Earth Day 2007

I am awakened by Georgia, stretching inches away from me, screeching “MOMMY! GET UP! It’s MORNING!” Hova has retreated upstairs to Georgia’s bed, because somehow the three and a half year old takes up more than two thirds of the queen-sized bed we call ours. Since she woke me up, I must have been sleeping. It’s been a long night, lots of false alarms involving the throw-up bucket. Georgia seems cheerful enough now, though. In fact, she proclaims, “I am NOT sick!” Hooray. Hova shuffles down the stairs, we flash each other the I’m-at-the-end-of-my-rope-and-it’s-only-8AM sign and begin our day.

I turn on the teakettle, trying to adjust my grouchiness level while riffling through the ten-pound, ad-packed Sunday Oregonian. The paper is an important part of our balanced breakfast, but every week there’s some ad that catches Georgia's eye and sparks her desire. This Sunday we tsk-tsk as we extract the newspaper from the glossy circulars, even as we set some aside to ogle. “What a shame to waste so many trees on these ads telling us about things we really don’t need. We wouldn’t even think about wanting these things if we didn’t see them in the ads.” This morning I’m rambling on auto-pilot until I notice something different.

Every section of the paper has an Earth Day related article—of course, it’s Portland. Oh no, I should have planned something to teach her about Earth Day! I start singing, “Oh, the Earth is good to me, and so I thank the Earth...”

“Mommy, stop singing,” says little Miss Demanda.

I continue, “...for giving me the things I need, the sun and the rain and the apple seed, the Earth is good to me!”

“Mommy! I said stop!”

“I know you did, but I just feel like singing to the Earth, especially since it’s Earth Day.”

The demanding stops, wheels turn, “What’s Earth Day?” she says, engaged. Sounds like birthday, so it must be good. I explain that it’s a day to really appreciate the Earth and all we take from it. A day to make changes so that we can save the Earth’s resources, because the Earth is sick and we have to do whatever we can to make sure the Earth stays healthy and doesn’t die.

Silence.

Uh oh, I’ve gone too far.

Finally she rolls her eyes, “Mommy, the Earth can’t die. It’s not a person or an animal.” These are the teachable moments I wish for, but not when I’m sleep-deprived and grouchy. Deep breath.

“The Earth is a planet, and a planet is kind of like a plant. We have to take care of it so that it can be healthy and live. If everything on a planet dies, the planet can’t heal itself. So we need to make sure to take care of the Earth so it can heal itself.”

She’s thinking, “Like we shouldn’t use too much toilet paper because it’s made from trees.” Wow, she’s been listening!

“That’s right, exactly!” I say.

She’s skeptical, “But trees can make more trees from seeds, so the Earth can’t really die.”

Hova steps in, “But if we cut down all the trees they can’t make seeds, so we have to think about what we use.”

“Not just paper, but also water and electricity, and gas for the car.” Now I’m starting to bore myself, and her eyes are going glassy. But I go on, “So let’s think of some ways we can save the Earth today.”

“OK! I have a great idea! Let’s buy a plum tree and plant it and we can have plums and I can climb the tree and a bird can make a nest in it!”

“Good idea, planting trees is really good for the Earth!” Hova adds, “And we’ll walk to the library and the park instead of taking the car.”

“OK! Great!” she says, on a roll, “And I can make the most beeyootiful paper airplane out of this!” It’s Home Depot’s green guide circular. Lucky for this family, greenwashing has gone mainstream and the ads are working for us, this week at least.