I recycle almost everything these days, but I've found one area where I don't recycle. I have guilt about it, but I also have a rationalization.
What I don't recycle is the kids' school papers. At least not often. Usually I bury them in the trash under leftovers and smelly rotten veggies (which I should be composting. Whole other guilt post.)
I justify it to myself because the recycle bins are passed each day at least 2-4 times, often more than that. You know those kids who don't notice when they drop fourteen chip shards on the kitchen floor or claim not to see the second shoe that's sitting in front of their eyes would suddenly have laser vision when it comes to the umpty seventh page of dotted-line text they have carefully traced or the forty-fifth worksheet about Charlotte's Web.
To be fair, I do keep a lot of their work, at least in a first stage (I go through at the end of the year and purge again) - but there just isn't enough room in this house for all the evidence of their hard work at school. That doesn't make me a bad mom, does it? Or worse, a bad wanna be environmentalist?
Please tell me I'm not the only person this has happened to. More than once now, someone has friended me on Facebook and ... I can't recall a *thing* about the person. I look at their photos, study their posts and profile info. At the back of my mind there's some kind of tickle - maybe someone I knew from work, maybe someone from college. Sometimes I get bold enough to ask, but if new friend is friends with other people I know who I don't have framnesia about, then...well it seems tacky to ask.
On the way home from Trader Joe's today, I discovered that Anastasia had mis-heard me when I told her the name of the fruit leather she had selected (you know the ones, helpfully placed in cute little bins by the checkout desk?) Boysenberry. What she thought I said?
I bumped into a friend at the gym today (banner day - I actually made it to the gym!) and she asked how things were going with work, balancing the schedule and kids' school and everything. She asked if I'm basically working every hour they're at school, which is roughly true and starting to be a big challenge. The house is a disaster. Groceries only get bought once a week if I'm lucky (I'm used to running in a few times/week so we always have fresh stuff around.) The kids bedrooms just aren't going to get painted this year. Nor will the other house projects I had hoped to undertake. There are piles and piles on my desk. You name it, I'm having trouble figuring out when I can find the time to do it.
So we came up with a solution. We need a new day of the week. It's just for moms. It's called Twednesday. It's not a real day so of course we won't need to work, but it does fall between Tuesday and Wednesday so the kids will, naturally, go to school (no, we haven't worked out the issue of how moms who are teachers will take advantage of this great new day of the week.)
We'll use the day to return phone calls, schedule doctor's appointments, RSVP for birthday parties, buy birthday party gifts, check in with our moms, write cute little things for the kids' scrapbooks, download pictures from the digital camera, order prints and cute photo gifts for holidays, make some bread from scratch, organize our recipes (no, we're not all as awesome as my sister in this regard...) grocery shop, weed the garden, rake the leaves, winterize the swingset, take the car in for service, organize the desk, backup the computer, dust the top shelves, get to know the new neighbor, volunteer with the PTA, prep a cub scout meeting, iron the dance costume for the recital, debate the merits of energy policy with vice presidential candidates, solve the credit crisis, make peace with Iran, put Chavez in his place, watch all those girly movies we haven't been able to watch because our husbands insist on action flicks, get lost in a good book, and train for a half marathon.
Come to think of it, a single day a week wouldn't suffice. Can we requisition a year?
Well apparently I have a hangup about bad posture. John and I were out for dinner/movie (finally saw the Dark Knight, what a great movie!) on Saturday and noticed a well-dressed teenage couple walking in town. I then remembered that it was Homecoming, which was amusing because when we thought about it we realized we went out *last* year on homecoming as well. This year at least we didn't sit next to 5 tables of screeching teenagers. But back to the couple. Her posture was bad. Really really bad. To the point where I really had to restrain myself from leaning out the car window to shout "Straighten up!" She was dressed so nice, with a cute boy, but then had that Bad Posture Lurch. Hopefully she'll outgrow it before senior year.
Anastasia was busy writing letters tonight. One to daddy. One to Aunt Jenny (belated birthday greetings, eep!) and one to Michael. 
She knew she was going to mail the letter to Jenny through the mailbox, with a stamp and everything. The others will get hand-delivered. So she brought the letter to me and asked:
"Can I put the blah blah blah on?"
Do you need me to tell you that this is her perception of the purpose of the address part of a letter? It just solidifies my thinking that I sound to her just like those adults in the Peanuts cartoons. Wah-wah, wah wah wah.
 Who is one of the cute boys  in her class.   One of the FOUR boys in her FIVE person class.  But not Tommy, who apparently talks about Anastasia all the time and tells her each morning that she looks beau-ti-ful.   Not that we're counting or anything. Love the student:teacher ratio, but sure wish she had a girl playmate in class.  Which her teacher tells me she's working with him on appropriateness, but she's generally too busy laughing about it to really reinforce the lesson  But don't ask Anastasia about it - she's likely to hide her head and deny knowledge of any little boy named Tommy. Michael apparently is the object of her affection.