Let's keep talking about green, shall we?

No, I'm not continuing yesterday's rant about Saint Patrick's Day, today I'm complaining (surprise, surprise) about this whole "green" movement. While I whole-heartedly support the idea that we need to start living in a more ecologically conscious sort of way and avoid blatant consumerism, I am beginning to resent the fact that I can't get away from it for one damn minute. I get it. I recycle, I bought those new lightbulbs, I starting doing all my laundry in cold water. I don't need to hear about a million times in one day.

My first and foremost gripe when it comes to this movement is the media. It seems I can not enjoy a single issue of my girly-mags (Glamour, Self, etc.) without some portion of them being devoted to the benefits of green beauty products or clothing. While I do my best, if I can't get it at Target, it ain't gettin' got. I lack the time to search out a store that carries conditioner made out of organic kiwis from some endangered forest as I do the thirty-two dollars to buy it with. And the clothes. Please. Old Navy does not yet carry recycled denim or organic cotton shirts so, there again, is another degree of global warming I'm responsible for. Publishers, I am aware of all I can do to save the environment and I am doing what I can. I am not a single, twenty-seven year-old with the corresponding lifestyle. Just show me some pretty things, please. And television. If, on the rare occasion I get to watch The Today Show, I have to see Ann Curry talking to someone else about "greening" your home I'm going to put my fist through the screen.

It also seems my choice of food has become politically incorrect as well. I would love, truly, to shop at Whole Foods for my basic grocery needs. I love the quality and selection of products. What I do not love is the astronomical bill I am left with when all I bought was some lettuce and a bag of edamame or the fact that I can only buy the uber-expensive organic diapers instead of my toxic, money-saving Huggies when I shop there. I am also wracked with guilt over the fact that I don't either grow my own vegetables or shop at a local farmers market. I am apparently condemning my grandchildren to a world without polar ice caps since it takes so much fuel for the growers to ship my pesticide-laced apples to Stop N Shop. No, I don't buy organic. My children will obviously be sprouting an extra appendage any day now, but my mother didn't spend a hundred dollars a week on organic produce alone and I don't have any bizarre growths. Even Bon Appetit, my favorite source of food porn has jumped on the band wagon. Stop with all the "local" this and "artisenal" that. Just show me how to cook a freakin' steak, put a picture of chocolate cake on your cover and shut up.

The lifestyle changes that are held up as examples are also ridiculous for someone in my position - living in the suburbs with three kids. It's too far for us to walk so I have to load all my progeny into my gas-guzzling minivan to get anywhere. While my behemoth is more fuel efficient then an SUV, I should be peddling a bicycle with all three of them strapped to my back - they don't make a hybrid that holds more than three people. I should be composting, which the neighbors who border my postage-stamp-sized yard would love and my dog would treat as his personal smörgåsbord, ramming his body to gain access to the bin. I should be stuffing groceries for five people into thirty canvas bags each week instead of having the grocery delivery service transport them in the plastic bags we eventually use to pick up his crap on the dog's nightly walk.

Maybe this is all fueled by guilt. In fact, a lot of it is, but people, my hands are tied. I swear, once my kids don't require car-seats that take up as much space as people twice their size I'll be down-grading to a station wagon, hopefully a hybrid. I will recycle my dry cleaning hangers instead of shamefully hiding them in the garbage. I will buy earth-friendly cleaners, which I am convinced don't work as well, when my kids stop putting everything in their mouths. Maybe I'll even grow some tomatoes. The point is I have enough guilt about what I feel I'm not doing for my kids to feel guilty about what I'm not doing for Mother Earth. Besides, she's a mother, she understands all I have to do. I'll just ease my mind picturing her saying, "When you can, Dear..."