A small step for … um, Earth-saving?
Lindsey over at Like a hamster on a wheel just wrote a great post on recycling and composting. While I admit I am a terrible recyclyer and a non-existant composter, I did recently make a change for the better …
I’m not a huge sandwich girl — blame it on two years of braces. Confused? Well, if you’ve never had braces, you have never known the horror of biting into soft bread and having it wedge itself firmly underneath your wires. Yeah, it’s super-awesome.
Anyway, Darling Husband and I bring leftovers for lunch almost every day, and I always pack them in hard plastic containers with screw-on lids. We would unscrew the lid at the office, toss it in the microwave, and gobble it straight from the container.
I’d heard that it wasn’t safe to microwave food in plastic containers, but I didn’t really care … until I read it in “the bible.” Then, suddenly, it was crucial that I change my ways. I didn’t want to fill my soon-to-be-preggo body up with weird toxic plastic!
A colleague actually has glass lunch containers with plastic lids — very cool. I didn’t want to invest in those just yet, so instead, I brought a small plate to work — along with a fork, knife, spoon, mug and bowl. Now I still bring my lunch in a plastic container, but dump it onto the plate to re-heat.
When I’m done eating — which usually takes a full hour, because I am a slowwwww eater — I wash everything off and shove it back in my desk for the next day. Easy peasy!
Darling Husband went as far as to bring the cutlery to his office, but won’t bring a plate — probably because I wouldn’t be there to wash it (sorry, hon, but it’s true).
God knows what he does to clean his cutlery … wipes it on his cargo shorts, I suspect.
P.S. I just realized this is probably a selfish “change,” as it only benefits me and my health. Since I am still bringing my lunch in the plastic container, I’m not really saving the Earth at all? Am I? Hmm …
Oh boy!
Want to hear a sign that I am maturing?
I actually have one foot on the Baby Boy train! *victory dance*
You see, my fear of having a boy is not entirely irrational. I grew up in a house of only girls. As in, no boys at all. Even the doggie is a girl.
When I did see boys, they were — for the most part — rowdy, stinky, gross, sticky, loud, video-game-playing little monsters. One ex-friend took one of my naked Barbies into the closet to do bad things to her! Traumatizing!
It has only been recently that I have been thinking hard about the possibility that we might have a boy. It could happen.
I started to come around a few months ago, when L told me if I didn’t start making more boy items, I would be jinxing myself and I would definitely have a boy.
I hastily made this. But still, I wasn’t sold on the idea.
The thing that made me stop hyperventilating — and picturing a messy terror in overalls, being mean to my Barbies — was Darling Husband.
If we had a boy, he would be like a miniature Darling Husband, right? He might have his cute smile, and his gorgeous hair, and his amazing eyes?
He would most likely be obsessed with cars, trucks and planes — ’cause boys all are, right? — and I would be all, “Ohhhhh, just like his Daddddddyyy! How precious!” Yeah, I do think I’m going to be that annoying, FYI.
I could dress him in teeny golf shirts, teeny cargo shorts, teeny steel-toes! An itsy-bitsy Darling Husband!
He might be really sweet like Darling Husband. Even if he is an evil child, maybe the thought that he is just sneaky, just like Darling Husband, would keep me from losing it?
Seeing Darling Husband in our baby boy makes me less afraid of the stinky socks and loud videogames.
Because I may not love boys in general, but I do love him.
Not Me Mondays
Blah, Monday. What a gross day — especially the morning. Perfect for confessing stuff I totally didn’t do.
Over the weekend …
- The book I read yesterday was not Stacey and the Boyfriend Trap (reading level: age 10). The book I read the day before that was not The Trumpet of the Swan (reading level: age 8). I only ever read total grown-up books, with like, complicated plots.
- I did not insist on buying a high-tec pink sports water bottle at The Rugged Working Man Store, just because Darling Husband was getting new steel-toes and I wanted something for myself. I am the kind of person that can handle other people buying stuff, and not want anything.
- I did not take Little Dog for a walk while wearing short-shorts, a tank top, and a trenchcoat. Nope. That situation would have meant the wind would blow my coat up so high that I would look completely naked under the trench, and I would have looked like a flasher. Never.
This time next year …
It is early on the morning of Father’s Day. Darling Husband is still sleeping.
I can’t help but wonder if next year, I will be making breakfast in bed for a brand-new Daddy …
… Mashing our baby’s fat little hand into some finger paint, and pressing it onto a construction-paper card …
… Buying him some power tool he has mentioned — this week, it was a sandy-grindy-dealio, so it’s too bad we can’t celebrate Father’s Day just yet …
… Sending him off for golf with the guys, while our baby watches me prepare (or order) a special Father’s Day dinner …
… Finding little ways to let Darling Husband know that he is an incredible father, year-round.
Because he will be. I know it.
As featured on …
Heather's Handmade Life 