I have seen him poop in the bath. Twice. I have seen him fall and smash his soft arms. I have mopped the floor like a servant for an emperor. Yet every night I love the bath. Water softens the edges of the day. Sometimes I jump in. But only if invited. I found this lovely poem by Pablo Neruda, a poet who went wandering inside the heart chambers of living women if ever a man could. A good friend of mine has just returned from Chile where he made a documentary about Neruda. I cannot wait to see the beauty of this and share it on this blog. But in the meantime, roll up your sleeves sweet mothers and fall in love again. The bath is drawn, the curtain is half open, toys float…

Till next time, KEEPING IT YUMMY.

XXX ANNA 

TO WASH A CHILD
by Pablo Neruda

Only the most ancient love on earth
will wash and comb the statue of the children,
straighten the feet and knees.
The water rises, the soap slithers,
and the pure body comes up to breathe
the air of flowers and motherhood.

Oh, the sharp watchfulness,
the sweet deception,
the lukewarm struggle!

Now the hair is a tangled
pelt criscrossed by charcoal,
by sawdust and oil,
soot, wiring, crabs,
until love, in its patience,
sets up buckets and sponges,
combs and towels,
and, out of scrubbing and combing, amber,
primal scrupulousness, jasmines,
has emerged the child, newer still,
running from the mother’s arms
to clamber again on its cyclone,
go looking for mud, oil, urine and ink,
hurt itself, roll about on the stones.
Thurs, newly washed, the child springs into life,
for later, it will have time for nothing more
than keeping clean, but with the life lacking.

The last book I read from cover to cover was BRICK LANE by Monica Ali. I managed to eat this book WHOLE over two nights in a country inn where we were attending a wedding. While everyone else was going karaoke loco in n open field, I was tucked up in bed listening to Marcello sleep and reading like a fiend. I felt the mother in this book…she barely spoke, but her inner life was given spark and flame by the delicate narration. We all have our occasional angry locked up in the house Bangladeshi house wife moments… don’t we? And if you pick up the book you will see a startling bridge erected between tradition and self discovery that is not simplified or sentimental in the least. The tension between duty and desire established so deeply in that story was a heavy load to bear as the author drew her characters with such a fine brush. Loved it.

Tonight I am half way through ME the amazing memoir by Katharine Hepburn. Kathy, as she calls herself, is captured in lots of great black and white photos but the best one, the very best, depicts her riding a skateboard at seventy odd. The woman is an Aries and a terrible show off but in many ways she is an ideal mother figure: gutsy, idealistic, arrogant and humble in turns, adventurous, self aware, salty. I love this one movie star because she is so singular. She makes soap and water seem sexy. It’s a good book to read when you feel apathetic or spiritually dry or just a bit used up by life. Biographies are delicious that way…especially when you get a domestic dose of the un-worldly blues. What better to break the dance of hand washed laundry and lentil marination than a juicy (and relatively innocent) anecdote about Spencer Tracy. The man she described as a human “baked  potato.” I love reading truthful first hand accounts of their relationship. The human mechanics of love between people we will never meet.That is heart of great autobiography.

This memoir is quite lovely for that and for the staggeringly natural delivery of her words (heaps of !!!! and ……) and the cryptic wisdom.  Here’s a chestnut: “Plain women know more about men than beautiful women.” I could contemplate that like a Zen Koan for a few weeks. Are we, the plain, obliged to know more? Does it serve anyone to know that much about a man? And any how the African Queen was not plain. She knew all the men who mattered of the twentieth century as a lover or an equal or both. What’s she on about? Like I said, read it when you feel low down, she’ll boot you into shape like a tall glass of lemon juice.

And finally….. while I’m in this mega brainy self improving dilligent up-swing let me urge you to log on to www.percivalpress.com to see the wonderful book list (and radical web links) that is under the heading WE RECOMMEND. I doubt this is the list of just one mind, but this publishing house is the seed the polymath and Renaissance dude Vigo Mortensen so maybe it really is his book shelf contents. What a very delicious thought. But exotic provenance aside, it is refreshing and exciting to see a small artisan publishing house pointing readers to books in all directions (and other publishing houses) with such a topical span and lyrical depth.

Looking at that list was like sitting down midstream at the best dinner party in the world.

I dream of tackling a stack of wisdom  like this list and welcome responses from any yummies out there who are already doing so. Even if six half finished books are on the go in every corner of your house. All praise the ambition of starting ANY book…

I never belonged to a book club but I fell in love with my husband on the first sight of his CITY LIGHTS poetry books, beautifully kept, alphabetically arranged on a tall clean shelf in a quiet green room. Books are all promise and spell. I love their secret perfume.

What we read is what we dream… and what we dream must be what we come to live.
VIVA LA VIDA.

Till next month, KEEPING IT YUMMY.

XXX ANNA

Summer is challenging for many a Yummy. The fake tan is dribbling down the back of your legs. The brie is gently decomposing in the picnic basket. Your offspring wants to get to a playground in brain melting heat and museums - with their icy stillness - close at 5pm. Well that’s what it is like for an urban mum like me.

Lugging bags of fresh figs and limes off the handle bars of my war torn Maclaren, letting watermelon seeds fly all over the bed and listening to music throb up off the sidewalks we feel liberated in the big city and sometimes just  tad confined. If you don’t cavort with the beach house set you need to be creative. Maddeningly so.

We trek to the Brooklyn Public Library to thumb through magazines. We look at plants in the green house of the Botanical Gardens. We splash water on chalk and make melty rainbows near the stoop outside the house. We talk to our potted flowers begging them to survive for a few more weeks. We dance to OHIO by Neil Young, over and over again because Marcello is a natural born revolutionary and, then by 9pm we begin the restless passage into morning, because  no-one in this house really sleeps. Like a wary pride of lions we sniff for a breeze that rarely comes and listen for predatory noises in the night. It reminds me of the summers in the seventies when my parents would walk us through Greenwich Village at midnight or stop in Washington Square to listen to street musicians. I always felt so lucky to be allowed to be awake.  Weary and smelling of incense, we would return in the coolest hours through emptying streets, so grateful to break from the monotony of heat encased inside four loft walls. In India families sleep on the roof in summer, with just a sheet between them and the stars. I often dream of this in August.

Then respite comes. One weekend my lovely friend Suzanne invited us to her house upstate. Marcello was shocked by the space. The enormity of the sky unhindered by architecture. The children’s book barn. It was like watching a zoo bear take its first steps into natural habitat. At first my little cub clung to the edges of the deck and then he went further and further spreading like the concentric ripples of a pool to the very edges of a cornfield. I felt so proud and terrified, city children look so small in nature.

And we celebrated his third birthday in a beautiful country kitchen, picked play dough off the deck, rolled in the grass and forgot the subway for a patch in time. The bliss! Sweaty half naked boys running screaming in the sun. Forging freindships that might only last a day. A sense of joy that makes you feel nostalgia for the moment while you are already living and the smell of grass and sun in your hair. I caught a train to the tip of Long Island: Montauk for three hours (one way) to get that feeling back.

On days with less time we settle for Coney Island. It really is all good.

Most mothers move mountains (and ignore debts) to make this sort of magic happen and in summer it feels like a mammoth effort. We don’t have a car. I can’t drive anyway! Tomorrow Marcello will rouse from his nap and  want to catch three trains uptown to see the Penguins at Central Park Zoo. We’ll probably get there just on closing time and the ride home will take too long. The Friday commuters won’t be smiling. But it is his third summer on earth and wherever we are I want to make it paradise.

Till next time, KEEPING IT YUMMY.

XXX ANNA

Till next month, KEEPING IT YUMMY.

XXX ANNA 

Above image of Elle:
“BACK SOON DARLING I AM JUST GOING TO COLLECT THE CHILDREN.”
Perfectly sensible ensemble of embroidered frock, gladiator sandals and salon ringlets worn to fetch brightly uniformed offspring from extremely posh school gate. Yummy in the extreme sense. Chronic excess of glamour. Yet oddly gripping.

Last week I decamped south of the border with son, husband and both parents. My son is a good junior traveler but this trip was  bit of a challenge for the little man. Why didn’t anyone tell me that toddlers hate Quacomole and Mole-Mole? Why did I imagine that my child would want to try eating mushed up deep fried crickets or cordial made from hibiscus blossoms. Oh…that’s right, small children don’t tell food anecdotes and wisely protect themselves from foreign bodies by eating French Fries for breakfast, lunch and dinner when overseas.

I went to Oaxaca with the idea that Marcello would be like the adventurous children in the film HIDEOUS KINKY. Devil my care hippie sprogs tramping through the dust full of heart song. Such a selfish presumption. He coped. But now if I ask him “DoyouwannagotoOaxaca” he nods a furious no. Maybe the vibes at Monte Alban were a bit much for him. The guide told me afterwards that this is where mass child sacrifices were held. Don’t you love language barriers? They protect a parent from so much unwanted anxiety. 

One of my dreams about getting to Mexico was to detox the kid from materialism. Tragic misconception. Everywhere we went brightly painted toys and balloons beckoned us and even if I tired to avoid toy and candy vendors they chased us down the street….He now owns many dreadful little painted dogs and trains with broken wheels. I deflated the much coveted DIEGO mylar balloon and brought it home, ready to inflate when whining for large floating shiny objects start up out of the blue. On the bright side we played in vast piazzas, watched cartoons in  extremely rapido Spanish, danced to Mariachi love songs and dreamed together flying in the clouds. But in the space of eight days he was dreadfully homesick for polluted noisy NYC. He practically kissed the grubby wooden floors when he reached home and I realized how different I am from my son. He’s a  little homebody, a man of routines and it’s not just a matter of his age, that’s his soul. He likes lunch at lunch time, dinner at dinner time and the moon in the sky where he saw it last time he looked up. Perhaps we’ll go somewhere like Switzerland next time…less spice, more structure.

This week we are back in the sludge of a New York heat wave reeling from the first BIG birthday party held in our living room. I OBSESSED about this party but in strange non-productive ways. I spent hours looking at birthday cakes on the internet, extremely impressed by castles with licorice moats and layered sponges stacked at Cubist angles. Yet, pressed for time, I then totally winged it and ordered an eight inch polka dot sponge over the phone sight unseen from Betty’s Bakery on Atlantic Avenue. It was an awesome success (see photo) and only $38!!! But as for the balloons and decorations I confess to having spent an hour (OK, two) in Party City co-ordinating the trimmings. The aesthetic theme was inspired by old childhood polaroids and (in my addled mind) Mexican blouse embroidery as interpreted through balloons, cups, plates and streamers. Yellow and hot pink duked it out on the living room table and commercial imagery of all kinds was banned except for a tiny tasteful Curious George doll thing for the cake and an absolutely HIDEOUS Sponge Bob mylar balloon  that was left clinging to the ceiling and became tastefully obscured by 26 other yellow balloons. When the room was done I stood there in breathless amazement at the beauty. It looked like a church hall in a dream and was perfectly clumsy and joyous and bright. Why did this matter so much? Because it was my son’s first real party. The year before he got a sunken burnt cake and a wooden castle. The year before that berry and cream tartlets that nobody ate (or even saw) because both father and son fell asleep at 5pm and I sat there scoffing the lot in moody solitude.  

Two years on I had bigger issues to attend to….I wondered how five boys would play in such a small space. Amazingly they glued their little butts to the same spot for more than two hours all sharing and playing with the same toy. I swear I did not sprinkle hasish on the cupcakes. The gift of peace was a wooden garage by Melissa and Doug, which somehow afforded magic hours of peaceful access to ten happy hands. This toy was not planned, and instead a last minute BIG GESTURE thing. The fruit of frantic final minutes in a toy store trying to find something epic and fun yet made of wood. I love toys that invite communal play and this one did it…

I felt like a genius and then watched all the invited parents get really drunk, really quickly. It doesn’t do to serve good Proseco at a children’s party. Next time I’m serving heavily diluted sangria and playing awful music so everyone leaves early.

I am not sure why hosting a birthday party is so taxing. Possibly  a lot of the trepidation is more to do with your own dreams and expectations and memories than your child’s. I have memories of bright color and rich bowls of fruit. So that is what I tried to recreate on Sunday…and it was delicious to see little boys burying their noses in pink cupcakes with strawberry chasers and standing nose level around the cake. My son silently blissfully picked the polka dots off the icing. I dropped my perpetual sugar phobia and usual nutrition obsession and let everyone eat everything, smug in the knowledge that I watered down the lemonade and put out bowls of cherries and strawberries instead of candy. Everyone under seven got a big fat goody bag with plastic Lolita sunglasses and markers that I hope are washable. Only one boy cried hysterically. SUCCESS! 

Three days later the rainbow streamers are still up. I can’t stand to part with them. And I stare for long stretches at the images of the table before it was totally pulped. I haven’t faced the linen table cloth that is congealing in its own juices in the laundry basket as I’m still reeling in nostalgia for the angelic enthusiasm of the kids.

If only adults expressed the same avid appreciation at dinner parties and ran into the room with open arms screaming “Cake! Cake! I love everybody!” Yes, babe, children do indeed teach us so much.

Till next month, KEEPING IT YUMMY.

XXX ANNA 

THIS IS THE FIRST MONTH IN THE LIFE OF THE YUMMY MUMMY MANIFESTO
May 20th, 2008 is the official publication date of my new baby. And I will not be sleeping on this occasion and instead sitting in front of a giant purple crystal chanting MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMYUMMYMUMMYYUMMMMMMYMUMMMMY over and over in a cloud of Amber incense. Um, not quite. More likely I will be home making some mushy frozen pea chicken concoction for my son. Still, I’m excited enough to levitate on the spot. The book took three years and many many sleepless nights to create and now I feel I am beginning a conversation with every curious Mummy (or enlightened Daddy) who stumbles across it. Are you ready for a more delectable existence? Are you ready to bring creativity into every corner of your mothering life? if so you are ready to enter the realm of Yummy.

Be warned I am not a mad blogger. Many of my best ideas are already in the book or being born in the messy mud room in the back of my mind. That said, I’d like to take this occasion to clarify what the words YUMMY MUMMY mean to me. In the British tabloid press a YUMMY MUMMY is a posh creature who spends third of her life in a salon and who is able to wear a lot of white, on account of a perma-tan and squad of baby handlers. My vision of a YUMMY MUMMY is the earth bound variety. NOT a celebrity mummy falling out of limo with a pink pacifier in her mouth, or a blonde goddess movie star mom in six inch heels glowering on the red carpet. The media grant the mantle of Yummyness upon the heads of the perfect minority. I do not!  Instead my idea of everyday glamour for the living, breathing, real life Yummy is home grown, eccentric, funny, creative and created on the fly.  All praise to the mothers with treadmills in their basements and Swedish personal trainers… but for the rest of us there are cheat lists, wish lists and, yes occasionally, a pair of Spanx.  Looking better is just the tip of the hedonistic iceberg in my book. Ideally a 360 degrees Yummy lifestyle also includes keeping your mind and spirit as elastic as your hamstrings. Being really CURIOUS no matter how much time or energy you have in reserve. This month I rushed out to see the Courbet show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art twice, tried two new super breezy recipes, chopped up an old sari skirt to make cushions for my raggy beloved IKEA couch and forced myself to buy some music created THIS year (and not pre 1978). I didn’t do this to amuse people at dinner parties. I hardly ever go to dinner parties. I simply wanted to re-locate my cultural pulse.

Being vivid to my son and inspiring to my friends means turning myself on to a book I need to read or a free trade coffee blend I’ve never tasted. I love reading other mama blogs late into the night to see what we’re all obsessing about, whether it’s craft, marital love dramas or Japanese anime movies. There is a whole lot of life out there beyond potty training and tuna casseroles. When my Mother asks me once a week about our potty training progress I often distract her with a New York Times story clipped over the weekend or a cool new CD. Buys me time. And makes me work out what week it is. 

Mothering, as we all know, is rife with repetition. But while I give my son his routines I try hard to break my own. Even if it is as simple as trying this season’s platform espadrille. And not tripping. WARNING: Do not wear espadrilles to the playground, I couldn’t walk for two days after doing a three foot lunge in mine. Sometimes I admit to serious blunders in the name of non-conformity. Three nights ago I served dinner in a 1950s silk kimono jacket. I am still looking for a recipe to get olive oil out of silk. The kimono was $55.00 and it came from an amazing flea market close to my house in Brooklyn. I go there to look at what the young things are wearing, I go there to find vintage dresses and odd bibelot for the nursery but mainly I love that every Sunday is completely and utterly different. 

Change creates energy. And joy. Dig into my book and dig your mothering life from the broody passage of pregnancy through to the crazy changes of the first three years…. with gusto. 

Till next month, KEEPING IT YUMMY.

XXX ANNA 

DO AS I SAY, BUT DON’T SAY THAT
The first time a baby says a bad word, mothers pretend to be shocked. One fine summer evening my son said “bullshit”. At fifteen months, he repeated the words he heard the second he heard them. Cat. Dog. Moon. Apple. Ball. Bullshit.

In a way, I was amazed it wasn’t something worse. I swear like a crazed Irish convict when I’m stressed, I pollute the air with even more vulgarity when I’m cross, and sometimes I even swear for joy, another very Irish trait. But when the BS term fell from those rosebud lips, the penny dropped. Who we are is what they will become, so we had better be our best selves. Their purity is our guide. Now this sounds horribly moralistic—staunch, even. But when it comes to babies, I think there is a place for high-minded starch, and sweet rather than sour words. They can speak dialect or even rap gibberish, one day but first they need to learn the most elevated version of their language we possess.

Talking with some self-awareness around little ones can suddenly make one see how we tend to waste words and indeed how much most adults repeat themselves. We accuse children of being stuck records but honestly adults are much more Boring. Parents bicker according to their ancient ragged script. The tired Mom whines as if on autopilot. The old friends bitch and gossip, toddlers in laps, oblivious to the ugliness of their bravado and mock sophistication. Words are little golden trophies to the people who first speak them, grasping them with a lilting stutter or lisp. “Yes?” my son asks gently.  “No!” he scolds forcefully, trying each word on for size and effect. Not quite connecting the name to the emotion or the word to the meaning, he totters through a world not yet clearly labeled. For him, the moon is a ball, a button and a balloon, and any of those words might do. And of course language is only partly a matter of explanation. Behind each new word is a complex history of social laws, etiquette, emotion and culture. In his hands are the clumsy new tools for illumination, contact, exhilaration or, potentially, shame.

I should know bout this issue of profanity, I grew up in New York. At the tender age of seven the Puerto Rican girls on the corner got me in an enormous amount of trouble, as I was only to happy to tell them the meaning of the word sex was “two people screwing in a bed.” I had been so proud to connect the noun to the verb. Sex was a doing word! Needless to say I was banned in every family house on 21st between Seventh and Eighth Avenue bearing a silk-screened poster of Jesus at the Last Supper. I not only said a bad word; I connected it to an even more outrageous visual concept. This was my first real lesson in the power of words to explain, impress and alienate at the same time. “Why,” I asked my mother through a flood of gluey tears, “is a word bad if it’s actually true?” I had grown up listening to the Rolling Stones and Janis Joplin and assiduously studied the work of Robert Crumb in a wide range of hippie households so why all the fuss? “Choose your audience,” my Mother said wisely. “Everyone speaks English but that doesn’t mean they speak the same language.” Mum also swore like a trooper. Or a poet, depending on who you read.

Joyce or Shakespeare demonstrate very elegantly that there are in fact no bad words; merely bad contexts for them. A profane word used judiciously and very rarely has a dramatic impact and possibly even a comic flair.  Who could forget Audrey Hepburn screaming “Move your bleedin’ arse!” at Ascot in “My Fair Lady?” It was so shocking, it was so charming and all because of the context. One could almost get away with such an outrage to class, dressed in a lace gown and a picture hat designed by Cecil Beaton.

But such restraint is given no chance in modern cinema. The expletive isn’t the punch-line anymore, it’s the entire script. And whether we want to make the mental leap forward or not, this is the world our babies are waddling towards. A world where foul language and even fouler verbal imagery ooze from car stereos on street corners on a summer’s day. A world where verbal aggression, in light comedy or hip hop and heavy metal lyrics, are a given. Why do we expect children to remain immune to the world adults consent to, and for how long?

My son’s nursery floats two floors above a busy street corner in Brooklyn. In about nine months he will grasp at the words floating above the booming bass line. He might ask me “Mama, what’s a Bitch?” In the meantime, I am making the sterling effort to articulate my emotions with words that do no harm. Or less harm. To get to this point I pretend I am the missing member of the English Royal Family or Austin Powers or both. “Blast it!” I cry like an 18th century Admiral. “Damn Nuisance!” I mumble like an ageing Oxford Don.  “Flipping Hell,” or even “Blimey,” I yell, mimicking Michael Caine’s haute Cockney.

All these silly words have an exotic ring and a whimsy; they’re so much more textural than conventional words pertaining to excrement and sex. Sadly we can blame post-pagan Christian England for that. Try and find a nice word for sex in English that is not an embarrassed or faintly farmyard euphemism. Bonk. Root. Shag. Hopeless. The French don’t have a “bad” word for intercourse. In fact, they use the same word to describe a kiss…Baiser. You even have to open your mouth in a half smile to say it. But I can’t break into French spontaneously; like most mothers I’m stuck with the blunt instrument that is English, and when pressed…the inherited scum of Anglo Saxon morality. For what is swearing if not shaming. With swearing comes a subscription to the notion of sin. I don’t believe in sin or using ugly words to describe beautiful or, very basically, natural acts. My son loves his poo, he shamelessly wees a crystal arc over the diaper table and then seizes his penis in triumph, and I share his joy in making up songs about poo, pee-pee and the weeny in-betweeny.

Raw, passionate and innocent to any sort of body guilt, the baby sets the tone, so I make every effort to use words of a joyous tone or slightly lighter words for heavier concepts around him. Tomorrow morning at 7 a.m., when I stagger across a pile of board books and stub my toe, I’ll say “Oh bother,” or “Oh fudge!” and feel as fancy as the Queen of Denmark, and my son will laugh. Poo is fun. Poo is a doing word. The bullshit of life, quite inevitably, can come later.

PREGNANT SKIN SAVERS; SAVING FACE, WITH CHILD
Whilst pregnant, I was rosier than a Jane Austen heroine and marked by two big brown pigment blotches the size of a penny on each cheek. My nipples turned to chocolate drops and I had dry, dry skin, if well behaved pores. It would have been a great relief to have known that most of these conditions would fade after the baby came. “For every woman who goes through pregnancy looking absolutely radiant, there’s one who suffers from hyperpigmentation, dryness, and flaky skin,” says Rona Berg, beauty guru and best-selling author of “Beauty: The New Basics” and “Fast Beauty: 1000 Quick Fixes” (www.ronaberg.com). Rona’s quick fix for a gentle exfoliator is as follows and it really is the most basic I’ve heard of. “To make your own, sprinkle a few drops of  water into a tablespoon of baking soda in your palm, and gently massage into your face,” says Berg. “Leave it on for five or 10 minutes until dry, and rinse with cool water.”

PIGMENTATION
The best salvation against pigmentation is sunscreen and a large hat. Without constant reapplication, sun damage definitely takes place, especially in the incidental moments that we do not consider “sunbaking:” hanging laundry on the line, walking to lunch from the office, getting in and out of the car, and even driving with the window rolled down.  Normal melasma will fade after pregnancy, so sunscreen is crucial to keep the process from darkening an already pigmented skin.

When concealing a pigmentation patch, start with a skin perfecting primer (a translucent light reflective base that can be applied to every skin tone) and then apply a concealer only one tone deeper that your natural skin tone. And if you are really freaking for smooth perfect coverage, on top of that, choose an adjustable finish foundation with sun block. Tap it on instead of smearing or rubbing. Finish off with a light dust of bronzer over entire face, throat and neckline for warmth and evenness.

African American skin has a tendency towards fragility, dark scarring and hyper pigmentation, so sun protection, and adequate moisture during pregnancy are vital.

HIGH COLOR
High color is sexy, in an Antoine Watteau rococo maiden sort of way. I love the idea of a being able to blush all day long. But many don’t. Redheads especially think they look like a human radish. The most obvious mistake for covering pink or red toned skin is to reach for a paler foundation, which doesn’t deflect the red very well at all. Instead, find a skin perfecter with a red neutralizer built in. And for goodness sake, no blusher or bright red lipsticks if you’re a redhead. Opt for neutral tones and a dust of bronzer instead.

THICKNESS AND DRYNESS
Skin can feel a little coarse during pregnancy and needs more regular exfoliation than usual. Exfoliation can be simple (a quick massage of upward circular strokes with a warm, wet face cloth), or more ritualistic with a delicate exfoliating mask. Avoid dime store scrubs made from almond husks and the like. That’s way too rough, mama.

Drink more water than you think you need, shield skin from wind, sun and air conditioning with a perpetually active, lightweight moisturiser, and give yourself a weekly mask of avocado or raw natural yogurt to keep skin fresh. Being pregnant, you’re more than likely to eat the leftovers, and that’s good for your skin too!

Sleep, and lots of it, is also critical, not just to your appearance, but to building up the energy reserves needed for birth and beyond. As you enter the third trimester, sleep becomes more difficult. Disturbing dreams, back pain and frequent urination can make night sleep hell, so if you are in position to cat nap through the day, do so! A small, wedge shaped pillow helped me rest my huge belly in the final months, and I also bought many pillows to build a nest around my body. Drifting into dreams, however briefly, is the respite that generates beauty. And having faith that all will be well.

Maternity is a perfect time to start experimenting with herbal, holistic and raw food beauty alternatives. The less chemicals absorbed by your skin now, the better. Look to The Ultimate Natural Beauty Guide by Josephine Fairley (Kyle Cathie Ltd, UK, 2004 for lots of yummy fresh beauty recipes.

PALENESS
Never use a darker foundation to lend color to the skin. Instead, match foundation to skin as exactly as possible (the skin on the inside of your wrists is the best barometer), and then either use an all over complexion enhancer. For Latina and olive skin tones try a sheer bronze powder.

Remember, it’s not darkness you’re after, but a natural lift to your own natural skin tone. African-American skin in the dead of winter or with anemia can take on a grey or ashy tone, so boost the beauty with a foundation that has the right undertone for your complexion (a quick trip to the beauty counter will reveal if you are olive or yellow). Exfoliate weekly and then treat your freshly scrubbed face to a deep moisturizing mask. Also realize that dark skin is prone to sun damage (no matter how much more melanin it has) and needs a 30 SPF protection year round.

For African American skin during and after pregnancy be aware of radical changes in skin texture, oiliness or dryness. Avoid oil based make up and balance out uneven skin tone by using concealer and powder that is transparent or slightly colored to avoid too much shine.

Another way to lift skin that is way too pale is to apply a light reflecting moisturizer under your make-up or to simply take an opposite position and accentuate the somewhat Goth look with deeper lipstick, and rich, berry-tinted accessories and clothes. Not everyone can dunk their head in a bucket of bronzer and look healthy. For a woman of pallor (pregnant or not) white could just be the new white.

BABY SHOWERS & BLESSING WAYS; LOVELY WAYS TO MOTHER THE MOTHER
Baby shower’s, like bridal showers, are supposed to be a chick thing. So of course the first thing Yummy should do is invite ALL the men she knows and change the order of events to make this gathering fresh and meaningful. The focus on “stuff” at baby showers makes them physically and emotionally static. What sensible male (or sassy female) would want to linger in a room full of seated women opening boxes of baby clothing in a gooey hush? Your shower needs to be as personal, sensual and relevant to you as a private ritual, a small dinner or a most intimate celebration with nothing to impinge on your joy or impose on your peace.

THEMES AND NIGHTMARES
More often than not, good taste is sacrificed to sentiment in the traditional shower, with the decorations and palette given themes of infantile or even “wifely” domestic accessories. Oh dear. Tripping down the shower aisle at Party Central, I found miniature baby bottles which were too big for a doll and too small for a baby. Landfill! And when I logged onto a gaggle of specialty baby shower sites, I found lists of chipper games that included blind-folded baby food tasting, and invitations for grown men to dress in diapers. There were also tips on using pacifiers as napkin rings and stringing a laundry line across the middle of the room to hang the gifts from. Why not hoist up a pastel colored noose or serve Prozac with the party favors while you’re at it? Baby showers still follow many coy, suburban mid-century conventions such as featuring storks on the invites or decorating the room with baby blocks, pink ribbons and doves. In their day, such ritualistic gestures must have had some whacky charm but they’ve been diluted, even neutered, by commercialism. To make this important gathering touching, you need to add your own witty spin. And warmth.

START WITH COLOR
As a hostess I would be tempted to choose a bright soft color theme like sunshine yellow, lavender, or sky (as opposed to baby blue). Against this backdrop, fresh flowers in slightly deeper shades (sunflowers, peonies, wild garden roses) look strong.

CHOOSE SAUCY FLOWERS—NO DAISIES ALLOWED!
Choose blooms that paint a portrait of the woman. If she loves orchids at her dinner parties, why have daisies at her baby shower? If fresh tropical fruits are in season, why not make cornucopia pyramids?

SERVE GROWN-UP FOOD
This is not a toddler party, so choose food that is high on nutrients, flavor and flair: smoked salmon on pumpernickel, watercress and avocado salad, goat cheese tartlets, dim sum and fresh edamame. Theme the menu around the favorite food of the Yummy being honored (Mexican, Italian, Vietnamese) and then make very quirky concessions to pregnant food cravings. One amusing decorative touch could be a large row of jarred pickles lining the length of the table…ice-cream and peanut butter cups optional.  With nutrition in mind, decorate a dark chocolate cake (dark chocolate is the healthy one) using fresh blackberries, raspberries and strawberries bursting both with color and anti-oxidants and folic acid.

SELECT THE RIGHT SETTING
To take the stress off Mama, try to hold the event in anyone’s home but hers, or in a small private room at a restaurant. A shower picnic is a romantic notion but lacks the formality of focus. Who’s going spoil the pregnant woman when they’re busy chasing toddlers with chicken drumsticks in their fists?

Another alternative is to take the shower to a day spa and offer a menu of body treats to choose from. Acknowledging that these are her last days for self-indulgent sensuality seems far more useful than bombing the lady with Oshkosh overalls. Whatever the setting of your shower, make it intimate enough to do the one thing most critical to the day: telling stories and encouraging the new mother with strength, comfort and wisdom.

DON’T PLAY GAMES
Replace the mawkish, or faintly embarrassing practice of party games by having each guest instead offer a deeply personal piece of advice, or an inspiring anecdote—no hospital horror stories please!! Some might choose to prepare a special book for the baby, offering insights, recipes or whimsical musings for many years to come. with a handful of pages for each year of the baby’s life for a decade, but be sure to forewarn the guests so they can prepare something more sage than the lyrics to “It’s a wild world”. Others might bring some CDs of lullabies and sing one or two for fun. You’d be amazed how many modern women don’t know the words to “Amazing Grace” or even “Summertime”. I memorised every Bob Dylan lyric ever written but had to learn “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star!”

BE TIME SENSITIVE
Choose your time well. Often an expectant mother in her last weeks of confinement will begin to close ranks and become more solitary. She may have just wrenched herself away from full-time work and need respite. Try to hold the shower a good six to eight weeks before her due date; that way she’ll see it as a pleasure and not a source of pressure.

GIVE USEFULLY
Enough frozen home-made soup for one month. A dozen new towels tied with a big grosgrain bow. A post-natal yoga DVD and a yoga mat to go with it. A selection of clothes by age, from newborn to 18 months, cleverly divided among your friends. A lovely cashmere wrap for the hospital. A very posh eye cream and a selection of fresh floral sprays (lavender, rose and orange water). A roomy but elegant robe for receiving relatives. Ankle-length Ugg boots and matching baby Uggs for fun. All of these gifts will be deeply appreciated by a woman who can’t see beyond her huggie pile. For the best line-up of gifts, have guests confer with each other or better still, chip in for something substantial like a pram or crib…

POOL YOUR RESOURCES
Savvy Charlotte, the French vixen who hosted my Brooklyn shower, pushed for a Bugaboo as my main gift. She had successfully corralled her many friends into buying her a navy blue FROG, and she assumed mine would follow suit. No such luck. I could barely get my Bohemian clique to log onto the Pottery Barn site for a crib. If you want something special—one big thing—you must press this upon friends very early, before they shell out on life-size Pandas and such. The burden of monitoring the registry or the purchase of a single important item should really be upon the hostess and not the mother. True yummies simply murmur their desires; anything more explicit feels like a breech of etiquette. Or an invoice. 

BE INVITING
For the invites to my NYC shower, I hand-painted watercolor pears on little squares of thick card trimmed with pinking shears…I assumed everyone would know they were self portraits. The hand-made touch was well received, and set the mood for a can-do simple yet stylish soiree. A witty alternative to mass produced shower invitations could be an individual package of pretty seeds (dahlias, rosebuds, gerberas) in clear colored envelopes with the invite written in metallic ink on matching paper, postcards featuring classic mother and child images (Chagall, Raphael, Picasso, Cassatt), or a lovely scented soap with the invite coiled around it on a long, thin strip of hand-made paper.

FOUR SIMPLE BUT SENSUAL THEMES
By the fate of geography I was lucky enough to receive two showers with two very different styles. Neither of my parties had specific themes, but both had a distinctly unfussy feel. Charlotte, the hostess of my Brooklyn shebang and mother of a toddler, turned up with tiny little shopping bag favors full of confetti, balloons and sacks of Chinese dumplings bought from the markets on Mott Street. She decreed that all the flowers in the room be white to offset the modest but sparkling metallic blue confetti and small favours she had strewn across the all white tablecloth. Sprinkled with blue sequins, the table looked like a glittering cloud.

My girlfriend Di bought a floral tea-set in my honor of my Sydney shower and asked me and many other friends to find more second-hand cups and teapots. The coven cobbled together everything from handmade trays of biscuits to single teabags. What motley grace!  Each guest brought a different bunch of roses, a bottle of pink champagne or rose, or a home-made cake. Cakes that were store-bought were customized with fresh flowers on top. The look was very fertile, feminine and rustic

ORIENT-TATION
Hand painted Chinese parasols are not costly, and make a brilliant ceiling decoration with soft romantic colors. The same effect could be created with kites or decorative Asian paper lanterns. Use a long narrow strip of raw silk as a central runner and set apple/cherry blossoms, chrysanthemums, peonies or lotus flowers in real tea tins (the cheapest and loveliest decorative vase alternative).

Palette: Mint green and hot pink

Menu: Dim Sum, dipping sauces, grilled or steamed shrimp, money bags (frozen is fine), glazed chicken wings, pineapple salad, fresh lychee and ginger ice-cream, green tea cocktails.

Music: Merry Christmas Mr. Lawrence (Bowie/Sakamoto), The Mikado (Gilbert and Sullivan), Madame Butterfly (Puccini).

SECOND HAND ROSE
The high English tea is a timely repast from breakfast right through to supper time. The British have a pretext for a good cup of tea for almost any time of day, and so it should be with a shower tea. Arrange the table with savouries at one end, salads in the middle and cakes, scones, tarts and biscuits at the other. Use a length of cotton floral dress fabric for the table or a vintage tablecloth strewn with embroidered roses, and be sure that none of the cups match. Deli or hot house roses look more authentic cut short and placed in cut glass water jugs, strewn about singly in bud vases, or sprouting from a handful of much older teapots. When a teapot spout or handle breaks in my house it immediately goes on duty as a vase. Odd teacups from the 19th c. to the 50s are available at good prices on ebay, usually because they are not part of a set. Look for vendors from Canada; they always seem to have the best vintage china. I refresh my collection about once every two years, as old cups stain over time.

Palette: Cherry red and pale pink

Menu: Many homemade cakes including ginger sponge, Hob Nob chocolate biscuits, miniature party pies and sausage rolls, several steaming pots of tea from earl Grey to Lapsang Soochong, Oolong, Rose petal, Jasmine, Raspberry leaf  (for pregnant and new mothers) and Hibiscus.

Music: Edith Piaf’s “Ma Vie en Rose”, Cesaria Evora, “My Fair Lady.”

PREGNANT AT TIFFANY’S
Holly Golightly was last seen munching a glazed doughnut and drinking a cup of joe outside the casement windows at Tiffany’s, and that’s not much of a menu for a pregnant chick. Steal the look of the Audrey Hepburn classic, with a perfectly square turquoise cake with Mummy’s name in Tiffany’s classic lettering, pink lemonade served in teardrop champagne glasses, and scrumptious brunch classics laid out on a table covered in monochromatic toile (the high impact, low cost upholstery fabric). Little black dresses, plastic pearls, alligator sling backs and big showy hats optional.

Palette: Tiffany turquoise and black and white toile

Menu: Frittata, Cucumber sandwiches, mixed berry summer pudding and clotted cream (see recipe), Pimms on ice, a side of baked salmon with dill sauce, baby lettuce salad, fresh strawberries, miniature scones and stone cut orange marmalade.

Music: Mad-cap 60s musicals such as Camelot, Cole Porter, Henry Mancini’s theme for Breakfast at Tiffany’s, Duffy and MY FAIR LADY.

CHILDHOOD FAVORITES
If girly girl themes are not your thing, a nostalgic  ‘kid stuff’ party could be a nice way to ease a new mother into the fun that is to come, while letting everyone hark back to sweet and silly childhood memories of their own. I’m talking kitsch chi here though, not grown-ups dressed in diapers playing spin the baby bottle!

Palette: Bright orange and sky blue.

Menu: Gourmet versions of “kid food”—organic macaroni and cheese, baby burgers with brie and cherry tomatoes, bowls of wrapped candy bars with old fashioned wrappers, single soda and seltzer bottles with stripy straws, a cake decorated with a vintage toy. And YES this is the party where Twister and Monopoly are allowed, especially if real children are present.

Music: Retro soundtracks from TV and film: Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, Willy Wonka, My Favorite Martian, The Brady Bunch, The Banana Splits. Yellow Submarine etc… But absolutely no Wiggles.

REVIVE THE RITUAL, YOUR SPECIAL MAMA BLESSING
It’s true that way too much pre-natal emphasis falls on the “gear” of motherhood, the registration at some huge confusing baby warehouse, the stockpile of the diaper/baby wrap/onesie mountain. In the rush to nest, we might be overlooking the critical spiritual and emotional preparation needed to birth consciously, joyously and calmly. The Native American Dine tribe, known as Navajo, use the term “blessingway” to name a sacred ritual which confers strength upon a person undergoing radical transformation at several different stages of their lifecycle; blessingways were used for warriors setting into battle as well as women on the cusp of birth. In 2004, a group of Native American feminists asked that the term blessingway not be applied to alternative baby showers, so now the popular term for the ritual is “Mother Blessing.”

On a creative level, a mother blessing is very rich, offering the opportunity to perform a three dimensional poem to the mother you love. Never mind if you feel like a cheap imitation of Isadora Duncan leaping about a suburban living room evoking the “goddess”, or are reminded of art projects learned at camp involving feathers, beads and secret wishes. The whole point of a home-made ritual is making your intentions clear… of being free to dream aloud.

Popular and established elements of the blessing could include:

Burning a smudge stick, sage, oils or incense to sanctify the house for the coming birth (in the case of a home birth) or to welcome the newborn soon to be brought home. Bathing and massaging the feet of the mother being honored. Combing and dressing her hair with wild flowers. Offering food specific to the desires of the mother (an all-chocolate menu is acceptable). Reciting poems and songs which strengthen and inspire the mother. Threading a birth necklace: a simple ritual of every woman present contributing a bead to a silk cord that the mother will take into the birth with her. Lighting a candle and chanting or reciting blessings for the safe passage of the baby. Dancing about like a wood nymph. Decking the house like a coven. Erecting a tent. Filling the bath with blooms.

Now, I don’t see why any of these elements could not be threaded into a baby shower without anyone getting the giggles or feeling contrived, although champagne might be more effective than chai tea at this point. If any one of these rituals adds a somewhat theatrical element to the gathering, all the better; nothing is gonna be as dramatic as birth. Whatever loosens everyone up and helps them share is what is deeply needed on this day. The mother-to-be needs all of the wisdom, love, support, spoiling and sisterhood she can summon. The deeply holy spirit of birth and of mothering is sorely lacking in most pregnancy manuals, so it really comes down to her chosen circle to make up for the void.

WALK TALL AND LEAVE A TINY CARBON FOOTPRINT
My grandmother did the laundry by hand and hung it in the sun, whisked cakes from scratch by hand, boiled the coffee on a gas stove and rode a bicycle to work. She had one good perfume, Tweed, and one very smart suit, and had her hair done every second Friday, setting it in pin curls and air drying it the rest of the time. She simply couldn’t afford doodads.

Sixty years later, by informed choice, I want to live very much as she did. My grandmother loved fashion but lived in an era when thrift was respected even more. Like her, I want to live with fewer and better things, to be decisive about the one good coat, the perfect silk scarf and the signature scent that replaces a forest of bottles. And yes, that perfume might just be a dab of pure rose oil.  I look for ways to do things around the house very simply, trying to replace the work of appliances with my hands, and, when I can, substituting mechanised distractions and comforts with quality time for my son. We lock our television in the china cupboard and wheel it out for movie night. We share a car with another family. We grow herbs on the window sill and shop at a food co-op for bulk grains and seasonal produce shared amongst a small group of mothers who get together fortnightly for big cook-ups, where we make batches of bread, casseroles, soups, cookies and cakes to freeze and stretch out through the month.

In many ways I try to live like a farmer’s wife in the middle of the city. My favourite household books are almanacs written by women in their 80s, which are full of very basic, natural and cheap household tips. Marjorie Bligh, a self published Tasmanian domestic guru, wrote a book called Homely Household Hints. In it, she suggests making pillowcases for the nursery out of old floral cotton dresses. The intent is to recycle, but the result looks cool…like a kid’s room designed by Marni. Fashionably or not, I aim to find a million funky ways to waste less.

Eco mothering just takes a little more thought, a little more love and a lot more elbow grease. The governing principle is to save here to spend there. If hand sewing a quilt takes time, then I simply steal that time from watching TV or using the internet. Not watching television (day or night) can give you up to 35 free hours a week; more than a whole day. To some, my ideas might sound like they’re straight out of the seventies …and a fantasy. The vision of life before the washing machine is terrifying to many modern women. We marvel at the Amish for their slow labour and meticulous ways. But the truth is, the Amish have been conserving their carbon footprint—the individual measure of carbon emissions generated by one person—for centuries, and we are just waking up to the real cost of global warming generated by our insane energy consumption. As huge nations such as China and India grow more affluent, the carbon footprint of each man and woman and child is increasing and the results are catastrophic: ozone depletion, pollution, climate change—in whole, an ailing planet.

Domestically speaking, it’s time to get unplugged and go acoustic. Personally I think it’s an exciting challenge to know as a woman and a mother what a tremendous difference you can make in every small daily choice. Mothers have huge consumer power. If we really wanted genetically modified foods off our supermarket shelves, less sugar in our cereal or less plastic wrapping on our toys, we could vote with our feet and simply stop shopping for the wrong stuff, therefore creating a gap in the market for the right stuff. And when you become a conscious shopper, an energy conserver and a recycler, you immediately create your own small but intensely powerful environmental-friendly lifestyle. Something as simple as changing your brand of light bulbs makes a difference, and from there each small choice rooted in energy conservation (and thrift) has a magical way of leading to a far richer quality of life.

Simplicity fosters creativity, and creativity makes everyone feel competent and happy. Take a look at a child that has baked something or decorated a wall in her room herself. Compare these joys with the deep disconnect created by screen-based recreation. The more you use hand-made children’s toys, the less you watch TV; the more time spent outdoors, the better your family’s health and emotional connection; the fresher the food you eat, the more energy you have for…making puppets out of socks and kites out of hand-painted newspaper, among a million other things. At first this outlook takes a bit of effort, a bit like running a summer camp from home, but if this if is what it takes to save the planet and make a childhood richer, I say bake those apples and keep those kids out of McNasties, build that cubby house and throw away the handheld computer toys. Make a game from recycling and lead the little ones out off the malls and toy stores and back into the woods and gardens. The only way to really love the earth is to roll in it from time to time.

ECOLOGY STARTS AT HOME
It’s important to consider that many commercial cleaning products contain questionable ingredients. Some are even being classified as hazardous waste, or suspected or known carcinogens. Minimizing exposure to these chemicals reduces associated health risks (including allergies and asthma) and the potential for injury to young children and pets, such as chemical burns and accidental poisoning. Natural cleaners also promote the benefits of aromatherapy. I started phasing out chemical heavy products in my home and gradually replaced them with environmentally friendly products—some homemade cleansers and what I call adapted products. I add lavender and eucalyptus oil to my laundry wash, Murphy’s Oil I use for my floors, and even to the water I use to wash windows. Afterwards, the house smells like a forest and I feel relaxed. I was inspired to make the change after reading The Naturally Clean Home: 100 Safe and Easy Herbal Formulas for Non-Toxic Cleansers by Karyn Siegel-Maier, an enterprising Eco Mom with a message:

“I can personally guarantee that anyone who begins making and using natural cleaners will never go back to using commercial products again. Just a walk down the commercial cleaning products isle in the grocery store becomes overwhelming with all the toxic fumes present. You just may not have noticed it before”  Siegel-Maier told me with some gusto. Most of the formulas she has come up with are very adaptable; the basic recipe she offered for my book can be adapted for every room in the house by switching the essential oil added.”

SIMPLE HERBAL DISINFECTANT 
2 cups water
10 drops essential oil of thyme
1/4 cup borax (i.e., Mule Team)

Combine all ingredients in a spray bottle and shake well. Spray on bathroom or kitchen surfaces and wipe with a clean, damp cloth or sponge. (Note: If combating mildew, add 8-10 drops of tea tree oil as well.) This formula can be modified to contain sweet orange or geranium essential oil instead of thyme to make a nice surface cleaner for the kitchen, or lavender for the bathroom. Some might object and say that homemade cleansers lack grunt, but essential oils are natural degreasers and some can even remove stubborn substances like ink from surfaces, even wallpaper. And homemade “soft scrubbers” clean bath tubs and tile very easily.  When it comes to oven cleaning, Karyn suggests speed over toxic chemicals. She told me,  “The best course of action is to attack an oven spill as soon as it happens. Dousing the spill with salt, for instance, will allow you to simply brush or wipe the mess away in a few hours.” 

ENERGY AND RECYCLING SMARTS

• Electricity is one of the biggest producers of carbon emissions, so stop adding to global warming by using the coffee maker and television less often. Turn power off when not in use (lights, television, DVD player, Hi Fi, computer, etc.
   
• Look around your home and locate mechanized toys, appliances, electrical beauty aides (hot rollers, extra hairdryers, foot massage/spa units, electric blankets), recreational games, clock radios etc. that you just don’t need. Going just a bit luddite (re: pre-industrial, handmade and hand-operated) is not just environmentally responsible. It’s aesthetically pleasing.
   
• Where possible, switch to green energy from a supplier who will supply electricity from renewable sources (e.g. wind and hydroelectric power)—this will reduce your carbon footprint contribution from electricity to zero, and your bill will only be a bit more expensive.
   
• In the cold months turn down the central heating slightly (try just 1 to 2 degrees) and ask your office to do the same. Who wants to boil like a Christmas turkey anyway? Also, check the central heating timer setting. Remember, there is no point heating the house after you have left for work.
• Turn down the water heating setting (just 2 degrees saves significantly).
   
• Find clever uses for water the other most precious and globally diminishing resource. I regularly recycle bath water for floor washing.
   
• Only run your dish washer and washing machines with a full load—this will save you water, electricity, and washing powder.
   
• Fill the kettle with only as much water as you need.
   
• Unplug your mobile phone as soon as it has finished charging. Unplug all appliances and lamps when you’re not using them.
   
• Defrost your fridge/freezer regularly. And if you can afford it, replace your old fridge/freezer (if it is over 15 years old), with a new machine that has an energy efficiency rating of “A.”
   
• Hang out the laundry to dry rather than tumble drying it.
   
• Buy a second-hand bike with a basket on the front for errands. Be sparing with your use of the family car, when it’s possible, and even try to . . . walk. Try to tele-commute one day a week, and carpool with other families for day trips and with co-workers for the daily commute. Better still, enjoy the train and savor these moments alone.
   
• When staying in a hotel, turn off the lights and air-conditioning when you leave your room. Ask for you room towels to be washed every other day, rather than every day. 

IN THE SUPERMARKET

• Often, the luxury of big city living is having whatever you desire twenty four hours a day. But the cult of convenience is costing the earth. Foods bought out of season at the supermarket, have either been flown or shipped in from far away—all adding to your carbon footprint.
   
• Reduce your consumption of meat by buying less and better—organic, and grass fed. Support sustainable organic meat farming and consume less pathogens, hormones and God knows what in the process.
   
• Don’t buy bottled water if your tap water is safe to drink once filtered (especially if the bottled water has been shipped from some distant tropical island). Or invest in a super large spring water cistern for your home that can be replaced less frequently. Imagine all the plastic you don’t have to process through your house when you have one source of water.
   
• Try to buy products made closer to home, thus supporting your home economy. Shop for foreign goods that support ethical trade, which I know takes some research—but coffee tastes sweeter when it’s not grown by EXPLOITED labor.
   
• Many kids’ items, yogurt to toys, are needlessly packaged. Opt for the simplest, plainest containers. These products also often offer the best foods especially when produced by local and small business. I took up the policy to buy food whose labels didn’t scream at me. Plain brown paper bags abound on my kitchen shelves, not cartoon faces trying to sell my son more stuff.
   
• Have fun with recycling. If a toy or food item comes in a snazzy cardboard box, turn it into a puppet theater or a mask. Use plastic fruit containers for growing windowsill herbs or storing craft materials. Give egg containers a second life as paint palettes. Try to be less ashamed of old stuff that is useful round the house.
   
• Think carefully about the type of activities you do in your spare time and simplify them to factor in a lower use of energy. If the sun is shining, try to use the day to avoid anything electrical or fuel consuming. Use wind power for a kite and sunshine for a picnic. The beauty of thinking ecologically is that almost every time you’re resourceful, you’re brought back to appreciate the elements, nature and radically simpler pleasures.