Welcome to the March Carnival of Natural Parenting: Vintage green!
This post was written for inclusion in the monthly Carnival of Natural Parenting hosted by Code Name: Mama and Hobo Mama. This month we're writing about being green — both how green we were when we were young and how green our kids are today. Please read to the end to find a list of links to the other carnival participants.
When the idea came up to write a post on "green" things we did as kids,
my first inclination was to assume there wasn't anything. But then I realized — there was plenty, but we didn't identify it as such. Certainly
my parents would never have aspired to be eco-chic in the pre-recycling times I grew up in (I'm old! Yes!), and even now they might look a little askance at claims of environmental friendliness as PC hogwash, but I came up with this list of
vintage green activities that were eco-minded unbeknownst to us!
- We made our own Play-Doh. Here's a list of recipes. I remember ours always dried out really quickly, and it was always pale pastels (I was fine with that), so mold your pale pink and blue city tout de suite and then let it crumble!
- I spent most days outside, swinging on the playground, unschooling myself about edible plants and interesting bugs, and riding my bike all over the neighborhood. That's green and free-range! Definitely vintage.
- My older brother and I spent the summers in charge of dishwashing. We filled a tub in the sink with warm, soapy water and washed everything in it before doing a quick cold rinse and setting the dishes aside to dry. Very little wasted water!
- We had no air-conditioning, so my brother and I came up with a lot of games that involved electric fans. Did you know they make delightful vertical roulette wheels when you tape numbers to them? Now you do.
- My mom used cloth diapers on my older brother and me, or so I hear, and got us out of them early. By the time my little brother unexpectedly came around, disposables were much more the in thing, so she switched over. He took a lot longer to potty learn (hmmm...).
- She also breastfed all three of us, which is one of the most eco-friendly foods out there, and it was kind of rare and therefore radical for the time, though my mom does not think of herself as such.
- My mom still does most of the cleaning with a rag dampened with water. It's really all you need to dust and wipe up spills.
- When I started band? The cleaning cloth my mom sent with my (secondhand from my aunt) flute: cut-up scraps of my dad's old pajamas. I thought it was sweet if a little sad — because my dad loved those pajamas.
- My dad always wore everything until it absolutely wore out. His pajamas would have large swaths of fabric missing before he'd consent to a Christmas gift of a new pair.
- My dad was always solicitous of whether we had enough light to read by, switching on a lamp if he thought my book looked too shaded. But that was the only electrical extravagance. Other than that, our 60-watt-bulbed lights were turned off when not in use, and the heat was kept to freeze-your-toes crisp temperatures. If I complained, my mother told me to put a sweater on and my father would pass over a throw blanket. This changed only recently when my mother got thyroid cancer and was suddenly cold all the time; I guess there's a time to splurge.
- My dad refused to use anything chemical to unstop a clogged drain. He would take off the drain cover and get out some exploring tools and tweeze out all the gunky hair and other nastiness that resided within — and sometimes he'd make me do it, considering it was my hair and all.
- You know how microwave popcorn gives you cancer or something? My dad was old school. We popped kernels in a stainless steel pot. I've been converted back to this idea and am looking forward to trying out this recipe for the perfect pot-popped popcorn. We even bought a set of new (used) stainless steel pots off craigslist, even though I used to make fun of my parents for having the same stainless steel pots since their wedding instead of upgrading to something fancier. They also used wooden spoons, which for awhile I despised but am tempted now to steal.
- My mom collected antique kitchen implements, and I often used a hand mixer
to whip up my favorite chocolate maple milkshake, the recipe for which was in a kids' cookbook I cannot locate online. (My theory is the shake might be like maple milk shake 1 from this recipe list.) I wish I had one of those hand mixers now — so convenient, so easy, less clean-up time, and no plugs or batteries needed!
- Neither parent was drawn to kitchen duties, but for all that my mom cranked out hearty, home-cooked meals even while working out of the house. My dad stepped in each week to make his signature pizza.
- My mom is the most accomplished needlewoman I know. She sews, knits, smocks, cross-stitches, and quilts, and I know she could do anything else she put her hand to. She made my wedding dress for $97 to look like the designer dresses of the season, since the designer dresses weren't in my price range. I know needlework has lately become more of a hobby for those who can afford the supplies than a true money-saver, but my mom learned her sewing from her mother, who in turn learned from the Depression and from raising five kids of her own that if you want something, sometimes you have to make it yourself. My mom grew up just as resourceful and creative, and I like to hope she passed a little of that on to me.
Now that I've written this list, I'm shocked at how much I'm hearkening back to my parents' way of doing things. I know the green things I'm passing on to Mikko are a little more labeled, a little more explicit — a little more expensive and pretentious, too, perhaps. But, I hope the main thing I'm passing on is a spirit of making do, of keeping it simple, of not worrying too much about keeping up with the times or with the Joneses and all their latest and greatest products.
And I really hope for Mikko to have memories like mine of playing outside, teaching himself about the friendly bugs, and enjoying the sounds, the smell, the excitement of fresh-popped popcorn. Not to mention the real-butter taste! Yum.
Tell me your green memories, or your green dreams. Are they specific like popcorn or philosophical like resourcefulness?
Visit Code Name: Mama and Hobo Mama to find out how you can participate in the next Carnival of Natural Parenting!
Please take time to read the submissions by the other carnival participants.
(This list will be updated March 9 with all the carnival links.)
This is what I've been doing instead of writing. Look around you:
I changed the wallpaper!
To refresh your memory, here's what things used to look like:
You don't have to tell me it used to look awful, because
I really did like my cheerful vintage look.
(You know, like when you get a haircut and people go, "Oh, my gosh, that's SO MUCH better," and you want to kick them?)
But...isn't it beautiful now?
Sam worked so hard to get this together for me. Thank you, sweets! (He's one of the cuties in the screen shot there.)
We took the header picture several months ago in preparation.
That's Mikko in the ERGO on my back. For safety fanatics out there, those tracks aren't in use. They seriously run into a building several feet back from where we were shooting. I'm not such a hardcore model that I like to endanger my son! He was quite irritated by the time the shoot was over, though, quashing
my dreams of making him into a child star. Ha!
As all of you poke around and enjoy the site in the next days and weeks, do
let me know if things work for you or not so much. I tried to copy over all the functions of the old site, but you never know!
The other thing I've been working hard on is the
March Carnival of Natural Parenting — posting TOMORROW! Check back for lots of wonderful articles on old-school green living. You'll get so many good ideas — I guarantee it.*
*Unless you are (a) already a supremely evolved eco-warrior
or (b) unable to read. I just hope the reason you're unable
to read isn't because there's a glitch in my site redesign!
The other day after preschool,
Mikko's teacher pulled me aside (he likes to put on his Observant Teacher hat like this) and said to me privately, "Have you noticed Mikko's balance is...not so good?"
I started laughing.
I don't know if that was the reaction he was expecting, but Sam and I have the
worst balance in the world ever, so I just wiped away the tears and admitted it was genetic.
The teacher said Mikko will have trouble keeping going if, for instance, he's running and another kid bumps into him. He brought it up because a previous student had had balance problems along with speech delays, and it turned out this other kid had so much fluid in his ears that it was affecting both his balance and his hearing. So I appreciated the teacher's concern and his willingness to broach topics like that with the parents.
But I will tell you a few stories to explain why
I am not at all surprised that Mikko has terrible balance, considering his hereditary potential to be a klutz. I shared some of these stories at
my post on Hobo Mama Reviews about a balance board giveaway from
Paisley and Pretties as well as in the comments there, but I'm going to go out on a limb (
carefully! I might fall!) and assume that no one but
Slee and I read that post. So here they are, proofs of our physical (un)prowess, because I live to humiliate myself.
Sam and I used to love hanging out at science museums and children's museums, even before we had children. (Frankly, it was more fun then, since we got to play with whatever we wanted instead of having to share the best toys.) We once went to a science museum where they had a special exhibit where you could
test how well your body did at different physical tasks, like strength, flexibility, and coordination. There would then be a chart where you could compare your scores to the average for your age and gender. So, for instance, strength required pulling down on a big weight with a sensor reading your force exerted, and flexibility was measured by stretching your legs out straight and bending toward your toes and seeing where your fingertips hit along a ruler.
These are the kinds of shenanigans we used to indulge in.
The balance test was a square metal board that you stood on, not unlike a bathroom scale but anchored only in the middle, so that it would tip in the direction of either foot unless you kept it perfectly balanced between your feet, like a very small teeter-totter. There were handles to hang onto, and you were supposed to time how long you could keep the board balanced and not hit the floorplate, which had sensors on either side. Well, we failed, colossally.
We couldn't keep the board balanced for more than a second, and the minimum was several seconds.
But we couldn't figure out why the timer wasn't working for us. We were just having to count the time ourselves, when there was clearly a digital readout that wasn't going. We read the directions again, more carefully this time and found out —
you were supposed to take your hands off the handles! That started the timer.
Ohhhh... Doing it correctly, we now registered about a tenth of a second of balancing.
Our really crappy times were the result of making it too easy on ourselves. Our true crappy times were remarkably more embarrassing.
I broke my leg on my eighth-grade ski trip, which is a balance story all in itself. I've been skiing once since then and I really want to go again, but Sam is (rightly) resistant. I cajoled him into taking beginner figure-skating lessons with me. Sam's experience in the first lesson = face plant on the ice, broken glasses, blood, swelling, possible concussion — and
a refund of our prepaid lesson fees once we signed a form that said we had no intention of suing the rink. (How do you sue for a genetic predisposition to extreme clumsiness?) Sam previously suffered a head injury when he sledded into a tree as a child, so winter sports in general haven't been our strong suit. Considering all that, I haven't pushed too hard on the skiing thing, but if you live near Seattle and want to accompany me next winter and don't mind the thought of the excursion perhaps ending with an ambulance, do let me know!
A reenactment of that fateful trip (and fall)
down the mountain.
But, anyway, when I got my cast off my leg, I had to go to physical therapy. The doctor wanted to see how much my balance had deteriorated, so he asked me to stand on my left (the formerly broken) leg and close my eyes while I counted upwards.
I made it to one before I fell over.
"Oh, dear," he murmured. This was bad, apparently. Very bad. "Well," he said, putting on a brave doctor face, "try it on your good leg, so we have a baseline."
On my right leg, I made it to two seconds before falling over.
Now the doctor wasn't as worried about my bad leg. Though I have to wonder if he remained worried, just in general.
Sam and I have tried a couple things to help us improve our balance.
I've started riding bikes again, though I always make sure to select a bike with thick tires, and Sam has discovered a scooter he loves. I've been taking ballet the past several years, and even though I
suck, it has definitely helped my balance.
I can now almost, sometimes, stand on one tippy-toe without crashing into the mirrors. As long as I have a hand near the barre to catch myself.
You know, maybe Mikko
does have some rare balance disorder — and so do Sam and I!
This would explain so much. I only wish I'd known back when it could have gotten me out of gym class...
If you dare to share: What embarrassing physical defects run in your family? Has a teacher or physician ever expressed concern at your atrocious athleticism? Come on, join me over on the loser wall, where we always get picked last for the team!
This is me being a freak without a way to describe my freakishness.
All right, there's been some discussion lately about
what to call breastfeeding a toddler or preschooler. There's also some discussion over what to call the age range I'm talking about, but I hope you get the idea that it's somewhere around 1-5 years old — as in, not a young baby.
I had had the whole idea of a name change brought to my attention,
from Ruth among
others, with an argument that calling it "extended" breastfeeding suggested an abnormality to the practice. That is,
plain old "breastfeeding" was reserved for nursing an infant, and anything past a certain cut-off (six months, one year, depends on the cutter-off) would be "extended breastfeeding," and therefore
out of the range of normal.
I agreed that
"full-term breastfeeding" was much more satisfying to my sensibilities, because, as the mother of a two-and-a-half-year-old who's "still" nursing, I feel that breastfeeding a toddler
is considered outside the norm in my society. Calling it "full-term" has been much more positive to me, even in my own head. I'm not being a freak; I'm letting my child nurse until we have completed our term together. See?
But some commenters on
my post collecting links and articles about the subject of full-term breastfeeding and then
an article and many commenters at Breastfeeding Moms Unite! suggested that
"full-term breastfeeding" was just as offensive as "extended," if not more so.
The main objection is that it sets up
a nebulous yet high standard for breastfeeding "success," meaning that if women wean their children — at all, I guess, but particularly before a certain age — then there has been a lack of full-term breastfeeding. So, for instance, if a mother weans at 15 months, she's nursed for much longer than most Western mamas,
but under the full-term breastfeeding ethos, she will not have breastfed full term, because her baby probably (maybe) would have gone on longer. (I can't see any of my ardent lactivist friends not just giving such a woman a huge hug and pat on the back rather than criticism, but that's beside the point in this language discussion.)
Some commenters suggested
alternatives to "full-term," such as "
post-infancy breastfeeding" or "
child-led/determined breastfeeding" or "biologically determined breastfeeding" (though I suppose the last two would run the same risks) or "
bonus breastfeeding" (from
Sarah V. of Good Enough Mum who
asks for scientific proof that breastfeeding beyond infancy in First World countries offers any definite benefits — I could go into a tangent about needing such proof, but I'll try to stay on track a little here). Some preferred calling it "extended" breastfeeding anyway, due to familiarity or due to
positive connotations with the word because they enjoyed being beyond the norm in a good way. Some insisted that we don't need a special term at all, because it should just be breastfeeding, and if needed, you could insert the age of your child.
I got a little upset reading the comments on Melodie's post, so I'm going to try not to replicate any tendency toward rantiness (on my own part) here. I know no one was writing
against me, but I guess I didn't expect so much disagreement within the crunchy community. Must take my emotions down a notch. Deep breath. Calm, calm, peace, zen.
Ok.
With all due respect to the idea that we could call it all just "breastfeeding," I really think we
do need a term for breastfeeding past [insert a certain age here]. Because
I want to talk about it, and so I need a name! To say it should be "just breastfeeding" is nice and all, and maybe you live on a hippy commune where it
is just breastfeeding (that would be cool!), but where I live, I'm a total freak. And I want to be able to name and discuss my total freakiness, so I don't feel so alone.
So then we're stuck with terms that feel
pejorative against one or the other group — some of us who breastfeed toddlers and beyond object to terms that suggest a perversion of the natural order by continuing to nurse beyond our culture's accepted cut-off points (it's
extended! it's
post-infancy!), and —
theoretically — those who do
not breastfeed toddlers but
do breastfeed infants are put off by terms that suggest what they have done is subpar (it's
not full term,
not child-led,
not biologically determined, etc.).
So here's where my question is, then, and why I emphasized "theoretically" up there. It seems like most of us arguing this in circles are people who are fine with (full-term/extended) breastfeeding (a toddler/preschooler/non-infant) and who even practice the same.
What I'd like is to hear from the three groups (I can identify) who could shed some light on the subject of offensiveness:
- Women who intend to breastfeed or have breastfed during infancy (up to a year old) but who have not considered or do not desire breastfeeding beyond that age: Does "full-term breastfeeding" make you feel inadequate? Does it make you want to learn more about nursing beyond infancy, or does it lessen your interest? Is it an intimidating term that makes you feel like Why bother if I'm not going to do it full term? or that your best won't be good enough? Is there another term that would make you feel less intimidated or guilty? Or does it not bother you that some people choose to breastfeed past infancy, if you're comfortable with your own choice?
- Women who don't intend to breastfeed or have intentionally chosen not to breastfeed during infancy: Does calling it full-term breastfeeding make it more or less likely that you would consider breastfeeding in the future? Does it make you feel like, Why bother breastfeeding at all because clearly I'm not going to do it full term? If you feel uncomfortable with your decision not to breastfeed, does hearing about full-term breastfeeding make you feel guiltier than hearing about breastfeeding an infant?
- Women who intended to breastfeed past infancy (again, let's say past a year old) or for a certain "extended" period of time (eg, two years or till child-led weaning) but for whatever reason could not or did not (surgery, illness, prolonged nursing strike, pregnancy, unexpected baby-led weaning, low milk supply, emotional or physical discomfort, separation, etc. — I know there are lots of good reasons!): What do you think of "full-term breastfeeding" as a phrase? Does it make you feel guilty or sad or otherwise uncomfortable, or do you feel you had good reasons to wean when you did? Is it still your goal in the future to attempt (full-term) breastfeeding again, and does the term inspire you or intimidate you? Do you feel judged by people who use the term? If so, would you feel less judged if they used a different term, and if so, which one (extended, post-infancy, child-led, a completely different one, etc.)?
I don't expect to hear much from categories 1 and 2 up there. If they're reading along, I certainly hope they chime in, and I do expect some category 3s have something to say. But:
My theory is that we mostly use this term among ourselves, i.e., among full-term breastfeeders. It's not going to be on the cover of
Parenting magazine. (Now, watch — it will be, just to spite me.) But I mean, I think the bulk of the people concerned with "full-term breastfeeding" and what we call it? Are the people doing it.
Everyone else couldn't really give a flip. I would never use either (any special) term to talk about breastfeeding a toddler with my friends who stopped breastfeeding at six months — because they don't want to hear that I'm still breastfeeding and I feel uncomfortable mentioning it, and so we just don't talk about it at all. I wouldn't expect them to know (or care) that there was a term circulating for the specific type of breastfeeding I do.
That's just my take on it.
So why can't I have my cushy, feel-good term?
What's wrong with calling it something that makes me feel a little better about being in the minority? So what if it's subtly pretentious and sets a high standard?
What's wrong with a high standard if it's a good one? There are a lot of things I don't do that I know I
should do; do I blame the people who do the good things for being pretentious and for setting too high a standard?
Why isn't it the ideal thing to breastfeed a child until the mother and child mutually choose to stop? And, therefore, why shouldn't the term I use wave that flag?
Here's an example from my real life.
I wanted a home birth. I researched home birth. I bought a birthing pool (well, an inflatable kiddy pool, but
for a reason!). I squirreled away birthing supplies and scoured thrift stores for cheap but decent towels and sheets to get messy. I was ready. I was excited.
And then, and then — labor. After 39 hours, I ended up transferring, voluntarily, to a hospital. I had my natural hospital birth, but I was sad about missing my home birth. I had a healthy baby, a healthy me, rah rah, everything was great, really, but — I was grieving my lost dream.
I went on
Mothering.com after the birth, asking questions about newborn care and checking on my due date club sisters. And every time I saw a little "home birth" smilie icon,
I winced a little. I wondered if they judged me for transferring, and I wished — how I wished — I could be part of that group. Sigh.
But I got over it. I still
was part of that group, in spirit and intention. My next birth I would be trying again to do it at home. I knew I had good reasons for transferring to the hospital, and if I could do it all over again, I would (reluctantly) make the same decision. It really was in the best interests of my health and the baby's, even in hindsight, so I've come to peace with it, even though it was not my ideal. I also feel like
I do belong in the home-birth smilie club, because that's where I place myself ideologically. I don't judge those who choose
not to have a home birth, even though I could offer (good) reasons to consider it, and I still wish to pursue home birth for myself in the future. But, you know, even if in my next pregnancy or labor I find good reasons to transfer again, I will, and I will still consider myself a home birth advocate.
I wonder if women who
wanted to breastfeed a toddler but couldn't for whatever reason feel guilty or no? Feel intimidated or no?
Because I can't speak for them. I can offer my metaphorical anecdotes and opine on what
I feel about the terms surrounding breastfeeding a great big little kid, but — I need to hear from the other perspectives, too.
So, here I go, opening up the floor. If you do not belong in categories 1, 2, or 3, you are welcome to share your opinion, but don't share your opinion of what you think anyone else might think, because I don't want to muddy the waters. Let's find a little clarity here, if indeed it exists.
[Sorry if this sounded over-emotional and ranty, because I reread all the comments on my post and on Melodie's and I really don't know why I felt so emotional about the subject, but I did. There it is. A news flash that I'm not always rational when it comes to people talking about (judging?) the ways I parent, and even the ways I talk about that parenting. I've wondered whether I should hit publish, but I'm going to go ahead and trust to your graciousness in accepting this for what it is. Thanks.]
[ETA: Just saw "long-term breastfeeding" on Adventures in Babywearing. Takers for that one?]
at the gardening store!
I'm Lauren Wayne, writer and natural parent. I embrace attached parenting with an emphasis toward green living. 
