Awkward Self-Examination

Part I — My crazy-cheap grandma

My grandmother–bless her heart–is the cheapest woman in the world. She’s one of those grew-up-during-the-great-depression types. You know the kind, right? The kind with a jar of string labeled “String too short to use” and a drawer full of used, washed, flattened aluminum foil. That’s my grandma. Even among her generation, she’s crazy-cheap. I know this because I’ve compared war-stories with lots of other people. This is a woman who monitors the use of toilet paper in her house (one square per use) and who uses the same water to boil vegetables day after day. She was buying in bulk long before it was cool. Her basement used to be full of boxes of cereal labeled things like “Post Toasties — July ’94.”

My grandmother is 95 and I feel so blessed that she’s lived this long. However (there’s always a however, isn’t there?), throughout my life, her crazy-cheapness has been a source of amusement and embarrassment and chagrin. While I love her, I’m not gonna lie. On more than one occasion, I wished I had a normal grandmother. Someone who would just bake me cookies instead of lecturing me about the value of the stamp. (Not even joking on that one.)

Part II — Yeah, I know I’m crazy

So here’s the awkward part. I’m a little crazy. Not in a cute writer way either, but in an annoying OCD way. My particular branch of crazy is related to the environment. I’m super aware of ecological issues. We recycle. We hang our clothes out to dry. We compost. We have an organic garden. We have chickens. We … you get the point. Yes, all of that stuff is fun and most of it is easier than you’d think. And I enjoy it.

But I’m also aware that my total devotion to all things green borders on the obsessive. Sometimes it’s on the normal side of the border. Sometimes it’s on the obsessive side. Some moms worry about germs. I worry about our carbon footprint. I know I’m a little OCD about it. I try to keep it under wraps, but I am aware that my ecology isn’t a sign of my emotional stability. I know I can tip over. I try to keep the crazy under wraps. And somehow being OCD about green stuff, allows to let other things go. It gives a focus to the crazy. It makes me feel like I’m in control. I can’t stop global climate change, but I can hang my jeans out to dry. For me, it works.

Part III — My awkward Self-examination

This weekend as I was composting chicken poop — yes, I know. Obsessive, right? — I had a light bulb moment. Yes, I’m crazy-green. But I’m also crazy green. Maybe my Grandmother is the same way. Maybe she’s not just crazy-cheap. Maybe she’s also crazy cheap. Maybe her obsession with saving every penny is her way of managing

Me with my grandparents when baby girl was little.

OCD.

In case you think I’m sounding judgmental here, I don’t mean to. Just the opposite, in fact. This realization has made me feel more … sympathetic, maybe. In the past, her cheapness has (sometimes) bugged the crap out me. Sometimes, it’s made it hard to even be with her. “Ugh. I need to mail XY&Z to Grandma, but I know she’s going to harass me later if I mail it Fedex. I just won’t mail it.” Which then leads to: “Ugh, I meant to mail her XY&Z. I don’t want to call her because she’ll harass me about that.”

Thanks to my new understanding, I can approach it differently. Now I can think, “Okay, doing it her way may be a pain in the ass, but I understand now. It’s not just cheapness. It’s something else. Something I can relate to.”

Now, will my new understanding lead to greater peace, contentment and acceptance in my relationship with my Grandmother? I don’t know. Maybe. I hope so, because I love her and enjoy her company when she’s not getting on my last ever-lovin’ nerve. How great would it be if my own form of crazy leads to a deeper relationship with my grandmother?

So how about you? Do you have a touch of OCD? Do you have family members who drive you crazy? How do you handle it?

An authentic American experience

That’s a line in the movie We bought a Zoo. He’s explaining to his brother why he bought a zoo. Because he wanted to give his children an authentic American experience.

Well, I’m not sure what exactly what makes owning animals an “authentic” experience or for that matter an “American” one. (Point of fact, the actual zoo the story was based on is in England.) But even if I can quibble with the phrasing, I get the point. No, I’m not going to run out a buy my kids an aardvark or a lemur and certainly not a lion, but there is something about caring for animals that just goes hand and hand with childhood.

I grew up in the suburbs with cats, a dog and the occasional rabbit. We never had anything that was truly exotic or certainly nothing that Ol’ McDonald would be interested in. However, my husband grew up on a farm in west Texas and his upbringing was so very different than mine. It was a cotton farm, not like the Fisher-Price farm, so they never had the full complement of barn-yard animals, but they had a cow or two, some horses, and yes, chickens. I had an ordinary childhood–not much to complain about really–but I’ve known ever since I fell in love with my hubby that I wanted our kids raised more like he was than like I was. I wanted our kids to have the experience of raising and caring for animals. I wanted them to have the responsibilities, the joys and yes, even the heartaches. Sure they could have had all that with a puppy, but I also wanted them to make the connection with where our food comes from. I wanted them to eat things grown in our garden or gathered from our own chickens. And, yes, I admit it. Baby chicks are cute.

Once, years ago, I saw an episode of Martha Stewart in which she toured a baby chick factory. (I’m sure that’s not the right word, but you know what I mean.) I was totally charmed. Those cute little fluffy things? Who wouldn’t love those?

Still, at the time I thought she was crazy for raising her own chickens for eggs. Things have changed drastically in the past decade. Now, yard chickens are a growing trend. People all over town have them. And now, we do too!

I’m eager to see how this all goes. We’ve already had a brush with the heartache. We started with six and now we’re down to five, but the kids love them and are getting much less Lenny-like when it comes to touching them. If all goes well, in six to ten months we’ll have eggs!

Are any of your yard chicken owners? Or do you have any other exotic pets?