago) I simply refused to buy new clothes to fit my postpartum self, and Goodwill had the hideous jeans to motivate me to lose the weight.  But this time, I find a fix.  2 dresses, 1 shirt and $12 later, I’m thrilled with my purchases.  I can’t wait for the weather to warm up so I can wear these really cute new threads.  I don’t feel guilty about it, my body is happy with it, and it is something that I will get lasting enjoyment out of.   And they’re recycled, so I can talk myself into feeling good about the environmental impact. 

Next up:  Tackling the need to purchase SOMETHING to coddle myself – any ideas?