A happy home

The Ides of May

This May was surprisingly less hectic than previous ones.  Perhaps I’m getting used to the mayhem.  Or maybe I’m neither pregnant nor carrying around a baby so the demands are manageable.  Regardless, I’m grateful for the reduction in stress.  Here are a few shots of the mountains of projects, activities and performances that magically appear during the glorious month of May (when what you really want to be doing is relaxing by the pool with an ice-cold lemonade in hand…who am I kidding?  Like that ever happens in the life of a mother of five.)

Recitals and field trips and projects and concerts.  All joyful occasions.  And all DONE.

Love and logic.

If I had a nickel for every time I’ve been told I’m the worst mom in the world, Tim could quit his job and stay-at-home with the kids too.  Today I got an earful because I was refusing to “rescue” my youngest daughter from her dilly-dallying morning ways by making her lunch.

She’d been up for half an hour and had barely gotten dressed.  She had five minutes left to do everything else – eat breakfast and make her lunch.  She uncharactetistically scarfed down a bowl of cereal but, when faced with the task of pulling together a lunch in a minute flat, she began to fall apart and yelled at me to help her with her lunch.  In response to her disrespect, and the fact that her distress could have been easily avoided by staying on task that morning, I flatly refused.

The girl launched into a full-blown tantrum and subsequently missed her ride to school.  Well, the policy in our house is that if you miss your ride, you get to walk the almost 1.5 miles to school.  By yourself.

She tried to turn the tables on me and say that she wouldn’t go to school unless I drove her.  I wasn’t playing that game.  The policy on THAT is that if she didn’t do her job (school), she would get to do my job for the day (a whole lotta chores, naturally).  We have a policy for everything, apparently.

Reluctantly, she began to come around.  She cleaned up the destruction her tantrum had resulted in, made her lunch and got herself out the door.  I followed her closely in the car for over a mile until we reached a certain point where the road ends and the walking path begins. I decided to join her for the final stretch.

Apparently, the fresh air and exercise had done her good.  We chatted about how she could avoid the same scenario in the future as we dodged sprinklers and giggled when we got sprayed.  All was forgiven.  Apparently I’m no longer the worst mom in the world.  At least until next time.

How doing something for me made me a better mother.

It’s been said that “water cannot be drawn from an empty well” and that advice applies in particular to mothers.  The task to raise children is a daunting one and can tax even the most energetic of women.  It’s easy to get caught up in the idea that to mother is to give everything to our children and, while I believe that to err on the side of this extreme is better than the opposite, as always, there is a balance to be struck.

How does one find that balance?  How can a mother know when her well needs to be replenished and how can she determine exactly what would do the trick?  Some mothers have regular opportunities for replenishment : a satisfying job outside the home, a college course or two, a book club or exercise group, a religious study group or regular girls’ night.  Still others, like me, fill their wells in less regular increments: squeezing in dates with the hubby, taking an occasional trip (sans kids and sometimes husband as well), a spa day or participation in a community musical.

Each mother can determine the frequency of said “breaks” and the nature of them.  The trick is to do it deliberately and to make each moment away from your kids count.  It’s also important to refrain from feeling entitled to a “break” or claiming that you “need” it.  Despite the fact that there are obvious benefits to filling one’s well, I dare say that such attitudes diminish the sense of gratitude we feel for the opportunity to pursue one’s own interests AND for the appreciation we feel at the opportunity to be called “mother” in the first place.  There are very few things we “need” in life and it’s safe to say that a break from parenting does not make the short list.

Still, a quote from M. Russell Ballard reads:

Find some time for yourself to cultivate your gifts and interests. Pick one or two things that you would like to learn or do that will enrich your life, and make time for them. Water cannot be drawn from an empty well, and if you are not setting aside a little time for what replenishes you, you will have less and less to give to others, even to your children.

Notice he said “pick one or two things” and set aside a “little time” so that we would not fall into the trap of prioritizing ourselves over our deserving families.

On occasion, I have lacked such judgment and determined that my chosen “replenishment” was not replenishing at all and simply an escape.  Other times my chosen rejuvenation was just that and benefitted my family indirectly by inspiring me to be a better me.

One such time came a few years ago when I decided to participate in a community choir for the 8 weeks leading up to Thanksgiving.  I decided to do it largely because I missed performing and because it would only require a few hours a week for a short period of time.  And yes, because it would give me a break from my children.

The experience was everything I hoped it would be.  The music penetrated my soul and filled me with gratitude.  I formed cherished friendships.  My voice began to do things it hadn’t after years of relative disuse.  But the most remarkable effect it had was the way it changed my parenting.

I had become caught up in a cycle of negativity with my daughters.  Their strong wills compelled me to match them with progressively harsher discipline and it wasn’t working.

During one particular rehearsal, the choir was having serious pitch problems.  As we sang a certain a cappella number our problems with intonation were readily obvious. I’m sure it was a source of frustration to our accomplished conductors.  Instead of criticizing, however, they lavished praise on us and simply gave us tools to help us improve our intonation.

I learned something about parenting that day. I learned that negativity is rarely a catalyst for change.  I learned to exercise patience with my children who had far less experience and wisdom than I (much as I had less experienced than these incredible choir directors).  I learned to use praise as motivation for improvement.

I am so grateful that I was deliberate and prudent in my decision to spend time away from my family.  Consequently, it yielded far more benefits than anticipated.  My well was filled to the brim.  And then some.

Wishbone Day 2017

I meant to post on May 6th, which was Wishbone Day, but between soccer games, Saturday projects, play dates, concerts and a mommy/daddy/daughter date with Eve, the opportunity escaped me.  Still, the entire week is OI awareness week, so I figure I’m still on time and can call it a win.

We all wore yellow on Saturday to raise awareness of osteogenesis imperfecta, the genetic bone disorder with which Jack was born.  We are still learning about OI ourselves, and hope to participate more fully in raising awareness and improving the condition of life for the individuals affected by this rare disorder.  Lily wants to become a geneticist and find a cure for OI, so there’s that.

When Jack was diagnosed over a year ago, after suffering a femoral fracture at the tender age of one month, we were pretty clueless as to  what life would look like for our sweet little boy.  The type of OI with which he was diagnosed (Type III/IV) indicated anywhere between dozens and hundred of fractures in a lifetime, moderate to severe bone deformities, short stature, potential hearing loss in early adulthood, 50% chance of brittle teeth, etc.  We weren’t even sure if Jack would ever walk.

To be clear, we have never feared what the future holds for Jack.  Our understanding of the purpose of this life softens the blow of every hardship we encounter and we would go forward in faith no matter how severe Jack’s condition.  Likewise, our understanding of the purpose of this life demands that we recognize and are grateful for every way in which Jack’s condition has exceeded our expectations in terms of severity.  And it has.

So we still don’t know much.  Here’s what we DO know:

  1.  Modern medicine is glorious.  Without the regular infusions Jack has been getting to strengthen his bones, I dare say we would have seen a much higher incidence of fractures.  He’s only had one  in over a year.  As a side note, when we viewed the X-ray of his wrist after his recent fracture, you could see lines across his lower arm bones, much like tree rings, indicating bone growth.  Without pamidronate, the regular course of treatment for young OI kids, Jack’s limbs would be even shorter than they are.
  2. Jack is going to be short.  This comes as no surprise and we are, in fact, grateful that he is even ON the growth charts, albeit hovering in the 3rd percentile.
  3. Jack has dentinogenesis imperfecta, or brittle teeth, which is present in about half of OI patients.  He popped his first tooth at 6 1/2 months, WAY before any of my other kids had, which made me suspicious.  Sure enough, as his teeth have grown in, they have the telltale signs of a dentin deficiency, as they are discolored and somewhat translucent.  His dental care began at age 9 months and will prove to be rather involved.  And expensive.  We still think he has a winning smile.

4.  Jack has met all of his gross motor skill    milestones on schedule and is walking like a champ!  With increased mobility comes risk, so although we are thrilled that his bones are holding up under the weight of his body, we can’t help but cringe every time he tries to scale something.  Nevertheless, I would say he is the most cautious of all my toddlers.  It is apparent that he was blessed with a personality to match his fragile body.  Not foolproof, but to say we are grateful that he is not throwing himself off the top of the backyard slide (or anything else, for that matter) would be an understatement.

Jack is a bright, sensitive, sweet child who has brought a light and joy into our home that cannot be measured.  We are grateful for the concern and support our family and friends continue to demonstrate and look forward to many years of learning from the unbreakable spirit with which Jack has graced our lives.

The isolation of having a special needs child.

When I was pregnant with Jack I looked forward to the day I could join the local mommy workout group at our neighborhood church meetinghouse.  The other kids would be in school all day, I would have some pounds to lose, and we could incorporate it into our routine.  I’m very much a social exerciser-there ain’t no way I’m gonna bust my rear unless there’s someone else counting on me to be there or pushing me to do my best.

Alas, it was not meant to be.  As soon as we found out that Jack had OI, I knew that there was no way I could take him to an exercise group where energetic kids run around largely unsupervised.  It’d be like throwing him to the wolves.  I wasn’t willing to take that chance.

That isn’t the only concession I have made or will make on Jack’s behalf.  Contrary to when my daughters were young, Jack has never had a real play date.  I can’t really do “swaps” because it’s not exactly a fair trade to expect someone to baby my child so that her kid doesn’t inadvertently injure him while just doing what kids do.  The few times I’ve done social stuff during the school day, I simply bring Jack along and watch him like a hawk.  Which inevitably means my so-called social event ends up being pretty light on the social side of things.

I’ve also had to limit the amount of time I spend in my kids’ classes at school, an activity which has a fair amount of social benefits.  Toddlers are not exactly conducive to teaching art lessons so I’m relegated to leaving him with  dear friends with no kids (or really gentle kids)  at home to care for him while I support my older children.  Understandably, I don’t want to put these sweet friends out more than I have to, considering the huge hit to productivity it is to watch my delicate little boy.

I am lucky though.  We are comfortable enough financially that, if we need to spring for a sitter, our pocketbooks can handle it.  Consequently, our regular date nights haven’t suffered too much.  That has been a lifesaver and I realize that many marriages crumble under the strain of having a special needs child.  I suspect not having the time, money, or  energy to invest in maintaining your most important relationship might have something to do with that.

Still, during the daytime it’s just me and Jack and I’ve found it a little more complicated to foster relationships with friends (his AND mine) than it was when my girls were little.  Add to that the fact that all the friends I made at the time are no longer having kids and are knee-deep in teenage/school-age children probs.  Meanwhile, I’m being left in the dust with my lengthy to-do list, afterschool chauffeuring schedule, and a toddler clawing at my legs begging “up”.  The loneliness of it all can eat at a person.

Some of the questions I ask myself are, what am I going to do for preschool?  With my other kids, I ran a mother’s coop where we all took turns teaching.  Is that even possible or will I have to teach more often to compensate for the fact that the other mothers will have to hover over my child more than the others during free play time when she could otherwise just send them out for unstructured play?

Will I even send Jack to public school?  His height, bone fragility and discolored teeth might label him a target and I shudder to think of the possibilities of kids bullying him.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE having a baby in the house again(if you can still call Jack that).  I’ll save that topic for another blog post.  And I’ll survive.  I’ll make new friends, revive much of the wonder of having “littles” in the house again.  I’ll just have to go at it a little differently this go around.

Having a special needs child is a game changer, for sure.  While I am grateful for the tools and means with which to deal with this new set of circumstances, the isolation is real.  I have a new perspective and greater compassion for those who find themselves having to navigate a world that is not designed for anyone who does not fit the norm.

How to love leftovers.

I grossly overestimated the amount of gravy my kids would put on their chicken fried steak the other night.  I could have thrown it out.  Tim could have chugged it single-handedly.  But thanks to the waste not, want not side of me, I opted to incorporate it into another meal this week:biscuits and gravy.  Yum.

When my husband and I got married, he brought with him a strong aversion to leftovers.  I quickly cured him of that.

Here are my favorite ways to use up leftovers:

  1.  If there’s enough for another meal, throw it in a labeled Ziploc freezer bag, lay it flat in the freezer until solid, then line it up filing-cabinet style in your freezer.  Like so.As a side note, my very favorite meals to freeze include:  Indian food (meat and sauce), Chili, Chicken (Our family doesn’t eat an entire chicken from Costco so I shred up the rest, pop it in a freezer bag and save it to make something else another day), meaty spaghetti sauce, and pulled pork (or chicken, or beef).  It is delightful to thumb through my freezer filing cabinet on a busy day, pop the leftovers in a crockpot and only have to worry about whipping up a vegetable or grain to accompany it.
  2. Stow it in a clear container in the fridge and enjoy it for lunch another day.  Store them at eye level so they don’t disappear into the dark abyss.  If your leftovers start to pile up, designate one night of the week “leftover night” and have each of the kids pick out his/her favorite to reheat for a hodge podge dinner.  Everyone gets what they want.  It’s almost like eating at a restaurant.  Almost.
  3. Plan a meal around it.  Put the right side of your brain to work and come up with another way to use up what’s left behind.  For instance, when we have taco salad for dinner, I invariably end up with extra lettuce and cheese.  So the next morning I sprinkle all of that cheese on scrambled eggs for the kids’ breakfast and throw some grilled chicken strips(frozen leftovers, naturally) on the lettuce for a lunch salad. Or I might use the cheese to make quesadillas and the lettuce to pull together a Caesar salad to go with pasta that night.  The possibilities are endless but you’ve got to get creative.  Or just google recipes that use up leftover ingredients.

 

One of these days I’ll get around to posting some of my faves.  Until then, get your own creative juices flowing so you don’t have to guilt your kids into eating more than they want by telling them about the starving kids in Africa.  Because, while guilt trips might be effective, they aren’t necessarily the best course of action for weight management, or for saving your wallet, or for showing gratitude for the abundance we enjoy.  Or for learning compassion for the starving kids in Africa, for that matter.   So yeah.  Leftovers for the win.

 

Another fracture makes it 4-0 for mom.

Jack broke his arm this week.  Considering the diagnosis we got over a year ago, I count it a huge blessing that he hasn’t had a fracture until now, particularly after some of the spills he’s been taking since becoming mobile.  After all, he doesn’t know he has fragile bones.  It was rather uneventful.  In fact, some of the spills he’s taken up to this point elicited louder gasps and subsequent examination of limbs.  He cried, I held him until he settled, then sent him on his merry way to get into more trouble, as all toddlers should.

Then he tried to use his arm to stand up.  It buckled.  He cried out.  Darn.  The next few hours made it clear that, though he could use his arm for non-weight-bearing movements, it was definitely broken.  Called the pediatric orthopedist under whose care Jack is, made an appointment to see him the next day, confirmed fracture and bam!  Blue cast for three weeks.

Kids are resilient humans.  Within 24 hours, Jack was toddling around like any 15 month old, even trying to climb the ladder to the trampoline.  Yikes.  We have had a lucky 14 months since his last break but it is clear that it will take a few years for Jack’s recognition of his fragility to catch up with his desire for mobility.  Pretty typical of any kid, really.  It makes bubble wrap sounds like a pretty great option, in fact.

Nevertheless, I’m pretty grateful, for a number of reasons:

  1.  I got to see the xrays, which displayed lines across the bones in his wrist, much like tree rings, indicative of the bone growth that each of Jack’s infusions has stimulated.  So thankful for modern medicine.
  2. Jack’s femoral fracture at one month old was such a traumatic experience for me(not to mention, for Jack) that I admit I had residual fear of future breaks lest they resemble the last.  It’s nice to know that some fractures don’t require a frantic rush to the ER and hours of uninterrupted pain and screaming on the part of my sweet baby boy.
  3. Three weeks in a cast is totally doable.
  4. Knowing that a simple fall while trying to climb on my lap resulted in a fracture confirmed to me that our trampoline is going, going, gone as soon as Jack figures out how to climb on it.  I think Tim especially had a false sense of security after 14 months without a fracture and toyed with the idea of keeping it and just strictly enforcing safety rules.  Nope.  There are simply some pleasures in life of which we will have to be deliberate in steering Jack clear.
  5. Before his break, Jack was mostly walking but falling back on his trusty bear crawl if he wanted a little speed.  Now that his arm is forced into a right angle for three weeks, he’s been relegated to walking at all times.  He’s a sturdy little fella on his feet now, presumably building bone strength in those short little legs of his.

 

The light of our lives.

Shortly after Jack got off his first cast at eight weeks old, I strictly enforced tummy time.  Owing to the fact that he’d lost an entire month of gross motor development, I figured he had a lot of catching up to do.  Tim remarked, “You sure are militant about torturing that kid on his belly.  Is it because he’s a boy?”  Ha!  No, it couldn’t possibly be because he was born with a bone disorder and I was desperate to help him build bone strength despite his deficiencies.  Funny Tim.

I do, in fact, find that I force Jack to do things that I wasn’t in a hurry to do with my girls.  I definitely go out of my way to allow him maximum mobility – things like not installing a safety gate for the stairs but instead following him up and down so that he is not stifled in his motor development.  Or, being extra careful to encourage a healthy diet instead of resorting to convenience foods.  Or, severely limiting exposure to screens, at the expense of getting stuff done.  Anyone who has a special needs child can tell you that it’s anything but convenient.  I sort of think that I’m finally bringing my A-game to this parenting thing and I’m embarrassed to admit it took a disability to force me into it.  Don’t get me wrong – I have always been a deliberate parent, but I definitely cut corners in certain ways for the sake of convenience.  I don’t beat myself up about it, but it does make me ponder the long-term effects that my laziness may have had.

In any case, Jack is meeting all of his physical milestones at the same time or before my other kids.  We weren’t even sure if he’d be able to walk, let alone at a time that is on par with others his age!  So understandably, we are incredibly grateful to witness this sweet boy’s unforeseen progress.  We all adore Jack.

 

Magnify those talents.

As a child I think I took a grand total of three years worth of piano lessons.  I started young, but am unsure of how, when or why formal lessons became a thing of the past.  Somehow, I kept playing, despite my inexperience.  I attribute it to my insatiable appetite for singing – and the absence of anyone else in my family capable of accompanying my melodies.  Where there’s a will, there’s a way, though for me, that way involved a whole lot of fudging the bass clef and playing many an errant note.

Somehow I made it to adulthood with those meager lessons tucked under my belt and, aside from playing the keyboard for a few recordings I made with a friend in college, didn’t really develop my piano-playing ability any further.  Then, as many a Mormon missionary in a foreign country can attest, I got to try my hand at every hymn in the book practically every Sunday for 18 months straight because I WAS THE BEST THEY COULD FIND.  (Except for the three months I was being trained because I actually had a companion who could play better than me).  Those poor Taiwanese people.

When I came home, and later got married, Tim and I were fortunate to have a piano loaned to us by his grandmother until we moved to Boise, so I got to fool around on the keys, but again, not to hone my piano skills but to accompany myself singing my favorite tunes.  Still, I considered a piano a fixture in any decent home, so within a year of moving to Boise and purchasing our first home, we found a great little upright on craigslist and have had it ever since.

Those early years of motherhood did not exactly facilitate piano practice.  At the first hint of a note, some lovable toddler would find her way into the living room and bang out her version of Ode to Joy.  At least one of us was joyful.  And it wasn’t as if I were about to take a chance on practicing during naptime at the risk of waking said toddler(s).  Heaven knows I needed that time to last as long as humanly possible.

My wish list always included a whole host of piano songbooks from Broadway to Disney (not so much classical – remember the whole part about only wanting to sing along?), most of which I have now acquired, though they for some time collected dust on the shelf, waiting for a more accommodating time.  The early lesson books I used to teach my littles beginning piano got much more use, as did the piano, now that the toddlers had become grade-schoolers capable of reading music and practicing to their hearts’ content.  Naptime was still sacred so I was relegated to an occasional Sunday evening for a little dabbling in piano fun.

And all of sudden the piano players suddenly moved out of our ward congregation at church.  And the most accomplished one who was left behind was called as the choir director.  I asked her, “Who the heck are you going to get to accompany the choir?”  She gave me a “deer-in-the-headlights” sort of look and mentioned inviting a couple of the youth to do a song or two.  I offered my services, to lighten the load, not realizing at all that I had pretty much just signed up to be the “official” accompanist.

To go from playing painfully imperfect accompaniment for oneself on occasion to accompanying a choir in front of a couple hundred people was a steep learning curve, let me tell you.  I came home from choir practice every Sunday with a massive headache and a fervent commitment to practice every spare moment I could find.  My embarrassment at my inadequacy was palpable, though I plugged through over a year’s worth of accompanying and realized that I had witnessed a miracle.  I played pieces I could never have dreamed of playing because I had committed myself to serve and the Lord made up the difference.  Boy, did He make up the difference.

That was about five years ago.  I still teach my youngest grade-schooler beginning piano, and have passed my older daughters off to experienced teachers.  They will inevitably surpass me in skill, owing to my utter lack of technique.  Still, I am given opportunities to volunteer in my kids’ schools, most recently by accompanying the choir and guess what, I actually LIKE playing the piano.  For the sake of playing the piano, not just so I can sing along.  And I’m not too bad either.

Most recently, I accompanied Lily’s 5th/6th grade choir as they sang on the floor of the Idaho State Senate at the Capitol building.  Then, I played for Anna’s benefit concert, a bunch of songs from Sound of Music and Into the Woods.  I’m learning that nerves will always be part of the package but that perfection is not the goal.  While practice is absolutely vital for one so inexperienced, I know that an errant note or two is not going to make or break the song because I am not the main attraction.  I just have to make the choir(or soloist, as the case may be) sound good by not royally screwing up.

Lastly, I am grateful that I get to use my talents and see them flourish as I use them in selfless ways.  As a young performer, I daresay it was all about the glory.  As an old(er) behind-the-scenes accompanist, I get to enjoy the fruits of giving the glory to someone else.  Which, counterintuitively, is a really great place to be.

Strangely, though this post was pretty much all about me, THIS girl here was amazing. I got compliments about her being everyone’s “favorite” left and right. She was my favorite, too. Anna performed “On the Steps of the Palace” from Into the Woods.

Getting a tour of the Capitol before the performance.

Soaking in the rays while waiting for the bus ride home from the Capitol.

Wear it out. Make it do.

A couple of weeks ago I taught an art lesson that required crayons so I brought my stash from home in the event that the school crayons were in use by another art volunteer.  One of the students took one look at my crayon container and said, why do you keep your crayons in a hot cocoa canister?

Not sure what he was getting at, but my guess was that in his home repurposing might have been a foreign concept.  You see, I’m no staunch environmentalist, but I have serious concerns about the waste we humans (particularly in industrialized countries) can tolerate.

I’m reminded of the saying, “Use it up.  Wear it out.  Make it do or do without.”  Many of us have the “do without” part down, at least insofar as it means throwing stuff away.  I consider it one of my personal hobbies, in fact.  Many a stray (important) paper has been tossed because it had occupied countertop real estate for longer than its allotted five minutes. Still, I dare say we would do better to employ the “do without” portion of that saying at the front end by not making the purchase in the first place.

I can’t stand stuff.  My garage drives me nuts because it is the bottomless pit over which I have limited jurisdiction.  I get reprimanded for throwing away other people’s junk, er, prized possessions, so I’ve washed my hands of the responsibility of organizing that particular space.  Even so, I can’t avoid it altogether so I grit my teeth every time I have to retrieve something.

Just install shelving, you say.  Buy an awesome tool chest, for heavens sake.  Build a rack for those bikes and scooters.

I would LOVE to, believe me, if I thought that would be the solution to our problems.  But I’d just be buying more stuff to organize the overabundance of stuff I already have.  There’s just something wrong with that.

The first solution to reducing waste and keeping life (and stuff) manageable is to not buy it in the first place.  Be more deliberate about the purchases we make.  Clearly I have a bit of work to do in that area.  And with a husband who believes that in order to be self-reliant, we have to own one of everything, it’s not likely to happen anytime soon.  Garage chock full of junk it is.  But the house is largely my domain so I do my best to weigh carefully the number of purchases I make.

A second way to reduce waste is to buy good stuff in the first place.  Note: I didn’t necessarily say it has to be brand new.  Just make sure whatever it is has good bones.

Which brings me to my next point.  Buy used when possible.  Cars, toys, baby stuff, costumes, toilet paper.  Wait.

Truly though, there is absolutely no reason why someone else’s trash can’t be your treasure.  In Jack’s short 15-month life I can count on one hand the number of clothing items I have purchased brand new for him.  Thanks to generous friends and family who have equipped him with all sorts of duds from designer to hand-me-down, we are set until he is out of the house…or at least out of diapers. How silly we would be to turn up our noses at perfectly good clothing for a kid who will NEVER KNOW THE DIFFERENCE.

A third way to reduce waste is to use what you already have before buying something redundant.  The crayon container is a perfect example.  I could have bought a fancy schmancy container at The Container Store.  And sometimes that’s exactly the thing to do.  But not when you have a sturdy Stephen’s Hot Cocoa container sitting in your storage room that costs absolutely nothing.  See?  I repurposed AND I saved money.  (Check back for a list of my favorite ways to make trash a treasure.)

A fourth way to reduce waste is to give your kids experiences, not stuff.  Added bonus: experiences bring happiness.  Stuff does not.

A fifth way to reduce waste is to embrace food leftovers.  When I first got married I had to convert my husband to this particular art form.  Apparently, he had grown up in a home where leftovers sat idle on the counter long enough to harbor bacteria before they were relegated to the fridge with nary a piece of Saran Wrap to cover them.  No wonder.  If you have enough leftover from a meal to feed your family again, throw it in a labeled Ziploc freezer bag to pull out on a busy night.  Otherwise your leftovers will make a great lunch in the coming days.  (More tips on how to use up leftovers).

It’s time to simplify and be wise stewards of the earth upon which we live AND the resources available to us.  Let’s resist the urge to overwhelm the trash collectors with all of our “junk” by first using prudence in our purchases and then owning our decision by letting each and every purchase fulfill the measure of its creation.