Maybe it’s the cynic in me, but as much as I’m happy to learn about ways to green up my family’s life, sometimes I just start wondering when it stops being “green” and starts being “the marketing bandwagon du jour.”

On the one hand, I can appreciate that even a marketing plan based on less-than-noble motives may, indeed, result in products that are better for our earth. And at the end of the day I don’t really care why a company chose to make decisions which are—ultimately—much more environmentally responsible than before. On the other hand, though, where’s the line? Does it matter?

I received a pitch in my email this morning about Michelin Energy Saver A/S tires, and the thrust of the marketing is about these being the most “green” choice. I don’t know about you, but when I think green I’m rarely thinking about… tires. Do I need to put these on a yuppie hybrid car for them to work? Is this more or less eco-conscious than buying organic produce?

My head hurts.

This past weekend we loaded up the family and headed off for our first camping trip with our new travel trailer. (We went here, and it was gorgeous.) Now, I already have guilt about camping with a trailer; is it really camping if you’re staying in a tiny little house, with electricity and water? But my guilt didn’t actually translate into willingness to spend the weekend in a sleeping bag on the ground, so there we were.

The surroundings were magnificent, the weather was unexpectedly gorgeous (it can get a wee bit toasty here in Georgia, but we enjoyed mild temps all weekend), and I had engineered our meals down to a science before we left, rendering cooking both fast and energy-efficient. Hey, if you’re going to camp with a trailer, why not plan on a crock pot meal? It takes about four cents worth of electricity to cook, with no smoke or other emissions!

It turned out that the only problem we had was… garbage guilt. Guess what the state parks tend not to have? That’s right—recycling bins, and compost heaps. At home we compost and recycle, of course. On the road, what to do? I could store the recyclables and tote them home, I guess, though that uses up precious space. And as for compostable materials… well… sorry, but I’m not up for toting that around. We threw it all away, but I felt guilty.

Now I’m wondering if there’s a better solution for our next trip. Anyone have any ideas?

I was feeling proud of myself about all of the food my family has planted this year, which usually signals that it’s time for something to go wrong. (No, this isn’t being pessimistic. It’s realistic.) So, first I found myself dealing with various critters eating our plants, and then this weekend something else happened.

Our strawberries are ripening. And as much as my children wanted to pluck them immediately at the first sign of red, I cautioned them to wait a bit longer. I told them they wouldn’t taste good, and needed more time to ripen. So we waited. And waited.

And then this weekend several were undeniably ripe, so we picked them with great anticipation.

And they tasted… sour.

I’m perplexed. They were beautiful, but they weren’t sweet. Is it the variety? Something about the way we grew them? Did they need some time to sit and further ripen after picking? (That seems impossible, given how red they were.) I just have no idea.

So much for the joys and sustainability of growing our own berries. Blech.

Next weekend we’ll head to a local farm, where we can pick our own berries. It’s a little more green than buying at the supermarket, and they’ll taste a heck of a lot better than the ones we’re growing here at home. And this way the squirrels can eat ours, I guess, and we can call it kindness to the local wildlife. Or something.

I confess that… I am not very good with moderation. I’ve always been about black and white and not so much about gray. It’s not intentional, it’s just how I am.

And so, shamefully, I admit that long ago there was a time when I didn’t even recycle because it was “too much trouble.” Fast forward to today, and I’m the Plastic Police. I pull things out of the trash and scold my family for not rinsing and recycling. All or nothing, baby.

Last year, my husband built us a 35-gallon rain barrel. Our area has been in a pretty significant drought for the last few years, so I only planted a few things and used the water from the barrel to keep them watered, but this year I planted a lot more. So I asked him to make me another barrel.

He came home this weekend with three 55-gallon drums and rigged us up an additional containment system, much to my delight. And you’d think that with an extra 165 gallons of preserved water, I’d be a happy camper, right? Well, it’s been raining all night and all morning, and I went to check on the barrels, and they’re all full. Water is gushing out of the overflows, and it’s still raining.

Instead of being happy, I found myself wondering how many more containers I could set out to catch that other, wasted water. You know, because 200 gallons of preserved rain water might not be enough. (I know. Don’t say it.)

I have another confession to make. I am… not very good with directions. And by “not very good with directions” I of course mean “I regularly drove past the turn-off to my own house until I’d lived there for over a year.” It’s embarrassing; I’m a competent mother and businesswoman, yet there appears to be a circuit missing in my brain when it comes to maps.

Before GPS units were affordable, I used to just get lost a lot. And I regularly backtracked to avoid confusion; rather than going from A to B to C, I would go from A to B, then back to A to get my bearings before heading to C. I know. I’m pretty sure this qualifies as a disability, so you can just keep your snickering to yourself.

Needless to say, my GPS has changed my life. I never get lost anymore! But when gas prices went sky-high I realized that actually, I wasn’t just saving myself from wrong turns. I was enabling myself to live that whole “do all your errands on a single trip” thing—whereas before I’d never decide to head to unknown territory for that last errand (for fear of getting lost) while I was out, now I’m always able not just to combine trips, but to do so in the most direct, gas-saving way possible.

Let’s just consider it my iddy biddy step towards reducing automobile emissions. (The fact that it also saves me from frustration and embarrassment is just a handy fringe benefit.)

If you think you’re living with a pretty green footprint—as I did, up until yesterday—I am here to tell you that one good snow storm is all it will take to humble you to your core. (G’head. Ask me how I know this.)

I’m writing this missive from a yuppie consumer establishment where I can both get an overpriced coffee and borrow some internet. I have availed myself of both of these options, and my children are sitting here with me, bagel crumbs still clinging to the corners of their mouths, while one plays a hand-held video game and the other reads a book.

All of this is because northeast Georgia had a whopper of a snow storm yesterday (snow was not in my contract when I agreed to move south), and we lost power at our house. It was out for a couple of hours, came back on, and I quickly cooked dinner and we had a nice meal. And then the power went out again. And stayed out all night. And this morning. And now I’ve decided to live here, at this restaurant, because they have heat. And lattes.

I thought we were living pretty greenly. With our hot water, and our heat, and our refrigerator and stove and oven and coffeemaker. Heh. Guess not, huh? The power went out and we lit some candles and then we died of hunger and boredom.

Not really. But I think I have some thinking to do about how green we really are. As soon as I finish my latte.

I have one of those awful winter colds that just grabs on and doesn’t let go. On the one hand, I’m not all that sick; on the other hand, I’m just sick enough to feel really gross and exhausted and miserable.

And because I’m doped up on cold medicine and also because I have probably just single-handedly destroyed an acre of rainforest this week, I’m going to come clean on something I’ve been thinking about a lot: I like Kleenex. Not the brand, necessarily; tissues. Disposable tissues. I like them. I know that it would be more eco-friendly to use washable handkerchiefs, and I don’t care. Because disposing of the stuff that comes out of my nose rather than having to figure out which combination of non-toxic cleaners best decimates boogers is not high on my list of priorities.

There, I said it. I mean, really. Maybe it makes me a bad person, but I think I can live with that. My husband had this cold, too, and even though he actually owns handkerchiefs (I bought him a nice monogrammed set when we got married), he’s using tissues, too. I’m sure he thinks I’ll yell at him if gets snot on his nice Irish linen.

I promise to plant a tree, or something, to compensate, but I don’t think I can back down on this one. (Forgive me, Lola!)

The house I currently live in doesn’t have a basement; that still seems weird, to me, but it’s not uncommon “down south,” probably owing to how hard the soil is. And in a house without a basement, you have a lot of closets. Lots. They’re the main storage area for things which cannot withstand the temperature fluctuations of your average southern attic. (It tends to get a little roasty-toasty up there.)

All of this is to explain why I have a closet that contains all the ghosts of my past. I didn’t intend for this to happen, but somehow it did. And I think I’m finally ready to move on.

The closet in question contains four defunct computers. One doesn’t work at all, one works on alternate Tuesdays when the moon is full and the plug is perfectly still, and the other two work but have been replaced. All of them need to be recycled, and until today I wasn’t sure how to do that. But this week’s iddy biddy step for me is going to be properly disposing of these extra computers.

Between the EPA’s page on eCycling and TechSoup’s 10 Tips for Donating a Computer, I think I’m ready to clean house. I’m looking forward to having an empty closet and a clean conscience.

Do you have an old computer (or two, or more) in need of responsible recycling? Check out those links, and resolve to take care of it this week!

The holidays have come and gone; we’ve vacationed, returned, and packed away all of the Christmas decor; and like clockwork, the cravings have begun.

Look, I’ve used “local and in-season” as my mantra at the grocery store for years. The passage of recent country of origin labeling legislation has only served to reinforce what I’ve been trying to do already: Reduce our family’s carbon footprint (not to mention our grocery bill) by buying produce in-season and locally-grown.

Don’t get me wrong, because—despite my good intentions—I break my own rules every single week. And I can tell you why in a single word: Bananas. They’re not exactly local, I know. With a banana-loving family and the price so affordable, I do continue to buy them even though I know I shouldn’t. (But as soon as I figure out how to grow bananas in my backyard, let’s talk….)

January brings with it a new year and my insatiable craving for fresh tomatoes. (Perhaps I have scurvy.) Carbon footprint or no, I’m not paying $3 for a single, tasteless tomato… so I wait. And occasionally—guiltily—buy a pint of grape tomatoes. And I’m dreaming about my garden, this year, and all the things I want to plant.

By April I’ll be planning three or four acres of produce. And then I’ll come back down to earth. But I swear to you nothing says summer like that first tomato plucked off the vine.

I always recycle.

Um, except when I don’t.

Yes, Internet, I’m coming clean. (Or I guess I’m admitting to when I stay dirty?) Sometimes I throw something in the regular trash rather than recycling it properly. Perhaps I need an iddy biddy kick in the pants.

Look; I’m a conscientious recycler. I am. Newspapers and the like go straight into the bin, each and every time. Empty milk and orange juice containers, sure. The little tubs that yogurt and parmesan cheese and raisins come in, absolutely.

But peanut butter? I confess that I’ve thrown a container in the trash rather than deal with actually getting it clean enough to put out in the recycle bin without fear of the local wildlife having a late-night party on my lawn. And occasionally I toss a spice container in the trash—it’s small, you know, and easy to just overlook—and later think, “Wait, was that recyclable?”

And don’t get me started on the wayward leftovers that sometimes make their way to the back of the fridge and sprout their own ecosystems. If those are in disposable containers, well, I dispose of them.

I’m hanging my head in shame. Truly. I vow to do better. But in the meantime, if you told me you were the same way, I might feel a little better….