The Hazards of Beng Crunchy

I am twenty-five years old, mostly vegan, a student in a rigorous academic field, the mother of a four year old (who is currently screaming “Abra Cadabra!” at the top of her lungs), the fiance of  a prominent local musician, and master of the retail arts (translate: I work at the mall). Now for the fun part, dirty secrets: I used to weigh about 100 lbs more than I do now, have actually been overweight most of my adult life, had my lovely for year old (who has stopped being a magician and is now doing “dramatic art” which I hope means painting a happy tree and not a depiction of me screaming at the dog last week) completely by accident, am marrying a prominent musician with massive student loans whose largest source of income is completely dependent on how much parents want their children to take guitar lessons, and have, at least once, been on food stamps to support my poorly planned family.

And I love it. I’d like to think they do, too.

Taking care of my family is actually quite a trick. In order to raise a healthy, happy child, and to be that way myself,  I have to balance a very, very tiny budget (I can not stress the tininess of this budget enough), work, school, and the ever increasing list of demands from the outside world. All of this would be much harder if I weren’t completely and certifiably insane. But thankfully, I am!

Would someone who wasn’t crazy insist on feeding their family a plant based diet that they cooked themselves given their time and budget? Would she insist on making most of their winter gear, toys, and other goods from yarn given her already busy schedule? Would she do her damndest to be as sustainable a family as possible, including trying to grow and harvest her own vegetables until the green beans caught some sort of weird disease and she spent about two hours swearing and ripping out plants until I fell on top of our mountain of zucchini and probably would have died from the itching it caused?

I think not.

Don’t get me wrong. I am not by any means good at being crunchy, hip, or even broke. In fact, I fail all over the damn place. Actually, I could conceivably call this blog “Courtney Fails a Poop-ton” but that would be inappropriate and weird and you would never read it. What I am good at is being delirious with happiness every time I don’t screw up (and math!), and so I’d like to share my rare, but exciting, successes with you. Because it’s good to share.

Thanks for sharing.

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