Today I became fully qualified to start a new blog; Things I’ve melted in the oven.
The latest victim: A bottle of vitamin C tablets
Sadly, I did check the oven before I turned it on. Somehow I missed the plastic bottle tucked in the corner, until the smell of lid liquefying over the oven racks alerted me.
Note to self: Stop storing things in the oven.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Our area was blessed with a "freak snowstorm" in February. The light dusting of snow that graced our vehicles was enough to send some people into a frantic panicked state. Alex had been praying for snow for over a year, so my sweet husband bundled the boy up and took him outside to try and collect enough snow to make a snowball. I snuggled into the papasan chair with a still very new baby.
It wasn't until a few weeks later that we realized the true implications of our "freak snowstorm". For the first time ever, I had planted my garden according to the timeframe printed on the back of the seed envelopes. I had spent several hours on my hands and knees digging and planting and all that other crazy stuff, while heavily pregnant. I felt a little closer to June Cleaver. During our cold snap, my little garden, which had begun to sprout, held on for dear life. Three weeks after the snow dusting came, we knew it was over. One small radish plant was the sole survivor.
Unfortunately, our radish suffered from PTSD, and was prone to horrific flashbacks of that fateful day. No amount of therapy seemed help. The final straw was when rogue sweet potatoes from last year's garden, pushed their leafy green sprouts through the soil. The lone radish, overcome with the unfairness of these events gave up the ghost.
Our garden this year, now consists of a bell pepper plant, mint and a lot of sweet potato foliage. Of course this is the year Alex has delevoped a burning curiosity about where our food comes from and how it is grown. We took him strawberry picking at a small hydroponic farm in a neighboring town.
It was love at first bite.
For all of us. We ended up leaving the farm with strawberries, tomatoes and basil. Oh, and plans to go back again!
It wasn't until a few weeks later that we realized the true implications of our "freak snowstorm". For the first time ever, I had planted my garden according to the timeframe printed on the back of the seed envelopes. I had spent several hours on my hands and knees digging and planting and all that other crazy stuff, while heavily pregnant. I felt a little closer to June Cleaver. During our cold snap, my little garden, which had begun to sprout, held on for dear life. Three weeks after the snow dusting came, we knew it was over. One small radish plant was the sole survivor.
Unfortunately, our radish suffered from PTSD, and was prone to horrific flashbacks of that fateful day. No amount of therapy seemed help. The final straw was when rogue sweet potatoes from last year's garden, pushed their leafy green sprouts through the soil. The lone radish, overcome with the unfairness of these events gave up the ghost.
Our garden this year, now consists of a bell pepper plant, mint and a lot of sweet potato foliage. Of course this is the year Alex has delevoped a burning curiosity about where our food comes from and how it is grown. We took him strawberry picking at a small hydroponic farm in a neighboring town.
It was love at first bite.
For all of us. We ended up leaving the farm with strawberries, tomatoes and basil. Oh, and plans to go back again!
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Day three (written last week)
Today has revolved around teeth. The boys and I started the morning by packing up, diapers, books, bouncy seat and borrowed GPS and setting out on a epic journey to find a specific dental clinic. The military likes to keep people on their toes, instead of addresses, they prefer building numbers, and no, the numbers are not sequential. Since I was venturing into a completely foreign area, I halfway expected to get lost. I was armed with a GPS, and directions to the clinic from one of the staff members, so I hoped my paranoia would be just that.
I made it within two blocks of the clinic before getting lost.
I drove up and down the stretch of road, searching for some clue as to where I was. before I broke down and called the clinic for a little help.
“I’m pretty sure I’m completely lost.”
“Are you on the bowling alley side?”
“I passed a bowling alley when I came in.”
“And you see a McDonalds?”
“Well, it’s behind me. It’s off base on the other side of the gate.”
“Where are you now? Do you see any landmarks?”
“I’m at the corner Dentalclinic Ave and Thatplace RD. There’s a big water tower.”
“A Water tower? Where’s the water tower?”
“It’s to my right, and there are planes to my left.”
“You see airplanes?!”
“Yes… Err… or probably jets. They fly in the sky. They’re all over the place! ”
“…. *talking in background* Is there anything else? Signs? Flags?”
“Okay, there’s a sign for the Airman museum.”
“Does it say “Special forces”?”
“It says “airman”. Okay I’m at the fire station on Imsolost blvd and Whathaveigotteninto Dr.”
“...We have a fire station?”
At this point I had a minor meltdown and started describing everything around in vivid detail. Thankfully something finally clicked.
“Okay, go left on Dentalclinic Ave”
”Going left… Okay I’m coming up to the museum sign again.”
“Does it say special forces?”
“… It still says “airman”.”
“What the-”
At this point I was driving past the building with the museum sign in front of it, and beheld the most wonderful sight. “J.D Dental Clinic” written in a small nook over the front door.
“DENTAL CLINC!!!!!” I screeched into my helper’s ear. “I found it!”
“Oh good.” Came the reply “I still have no idea where you were.”
Later that night, I was feeding Spain on the couch, when Alex emerged from the bathroom where he had been brushing his teeth in preparation for bed.
“Mama?”
“Yes, bug?”
“I lost my tooth. It just came out.”
Alex’s first tooth (again).
I’d been preparing myself for this, since last month when our family dentist mentioned that Alex had a loose tooth. I just thought I had a little more time to prepare. But here we are. Alex is losing teeth, Spain is getting teeth. I have two sons teething at the same time.
“Mama, I’m just so proud of myself!” Alex confided to me, as I hugged him close.
“Sweetie, I’m so proud of you too!”
I made it within two blocks of the clinic before getting lost.
I drove up and down the stretch of road, searching for some clue as to where I was. before I broke down and called the clinic for a little help.
“I’m pretty sure I’m completely lost.”
“Are you on the bowling alley side?”
“I passed a bowling alley when I came in.”
“And you see a McDonalds?”
“Well, it’s behind me. It’s off base on the other side of the gate.”
“Where are you now? Do you see any landmarks?”
“I’m at the corner Dentalclinic Ave and Thatplace RD. There’s a big water tower.”
“A Water tower? Where’s the water tower?”
“It’s to my right, and there are planes to my left.”
“You see airplanes?!”
“Yes… Err… or probably jets. They fly in the sky. They’re all over the place! ”
“…. *talking in background* Is there anything else? Signs? Flags?”
“Okay, there’s a sign for the Airman museum.”
“Does it say “Special forces”?”
“It says “airman”. Okay I’m at the fire station on Imsolost blvd and Whathaveigotteninto Dr.”
“...We have a fire station?”
At this point I had a minor meltdown and started describing everything around in vivid detail. Thankfully something finally clicked.
“Okay, go left on Dentalclinic Ave”
”Going left… Okay I’m coming up to the museum sign again.”
“Does it say special forces?”
“… It still says “airman”.”
“What the-”
At this point I was driving past the building with the museum sign in front of it, and beheld the most wonderful sight. “J.D Dental Clinic” written in a small nook over the front door.
“DENTAL CLINC!!!!!” I screeched into my helper’s ear. “I found it!”
“Oh good.” Came the reply “I still have no idea where you were.”
Later that night, I was feeding Spain on the couch, when Alex emerged from the bathroom where he had been brushing his teeth in preparation for bed.
“Mama?”
“Yes, bug?”
“I lost my tooth. It just came out.”
Alex’s first tooth (again).
I’d been preparing myself for this, since last month when our family dentist mentioned that Alex had a loose tooth. I just thought I had a little more time to prepare. But here we are. Alex is losing teeth, Spain is getting teeth. I have two sons teething at the same time.
“Mama, I’m just so proud of myself!” Alex confided to me, as I hugged him close.
“Sweetie, I’m so proud of you too!”
July 26, 2011
I’ll be honest, I don’t want to write about what has been happening this week. Sweet husband is on a mandatory “camping trip” for the entire work week, leaving me to be sole dictator of our home *insert evil laugh* and children. Monday we piled the boys into the car at 4 am to drop sweet husband off at work. Thankfully they slept through it. Kind of.
Usually Alex will wake up, talk through the entire drive, both to and fro, and insist as soon as we pull into the driveway that he is “done sleeping”. This time there was minimal talking and he fell back to sleep almost as soon as I laid him on the bed.
Four hours later, I awoke to a *thump* “AAAAAHHHHHHHH”. With lightening speed I bolted out of bed and raced down the hallway toward the sound. Alex stood in the middle of our kitchen, balancing on one foot, covered in orange soda, wailing “MY TOE! IT HIT MY TOE!”.
I mopped the soda off of his face and extremities, pulled his saturated shirt off, and sent him to change while I finished cleaning up the mess. We had had a game day the day before, playing board games and drinking a rare treat of natural sodas. In our haste to get back to the game, we put the cans on the counter to deal with later and then forgot.
Today seemed so much smoother. Spain was cooing happily while I prepared breakfast for Alex and Myself. On cue, as soon as I set my plate on the table, Spain realized he wasalso hungry starving to death. I decided to multi-task. I brought Spain to the table with me thinking he could nurse, I could eat. Win-win. I grabbed a bottle of hot sauce and started to shake it. The cap flew off. Green sauce splattered everywhere, and Spain began to scream. Panic does not begin to describe the icy fingers that frantically stopped my heart. I hauled Spain into the bathroom as fast I could. A blob of green hot sauce sat on the bridge of his nose, right in between his eyes. Please, God” I prayed “not in his eyes. Please let it have missed his eyes.” I rinsed his face off, then began to wash his face with calendula soap, while searching my brain for some idea of what would help the burning. “Vinegar” a soft voice whispered to me.
EUREKA! I grabbed a cotton ball, and poured vinegar onto it, Spain squirmed while I wiped the wet cotton across his face. He closed his eyes and I could see the angry red splotches from where the hot sauce hit him. His eyes had been closed. All during this Spain kept trying to spit. I knew some had gotten into his mouth, and judging from the reaction he wasn’t a fan. Go figure. I had to get him to nurse, but he kept resisting. Finally I tucked him into my bed, I laid down next to him and offered him a breast. He latched on, and in moments stopped writhing. Slowly, he fell asleep. While he slept, I gently wiped another cotton ball saturated with vinegar across his face.
Ten minutes later he woke up. There were no angry red marks anywhere on his face. His face broke into a gigantic grin the moment he saw me. My heart finally started beating again.
Thank you Lord!
Usually Alex will wake up, talk through the entire drive, both to and fro, and insist as soon as we pull into the driveway that he is “done sleeping”. This time there was minimal talking and he fell back to sleep almost as soon as I laid him on the bed.
Four hours later, I awoke to a *thump* “AAAAAHHHHHHHH”. With lightening speed I bolted out of bed and raced down the hallway toward the sound. Alex stood in the middle of our kitchen, balancing on one foot, covered in orange soda, wailing “MY TOE! IT HIT MY TOE!”.
I mopped the soda off of his face and extremities, pulled his saturated shirt off, and sent him to change while I finished cleaning up the mess. We had had a game day the day before, playing board games and drinking a rare treat of natural sodas. In our haste to get back to the game, we put the cans on the counter to deal with later and then forgot.
Today seemed so much smoother. Spain was cooing happily while I prepared breakfast for Alex and Myself. On cue, as soon as I set my plate on the table, Spain realized he was
EUREKA! I grabbed a cotton ball, and poured vinegar onto it, Spain squirmed while I wiped the wet cotton across his face. He closed his eyes and I could see the angry red splotches from where the hot sauce hit him. His eyes had been closed. All during this Spain kept trying to spit. I knew some had gotten into his mouth, and judging from the reaction he wasn’t a fan. Go figure. I had to get him to nurse, but he kept resisting. Finally I tucked him into my bed, I laid down next to him and offered him a breast. He latched on, and in moments stopped writhing. Slowly, he fell asleep. While he slept, I gently wiped another cotton ball saturated with vinegar across his face.
Ten minutes later he woke up. There were no angry red marks anywhere on his face. His face broke into a gigantic grin the moment he saw me. My heart finally started beating again.
Thank you Lord!
Monday, August 1, 2011
101 uses for oil
When my sweet husband came home on R&R during his last deployment, I was so overcome with excitement, endorphins and hormones, that when he bought a deep fryer I didn’t protest. In fact, it wasn’t until several months after he returned for good that I started questioning my sanity regarding the deep fryer.
The novelty of being able to eat French fries again wore off the first time I tried to deep clean this monster. Let’s face it, old cooked on oil is one of the most miserable substances to clean off of things. When faced with an appliance covered in this goo, my first thought was to throw it out and start anew. Unfortunately, the pesky thrifty do-gooder in me came out, so I scrubbed.
And soaked
And scrubbed.
And soaked.
And scrubbed.
After hours of scrubbing and soaking and asking everyone else I knew with a deep fryer what their cleaning tips were. I declared the fryer “clean enough” and hid it in the back of a rarely used cabinet.
A year later, we pulled it out of it’s dark corner, filled it up with oil and proceeded to feast on deep fried ethnic food. Deliciousness. Once again the novelty of the fryer blinded me to the hidden evils. I realized the error of my ways, as I stood in front of the fryer, nervously eyeing my fingernails. It can smell fear I reminded myself. Stay calm. I glanced around the kitchen nervously, and a chorus of angels sang loudly as my eyes fell on a bottle of oil surrounded by a halo of light.
OIL DESOLVES OIL echoed through my head. Of course! The OCM method*! It was worth a shot. The worst that could happen was it didn’t work and I would be back where I started. I uncapped the oil and pulled some paper towels out of my secret stash. Methodically I rubbed new oil on to the oil, rinsed with hot water and repeated as necessary. 10 minutes later the oil holding canister for the fryer was squeaky clean. Amazing!
Oil cleansing method of skin care
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Internet-less
Our internet is suffering a slow and painful (for me anyway) death. When we moved into our house, we had a delay of several weeks before we were “online”. Some of the wiring outside the house had started to decay, and made it virtually impossible to use. I never questioned what had been done about the wiring once the problem was resolved. I was too elated from the novelty of being able to Google again.
But then a few months ago, we noticed our connection getting slower and slower. It got to the point where the connection would cut out completely. I kept threatening my DSL modem that I was going to start shopping for a new internet provider, and in retaliation the DSL modem would start flashing red. Leaving me Google-less.
Finally after hours (literally) of sitting in front of the DSL modem, and waiting for four magical lights to change green long enough for me to hack into my AT&T account, I got the information I needed for tech support. After doing whatever it is they do, to check my connection they promised to send a tech out. Our tech had bad news for us. The wiring outside had given up. It was dead. Completely dead. He switched over to a secondary line to await the permanent fix, and warned us that the secondary line was only in slightly better connection than the first.
So, here we are. Waiting for the red tape to get taken care of, so that AT&T can tunnel across the street from our abode to replace the wiring. Our modem senses our desperation and toys with our hearts. We’ll have four solid green lines while the computer is off, and as soon as it’s booted up they switch to flashing red.
At the risk of sounding like a junkie, I’ll confess that I miss the internet. I’m at a loss without the world wide web delivering my “hippy” products directly to my door.
But then a few months ago, we noticed our connection getting slower and slower. It got to the point where the connection would cut out completely. I kept threatening my DSL modem that I was going to start shopping for a new internet provider, and in retaliation the DSL modem would start flashing red. Leaving me Google-less.
Finally after hours (literally) of sitting in front of the DSL modem, and waiting for four magical lights to change green long enough for me to hack into my AT&T account, I got the information I needed for tech support. After doing whatever it is they do, to check my connection they promised to send a tech out. Our tech had bad news for us. The wiring outside had given up. It was dead. Completely dead. He switched over to a secondary line to await the permanent fix, and warned us that the secondary line was only in slightly better connection than the first.
So, here we are. Waiting for the red tape to get taken care of, so that AT&T can tunnel across the street from our abode to replace the wiring. Our modem senses our desperation and toys with our hearts. We’ll have four solid green lines while the computer is off, and as soon as it’s booted up they switch to flashing red.
At the risk of sounding like a junkie, I’ll confess that I miss the internet. I’m at a loss without the world wide web delivering my “hippy” products directly to my door.
Three easy steps to becoming "crunchy"
Step one:
Take your shoes off whenever possible. Embrace being barefooted. If shoes are required, choose the least amount of shoe that is still appropriate for the environment. In other words, for grocery shopping choose flip-flops over sneakers.
Step two:
Adopt a cause. Here the choices abound. You can choose the classic “boycott a large corporation/conglomerate” or a public education crusade or even challenge the way society views something as “normal”. Whatever you choose, your cause should be something that is dear to your heart, something that you can share with others.
Step three:
Occasionally eat some raw produce. It doesn’t necessarily have to be organic or even local. The simple act of eating raw produce gives you “street cred”.
Once you’ve mastered these three easy steps you can progress on to contemplating chemicals in food, cosmetics, clothing, and toys. Not all at once of course, but slowly, and one at a time.
Take your shoes off whenever possible. Embrace being barefooted. If shoes are required, choose the least amount of shoe that is still appropriate for the environment. In other words, for grocery shopping choose flip-flops over sneakers.
Step two:
Adopt a cause. Here the choices abound. You can choose the classic “boycott a large corporation/conglomerate” or a public education crusade or even challenge the way society views something as “normal”. Whatever you choose, your cause should be something that is dear to your heart, something that you can share with others.
Step three:
Occasionally eat some raw produce. It doesn’t necessarily have to be organic or even local. The simple act of eating raw produce gives you “street cred”.
Once you’ve mastered these three easy steps you can progress on to contemplating chemicals in food, cosmetics, clothing, and toys. Not all at once of course, but slowly, and one at a time.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Alex
Someday, when Alex is old enough to drive, he will stumble across my blog and pray that he’s just having a bad dream.
Six years ago, I was sitting on a couch stroking my growing belly and contemplating motherhood. Today I’m surrounded by laundry, and in my hands is a pair of true big boy underwear.
Alex has been out of diapers for a few years, but his underwear has proudly proclaimed his preschool status. Underwear that sports the Mickey Mouse clubhouse characters does not boast “these belong to a mature young man”. It’s been easy to overlook how quickly Alex is changing and growing up. Folding Mickey Mouse underwear had lured me into a false sense of security. A sense of security, which came crashing down the day sweet husband and Alex went on an underwear run. It wasn’t until I was tossing their newly acquired purchases into the washing machine that I discovered the new underwear.
My breath caught in my throat as I realized the implication of what I had found. There were no characters on this underwear. The funky halfway hole (is it really necessary?) had potential to actually be functional. Fabric aside, the very cut of these undergarments erase any pretense that they could belong to a preschooler.
In one shopping trip, my little boy has gone from sweet little baby boy to a young man.
No one ever told me that after I became a mother, underwear would have the power to reduce me to tears.
Six years ago, I was sitting on a couch stroking my growing belly and contemplating motherhood. Today I’m surrounded by laundry, and in my hands is a pair of true big boy underwear.
Alex has been out of diapers for a few years, but his underwear has proudly proclaimed his preschool status. Underwear that sports the Mickey Mouse clubhouse characters does not boast “these belong to a mature young man”. It’s been easy to overlook how quickly Alex is changing and growing up. Folding Mickey Mouse underwear had lured me into a false sense of security. A sense of security, which came crashing down the day sweet husband and Alex went on an underwear run. It wasn’t until I was tossing their newly acquired purchases into the washing machine that I discovered the new underwear.
My breath caught in my throat as I realized the implication of what I had found. There were no characters on this underwear. The funky halfway hole (is it really necessary?) had potential to actually be functional. Fabric aside, the very cut of these undergarments erase any pretense that they could belong to a preschooler.
In one shopping trip, my little boy has gone from sweet little baby boy to a young man.
No one ever told me that after I became a mother, underwear would have the power to reduce me to tears.
Public Humiliation
Alright people. Things are about to get real.
Statistics show that with the increase of our household, there are 3.497 non-morning people abiding together in our home.
Generally we’ve learned to adapt to this fact of life and work around the malady. Unfortunately for Sundays, we don’t have our act completely polished yet. As, our entire congregation had witness a few weeks ago.
We had woken up late, yet somehow managed to arrive at church TWO WHOLE MINUTES before Sunday school. I fleetingly wondered how we had managed to shave off so much time, as we hustled to our seats.
We got all the way through Sunday school, and through the song service, when my stomach became an angry bi-polar storm. My eyes flew open in horror as I realized the secret to our punctuality- We hadn’t eaten breakfast. On cue Alex poked me. “I’m hungry” he pantomimed. I passed Spain off to the sweet husband and started riffling through the diaper bag while praying Please let there be snacks in here! . A single serve tube of peanuts sparkled at me from the bottom of the diaper bag. It was beautiful. Normally I would have made him wait until after the service, but I FORGOT to feed the poor child. I wasn’t going to make him wait it out.
I ripped a corner off the bag and handed the peanuts to Alex, and settled back in my seat thanking the Lord for that divine bag of legumes. At this point I have to interject and really set the scene here. We decided to sit in the balcony this particular Sunday. Unlike the rest of the sanctuary, our balcony is uncarpeted. And a there is slight echo for every sound made.
My revelry was interrupted by the crashing sound of legumes exploding over the balcony. Alex had tried to widen the hole in the bag, and the entire tube split in half, sending peanuts shooting out from between his hands like confetti. Have you ever heard a bag of marbles being dropped on a floor? Fun Fact #19: peanuts scattered along wooden floors and benches, in an echo-friendly area, sounds quite similar.
Of course the balcony had a large crowd that week. Six heads simultaneously turned to Alex, who sat in his seat with an impish grin on his face, holding the incriminating, tattered remains of the peanut tube. All I have to say is: THANK YOU GOD peanuts are easy to clean off of a wood floor.
From now on we may be late to church, but Alex will be feasting on three-course breakfasts.
Statistics show that with the increase of our household, there are 3.497 non-morning people abiding together in our home.
Generally we’ve learned to adapt to this fact of life and work around the malady. Unfortunately for Sundays, we don’t have our act completely polished yet. As, our entire congregation had witness a few weeks ago.
We had woken up late, yet somehow managed to arrive at church TWO WHOLE MINUTES before Sunday school. I fleetingly wondered how we had managed to shave off so much time, as we hustled to our seats.
We got all the way through Sunday school, and through the song service, when my stomach became an angry bi-polar storm. My eyes flew open in horror as I realized the secret to our punctuality- We hadn’t eaten breakfast. On cue Alex poked me. “I’m hungry” he pantomimed. I passed Spain off to the sweet husband and started riffling through the diaper bag while praying Please let there be snacks in here! . A single serve tube of peanuts sparkled at me from the bottom of the diaper bag. It was beautiful. Normally I would have made him wait until after the service, but I FORGOT to feed the poor child. I wasn’t going to make him wait it out.
I ripped a corner off the bag and handed the peanuts to Alex, and settled back in my seat thanking the Lord for that divine bag of legumes. At this point I have to interject and really set the scene here. We decided to sit in the balcony this particular Sunday. Unlike the rest of the sanctuary, our balcony is uncarpeted. And a there is slight echo for every sound made.
My revelry was interrupted by the crashing sound of legumes exploding over the balcony. Alex had tried to widen the hole in the bag, and the entire tube split in half, sending peanuts shooting out from between his hands like confetti. Have you ever heard a bag of marbles being dropped on a floor? Fun Fact #19: peanuts scattered along wooden floors and benches, in an echo-friendly area, sounds quite similar.
Of course the balcony had a large crowd that week. Six heads simultaneously turned to Alex, who sat in his seat with an impish grin on his face, holding the incriminating, tattered remains of the peanut tube. All I have to say is: THANK YOU GOD peanuts are easy to clean off of a wood floor.
From now on we may be late to church, but Alex will be feasting on three-course breakfasts.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Naturally living or living naturally
I'm trying to eviromentally friendly and health conscience. I want to instill in my family a respect for our planet and a taste for healthy, living foods.
But it can be overwhelming.
It's so much easier to remain blissfully unaware about what we're really putting in and on our bodies. There's so much out there, and when it feels like EVERYTHING has some type of poisen, what's the use? I get so overwhelmed sometimes. The active ingredient in Sweet Husband's shampoo is linked with reproductive cancer. My facial moisturizer has a endocrine disruptor in it. The baby sunscreen that I've stalked our house with has worse side effects than an actual sunburn! You get the idea. It seems almost impossible to find safe products in an actual store.
Sometimes I feel like I'm doing everything wrong.
In a world where instant gratification reigns supreme, it's hard to watch slow changes take place.
My goal is to have a safe home for my children. Maybe it won't ever be completely free of toxins and ickyness. But I'm also setting an example for my children. I'm teaching them how to make decisions for themselves, and not blindly follow the crowd. To weigh the individual pros and cons for every nature vs. technology choice they will run into. I may not be able to attain a toxin-free house, but if I teach my children how to make informed decisions I will be able to rest easy.
For now I'll focus on baby steps. Limited processed food. Lots of produce. A moisturizer that's a little less frightening and a sunscreen I can put on my children without guilt. Those are my building blocks.
But it can be overwhelming.
It's so much easier to remain blissfully unaware about what we're really putting in and on our bodies. There's so much out there, and when it feels like EVERYTHING has some type of poisen, what's the use? I get so overwhelmed sometimes. The active ingredient in Sweet Husband's shampoo is linked with reproductive cancer. My facial moisturizer has a endocrine disruptor in it. The baby sunscreen that I've stalked our house with has worse side effects than an actual sunburn! You get the idea. It seems almost impossible to find safe products in an actual store.
Sometimes I feel like I'm doing everything wrong.
In a world where instant gratification reigns supreme, it's hard to watch slow changes take place.
My goal is to have a safe home for my children. Maybe it won't ever be completely free of toxins and ickyness. But I'm also setting an example for my children. I'm teaching them how to make decisions for themselves, and not blindly follow the crowd. To weigh the individual pros and cons for every nature vs. technology choice they will run into. I may not be able to attain a toxin-free house, but if I teach my children how to make informed decisions I will be able to rest easy.
For now I'll focus on baby steps. Limited processed food. Lots of produce. A moisturizer that's a little less frightening and a sunscreen I can put on my children without guilt. Those are my building blocks.