The Trash Can, and a secret.

An ingenius accident happened a few months or so ago in my kitchen. Every time I would come in the door, I felt like my house smelled weird. Kind of stale. A little gross. It really freaked me out, because I am a person who notices smells, and I'm very attracted to nice smells. People with nice smelling houses appeal to me. Was I not that type of person?
My first instinct was to worry that it was our bunny. Did you know that I have a bunny? I got him in college. He is 12. He is so completely, adorably elderly. He can barely hop, loves to eat the stereotypical bunny things, and the kids love him. He sits on our little braided rugs and sleeps most of the time. Actually, lots of the time these days, in his elderly years, he really just sleeps in his little cage. He's supposed to be potty trained, but you know how these things go when we get older. He likes his cage because nobody can get him in it. The kids do have a way of mauling him, although you can see that even in his cage they can sometimes get around this. He is very tolerant.

Although the bunny cage does, from time to time, reek, this was not the problem. It was, it turns out, my trash can. I had a big, lovely, expensive stainless can that I actually spent wedding money on, I thought it was so cool. It was. Nice and big, tall, with a step-on pedal that opened it up. It was great. Only it got stinky. Really, really stinky. So I just got rid of it. I threw it out onto the path, and shouted out into the snow for Greg to "put that thing in the garage, away from here!" which he did. For one day I just put trash into a little bag, but then I found a tiny little trash can, a mini-version of the can I had just chucked, and I put a grocery bag into it.

Voila. So we have a tiny trash can now. It doesn't smell, because it only lasts for a day or so. But here's why it's such a great thing: I hate taking the trash out. So every single thing I go to throw away, I think, could I compost or recycle this? It is amazing how conscientious I have gotten about making sure that only actual, real, uncompostable, unrecyclable trash goes in my trash can. There is no being lazy and just throwing it out (which I like to think I didn't do much anyway), because if I'm lazy and throw it out, then I can't be lazy and not take out the trash. So try it. It's a great environmental, mindful way of making sure you are recycling and composting as much as you possibly can. And your trash can won't ever smell, either.

So there's a little daily life tidbit to think about, a way that you can maybe throw less stuff away. It is appalling, when you think about it, how very much we throw away. I figure between cloth diapers and my teeny-tiny trash can I am doing okay.

I have to tell you that I am getting sick of this blog. Not the blog itself, which I am completely and totally addicted to, but the way it looks. I am very tired of the way it looks, and I don't really like it. So maybe, soon, one day, if I have time (!), I am going to re-do it and make it look totally, completely different. So don't be surprised.

So as you may or may not have guessed, based on the comments and discussions here, there is a bit of baby obsession going on in my head (and on this blog) that may, or may not, have to do with something that may, or may not be going on in my life. There are certain things that I really don't feel comfortable putting out there for the world to know, and this is one area that I don't feel comfortable discussing here, because it just feels more private. But here I am, bringing it up, and it is for this reason. So the baby obsession obviously comes from me wanting a baby, and while this making a baby thing has always happened without trying for me in a matter of days or weeks, this seems to no longer be the case. I shall not delve into any details further than that, except to say that I realize that my frantic obsession to be pregnant that followed Charlotte's death may be creeping back into my consciousness as the months tick by. But the good news is this: today I found out that a friend, who I would like to think of as a good friend (this based on me hoping that our good-friendship is just beginning, because we haven't been friends for too long), is pregnant. This woman is the kind of person who makes me believe in auras, because she has one, and it's really brightly colored and shiny and has all this good energy radiating out of it, but also has this calmness, and this wholesomeness, and this gratitude that just makes me gravitate towards her. So she's pregnant. And I am thrilled.

This surprises me, because in my angst over the past few months I was becoming frantic: what will happen when someone gets pregnant, and it's not me? Will I be sad? Upset? Frazzled?

Nope, I'm happy. And this makes me feel happy, and somewhat more relaxed, and I'm so happy that the person who got pregnant is someone who makes me delighted. This is a gift to me, removing some of the stress of feeling jealousy if it had been someone who I didn't appreciate and respect like I do her. For those of you who have lost babies, I am sure you can relate to the discomfort when you feel these awkward emotions: jealousy, envy, even anger, around pregnant people and babies. It is horrible, and makes you feel awful. You know it isn't you thinking, it's your "I lost my baby" brain, but it still feels awful. I think this was what I was afraid of, more of this creeping in, because I simply assumed that as my baby-obsession heightened, so would this. But apparently I am going to be okay. Big sigh. Maybe things will move along now. And I do plan to never mention this subject area on this blog again, but now you're in on my little secret, and that's okay, too.

And by the way? Congratulations... I am so happy for you. :) You sweet-mama you with the most beautiful, shiny children and this happy, honest way about you. You deserve this, and this baby deserves you. I am truly happy for you.