If you have not already seen the latest the latest bit of amazing from Joss Whedon (creator of other bits of amazing, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel and Firefly), you must drop everything you are doing right now, get on the web and go to this site.

There is a superhero. There is an evil genius. There is signing. It’s twisted and amazing. And, it has Nathan Fillion and Doogie Howser. Who knew they could sing…and well.

My faith in the ability of people to produce actual entertainment is restored. Go…watch…now.

While my aunt was making her secret visit this weekend, she brought a belated Christmas gift for my son. Somehow she’d managed to misplace it during the actual Christmas season, only to find it right before his birthday. Then she lost it again. In an attempt to give it to him while he might still be entertained by it (and before he graduated from college), she handed it over.

The tiny bag and thin CD case made it an easy candidate for getting lost, especially among all of her clutter. The CD was one of those specialty ones sold at mall kiosks across the nation: Mickey, Minnie and Goofy singing famous children’s songs. According to my aunt, every single song on the CD uses my son’s name. Even the dialog inbetween songs directly addresses my son. And not just once, but often. 

I popped the disk in this morning on our drive to the repair shop to get my air-conditioning leak looked at. The CD started right off with my son’s name. Mickey gushed about how happy he was my son would be joining him in a sing-a-long and then proceeded to sing the “Mickey Mouse Club Theme,” inserting my baby’s name as his helper. He even thanked my son for doing such a great job leading the band.

After the Goofy joined in to take my son out to the ballgame, I started getting more than a little nostalgic.

See when I was a little girl, not too much older than my baby is now, someone bought me a flimsy 45 for my record player. It looked like something that could be pulled off of a cereal box, but I knew it was made just for me, because Zoom,* the spaceman whose voice boomed over my speakers, sang out my name. It was a birthday song, and at the time, I thought I was the only one in the world with something so special.

Every year on my birthday, I pulled that little record out from inside my Muppet Movie LP cover (it had an equally flimsy paper cover that was quickly lost) and I played it over and over again, just listening to Zoom telling me about his great search for my birthday present. Even now the song is burned into my memory:

“My name is Zoom and I live on the moon/but I came down to Earth just to sing you this tune, cause beetqueen, it’s your birthday today/a present for you I wanted to find/an outer space creature/a one of a kind…”

And then he started naming a lot of ridiculous creature names I can’t remember now because they were gibberish even then. Unfortunately Zoom couldn’t find anything quite special enough for me, so he wrote me a song instead. And at the very end, he wished me a happy birthday and promised to see me next year.

And he did. At least until I was 14 and my mother sold all my possessions off when I moved out of her house and into my dad’s. If she hadn’t, I kind of think I’d still be taking that 45 out and playing it each year. I’m not really sure on what since I no longer have a record player. Then again, maybe I would have kept that red and white striped portable record player. If I’d been able to.

My son is a bit young to realize that instead of singing about “this old man,” Minnie Mouse is attributing all the actions to him. As he gets a little older, I have a feeling that like me, he will get a kick out of thinking his Disney buddies are talking just to him. It made me feel special and I know it will do the same for him. I remember the wonder at hearing my name on that record and I can only anticipate his.

To be a kid again….

*After writing this I went on line and found the website for this CD. I am not only buying my son one, but might just buy myself one too! I am so EXCITED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Because I am a copy cat…notice how often mine mentions food. Scary… You can make your own here.

In a few hours my weekend will be over and for once, I’m kind of glad to see it go.

Friday night my step-mom and aunt showed up in preparation for a day full of shopping. Aside from being a bit loud, often crude and wanting to shop way too much, they are pretty fun guests who require little and add almost no stress to my life. Normally a visit from them is great. I get out of the house to shop and my son gets heaps of attention (and other people to hold/carry/feed him). This weekend, things were a bit more complicated. They weren’t going to be my only house guests. On Saturday, my mother was coming to town.

For many people this probably isn’t quite the anxiety inducer as it is for me. My mom and I don’t have the normal mother/daughter relationship. In the last 19 years, I have seen my mother six times, and that includes yesterday when I picked her up from the airport. Three of her visits have been in the last year. And all three have been a trip to visit my grandmother, with a side trip down to see me. The first time she stayed one night. The second we spent most of the day together when I drove her two hours to for her cousin’s funeral and then an extra hour when I picked her up and took her to the airport.

Now, this isn’t a pity me blog, but in those other 18 years, I have graduated from high school, college, gotten married, gotten divorced, gotten re-married and had a baby. None of which has warranted a visit from my mom.

So when she emailed me a few months ago and asked me to pick her and my two nephews up at the airport, drive them to a Cracker Barrel about an hour away (to meet up with my grandmother for the other hour of driving) and then pick her up one week later at the same Cracker Barrel, I was less than thrilled. Willing to do it, but dreading the day I had to.

Yesterday, I had to get her. The problem though, was that my aunt and step-mom were still in town. So I spent the morning with them, then at 12:30, I left for the airport and they left to go shopping. I got my mom and nephews and headed back to my house so she could see my son (who was napping when her plane came in). They spent about an hour at my house, just enough time for one of my nephews to ask what every single thing in our house and backyard were and why they were there. Then we loaded them back in the car and took off for our roundezvous point.

We pulled in at 4:18, just three minutes passed our scheduled meeting time. My grandmother was sitting outside in a long sleeve pants suit, despite the 90 degree heat. She was in the shade at least. My mom and nephews joined her while I hauled two backpacks, one suitcase, one diaper bag, one giant box fan, one stroller and two car seats to my grandmother’s car. I then strapped both car seats in and the kids in to them. My grandmother was in a hurry to get home, so I said a quick goodbye and was right back in the car for another hour.

When I got home, the house was empty. While I was making my way to the Cracker Barrel, my aunt and step-mom came back, picked my son up and took him out for more shopping. My husband was mowing the lawn. For five glorious minutes, I got to sit on my couch, turn the TV on and blur my mind with Degrassi. It was wonderful.

My peace was quickly shattered when everyone returned from shopping. My son immediately started running around the living room and my aunt and step-mom started pulling their bags out of hiding (we’d put them in various closets so my mom would have no idea they were there–ugliness would have ensued). They plopped down in various chairs and regaled me with stories of their exploits. My step-mom pouted a little because my aunt had stopped her from buying my son a goldfish. I smiled gratefully at my aunt.

They stayed until well after my son had gone to sleep. My husband was watching some History channel show about throwing axes and I was answering a million questions about my mom. It was fine, but my brain just kind of hurt. Finally they left for home. My husband went out to get dinner, since I was far too bushed to cook and once again, I had the house to myself. I sacked out on the couch, put on more Degrassi and tried to forget that in one week I have to go back and get my mom for another uncomfortable ride to the airport.

Ok, I know I’m not “with it.” I have no illusions that I am in any way cool. And I know this post is going to make me sound like an old woman sitting on her front porch in her rocker screaming, “Darn kids, get off my lawn. And get a haircut ya darn hippy.” Still, I feel the need to express my absolute perpelxion with an on going male fashion trend. I’m talking, of course, about the baggy pants.

Today while driving home, I noticed a couple who looked to be in their mid 20’s walking down the sidewalk. The girl was dressed in a completely non-descript manner. I think it might have been capris and a short sleeve shirt. It was so run of the mill though, I couldn’t tell you for sure. The guy she was with, however, stuck out. He was shirtless and unlike a great many guys in this city who like to go around shirtless during the summer (including my dear friend Eee’s old neighbor across the street–shudder), he could pull it off. This was not, however, what drew my attention. What caught my eye is that I could see every single inch of his red plaid boxer shorts. His pants were hanging so low that I could actually just make out the start of his skin where the legs of the boxers stopped.

As I pulled up closer behind him, I was amazed by this. Here we were, during a really busy time of day, in the middle of a major metropolitan city and he was walking around in his underwear. As I passed him, I noticed something even more peculiar…his pants were completely pulled up in the front. In fact, he was holding them up in the front so only the tiniest bit of his boxers were visable. I realized this was not some hapless man who just forgot his belt. Nor was he some poor soul who’d lost a lot of weight so his pants didn’t fit. These were new, designer jeans. I could tell because they had funky designs all over the front. Oh, and he was holding his pants up with his left hand which was placed directly on his crotch. His right hand was swaying by his side.

I realize this is not a new fashion statement. We even have a dress code rule about it in our student handbook. On an average day, I have to tell at least three boys to pull their pants up. Thankfully none of my kids are quite as audacious as the guy I saw walking down the street, but I think that’s only because they know they’d get into real trouble.

The thing that just freaks me out about this trend is that with their pants so low, they don’t so much walk as waddle. Some of my boys wear oversized shirts that hang down to their knees for the sole purpose of wearing their pants (with belts) just above their knees. The crotch sags to their calves and they look like penguins when they walk.

I was talking about this one day in my journalism class and to my surprise, all of my kids (there were only 10 and all but two were girls), were also annoyed by it. One of my students, in her general outspoken manner was particularly appaled, because as she informed me, the whole trend started in prisons as a sign for guys who, “want to get done in their boodies.” She had no tolerance for it and made fun of her peers because most of them had no idea the origins of their favorite trend and those who did were too stupid to realize, well, just how stupid they looked.

I know, I know, I’m an old fuddy-duddy, but I hope this trend goes away soon. I don’t know how any self-respecting female can actually find the sight of a guy waddling over to pick her up impressive, let alone sexy.

It is simply impossible to diet while on any kind of vacation. Even though our stay at my in-laws’ house was fairly short (only 3 1/2 days there + 1 1/2 travel days), any thought of a diet flew right out the window. This is, of course, because on car trips of any sort, my willpower fails me entirely.

The first two hours of a car trip I’m fine. I’m not too antsy and I feel no real need to snack. By the end of the third hour though, the need for something sweet starts to kick in. At this point I can still hold off, but if there is a gas or bathroom break, all hope is lost. I head straight to the candy isle in search of the best combination of chocolate and caramel/nougat/candy coating/fruit to soothe my rumbly tummy. Heck, half the time I’m not even that hungry. Mostly I’m just bored. This last trip was no exception. When we stopped in Kentucky to get gas, I found myself pouring over the extremely long candy counter for a tasty treat. The woman behind the counter was kind enough to point out that the candy extended all the way to the other side. I was a goner.

I ended up leaving with a king size bag of plain M & Ms and a king size Reese’s big cup two pack. I couldn’t resist as it promised real chunky peanuts. Chunky Reese’s cups are one of my favorite treats, and also a real rarity these days. The only chocolate/peanut butter treat better is the Reese’s honey roasted peanut butter cups. These are really hard to find (at least around these parts), but any time I see them, I have to purchase them. Thankfully I only ended up eating one chunky peanut cup. My husband is also a lover of peanut butter, so I gallantly offered him the second one. Sure, I had a small handful of M & Ms too, but it could have been so much worse!

The next morning before we reached our destination, I’d finished off the rest of the M & Ms. This was after our “free” continental breakfast that included both biscuits and gravy (a weakness from my childhood—for about two years every time we went out for breakfast, I ordered biscuits and gravy with a side of biscuits—this probably explains a lot of my childhood pudge) and cinnamon rolls (freshly baked). Since I am not much of a breakfast eater the other 360 some days of the year, the rare ocassions where a good breakfast is served (and cooked by someone else), I indulge way too much. Plus, I knew I’d be bored and looking for food before we hit the state line.

The actual driving part of the trip isn’t the only thing waiting to wreck my diet. There are other forces conspiring against me. For instance, when we were in Vegas, we had to eat all of our meals out. And lets face it, in a decadent town like Vegas, who wants a salad? Especially when there are all-you-can-eat seafood buffets and Del Tacos. It’s just perverse to even attempt a diet.

This vacation was no different. The walls of their house may be paper thin, but my in-law’s kitchen is fully stocked and they are both really good cooks. The night of our arrival we sat down to delicious enchiladas and an amazing corn, tomato and avocado salad. Both recipes my mother-in-law passed on since they were clipped from Paula Deen (one from her magazine and the other from her book). I ate my entire enchilada and an extra helping of the veggie salad.

Breakfast the next morning was sparse. Just cereal and fruit. I felt pretty good about it, especially since I only poured about 1/2 a cup of cereal. Lunch was sandwiches. Not exactly gourmet cuisine, but there were also chips, and that’s when I took a turn toward the dark side. I don’t even want to think about how many times my hand reached into that greasy, salty bag. To make matters worse, my mother-in-law made brownies. Rich, fudgy, thick, chocolaty brownies. She even added extra chocolate chips to the batter. Cruel, cruel woman!

Dinner was hard too. My father-in-law made grilled a pork tenderloin that was spiced to perfection. He also made a fairly tasty bean salad, which coupled with my mother-in-law’s super tasty squash casserole (thank you again Ms. Deen) and some potato salad (another weakness–although hers isn’t as good as mine, so I didn’t eat much), left my belly more than full. Plus for dessert there was ice cream. With fudge sauce. Oh, and brownies to put under the ice cream and fudge sauce.

The next morning’s breakfast was a feast. Bacon, scrambled eggs (made with a touch of cream–scrumptious), toast and a real favorite of mine, grits. I’d had grits before I met my husband, but only the instant kind. The grits my mother-in-law makes are real, Southern grits. Loaded up with butter, they are lip smacking good. And I ate big spoonfuls.

There was a cookout for lunch. The burgers were fine, but I didn’t even finish mine. It could have been the big breakfast or the big ol’ handful of chips I had. I did, however, have plenty of room for yet another brownie.

Thankfully dinner that night was fairly healthy. It was also the best meal and I know had there been more, I probably would have made a true pig of myself. It was some type of Korean beef, which was grilled. The beef itself wasn’t the truly amazing part. That was the dipping sauce. Coupled with the thin rice noodles and some pickled veggies (not a huge fan of those), the meal was fantastic! The funny thing is that I have the exact recipe in my Cuisine at Home magazine, but never thought for a second of making it. It didn’t look all that appealing, but the taste…amazing!

We topped that off with more ice cream and pound cake. A gut buster of a day.

The next day we left very early with only a bit of cereal and fruit in our bellies. Since we decided to drive straight home, we knew we’d have to stop on the road for lunch. There are no good options for traveling. No decent restaurant places itself anywhere near a highway exit. It’s row after row of fast food joints–Wendy’s, McDonald’s, Burger King as well as the regional favorites, Zaxby’s, Biscuitville and oddly, a Jack in the Box. We stopped at Wendy’s and since I’d already more than blown my diet, I ordered a Frosty.

Five more hours in the car found us in need of gas, a drink and a quick snack. A grab bag of sour cream and onion chips (split with my husband, but I still devoured over half) left my calorie count in shambles, but my tummy quite happy. We arrived home far too tired to cook, so dinner was pizza. At least I had the good sense to get a Veggie DeLite from Papa Murphy’s. Of course, the three slices I had almost negated their lower calorie count.

I may not be able to get much sleep at my in-laws’, but man, do they feed me well! Now it’s back to the diet though!

This year we celebrated the 4th at my in-laws’ house. We tried splitting the ten hour drive up into smaller chunks since it was our first real road trip with our son. We spent the night at a Holiday Inn Express that claimed to have a separate sitting area and offered a crib. The crib they delivered on, but the sitting area was only separated by a waist high wall that went less than halfway across the room. Directly on the other side of that wall was our bed. Luckily by the time we’d checked in and unloaded, it was 10:30, and my husband and I were both tired enough to call it a night. Unfortunately, my son decided not to sleep a wink in the car and was up until we put him in the crib at 10:30. Actually, he was up a bit longer than that…he cried for a  good ten minutes, I think in part because he knew we were right over the tiny “dividing” wall. He also woke us up at the horrible hour of 7:00, meaning he barely got 8 hours of sleep. He usually gets 11-12, so he was a tad bit cranky.

We arrived at my in-laws’ a little after one and my son was thrilled to escape the confines of his car seat. He tore off around the family room. He made several circles before finding that despite their attempts at baby proofing, he still had several large, heavy (and breakable) items within his grasp, all of which he tried to pull off of tables. My mother-in-law was amazed at his reach. The kid can get in to anything. She hasn’t seen him over two months, and even though that may not seem like long, he’s developing so quickly, that it was a huge change. He went for the picture frames (we had to fold them up and stack them on the bar). He went for the bookends and antique books (we had to move them to the top of the bookshelf). He went for the Soduku book and pen (it went to the top of the hutch), before finally settling on the phones as his true object of desire. He hovered around them. We said no and he just stood there, waiting for us to let down our guard. The moment he thought we weren’t looking, he grabbed for them. They too had to be moved (to the top of the hutch), which caused quite a stir when my husband forgot to put them back and the phone rang a little after 9 pm. My mother-in-law was more than a little annoyed she couldn’t find her phone and that when she did, the battery was drained. Oops!

My sister-in-law, her husband and their baby (he’s nine months) arrived late that night. I said a quick hello and then headed for bed. The next morning I was jarred awake by crying. This is usual to me, only it didn’t sound like my son. I laid there, listening, very confused. It was 6:30 am and I was groggy. It was my nephew. This wouldn’t be so bad, except that we were separated by a bathroom and my son’s room.

My in-laws have a lovely home. I’m not sure exactly when it was built, but I’m guessing the 50’s or 60’s. It is huge! There are four bedrooms and four bathrooms, as well as a living room, family room, HUGE kitchen, dining room and a completely finished basement with three rooms, a large pantry and a good sized hallway. The bedrooms are cavernous. My husband’s bedroom (which we stayed in) holds a king sized bed, a love seat that pulls out to a sleeper, a chest of drawers and four end tables and there is still room to play a game of Twister. Even his sister’s bedroom, which is arguably the smallest, is as big as our master bedroom, and just like our master bedroom, it has its own bathroom. Everything in the house is elegantly (if a bit overly flowery and gold) decorated. The kitchen counters are all granite. There are two working fireplaces, one wood and one gas. The dining room table seats eight comfortably and 10 with a slight squeeze. Even the kitchen table sits six comfortably and eight with a squeeze (which we found out one afternoon). However, I think the walls are made of rice paper. If someone sneezes in the living room, I can clearly hear it in the bedroom upstairs. I heard my sister and brother-in-law talking to their son with both of our doors closed (and remember, they are separated by a long bathroom and another ginormous bedroom). I heard every cough and throat clearing my father-in-law made during the night (and some snoring). I heard my mother-in-law fixing coffee in the morning (downstairs and across the house).

Since my son was born I’m a pretty light sleeper. What’s worse, is that when morning starts to break, so is he. Each morning he woke up at 6:30 am. GRRR!!!! Not that it was anyone’s fault really. Even tiptoeing around the rooms is like stomping in that house. I actually brought my son into bed with us one night because he woke up at three am crying (he’s cutting a new tooth) and I knew he was waking everyone up. As a result, I got no sleep since he spent the night flopping around. He managed to climb out of the covers and turn himself completely around (his head by our feet), without really waking up. He woke up because he’d scooted so far down the bed I was terrified he was going to nose dive off the far end, so I tried to gently move him back up by me. No luck. He woke up and wanted to play.

We also all got covered in mosquito bites. The air was muggy and the mosquitos were out in force. The first day we played out in the back yard, and by the next morning, my son’s face had four bites on it (plus several on his legs and arms), and my calves were itching every five seconds. I was so excited that he got to play outside since their yard is fenced in (ours isn’t and the second he’s put into it, he either sprints across the neighbors yards or heads for the front and therefore the street). Only for one day though. In the end I guess it was good since the temperature was hot and the air was so humid. Still, he kept going to the back door, longing for another day in the yard.

The trip home was hard. We decided to skip the motel and do all ten hours in one stretch. As a rule, I don’t sit still well. I could never be one of those teachers who sits at their desk or stands and write copious notes on the board. I have to be in motion. I pace. I’m up and down. My kids tease me all the time because I am a perpetual motion machine. Sitting for ten hours straight was horrid! My son did better than I did. He managed to sleep for three of it and entertained himself fairly well with a variety of toys and snacks. He made a huge mess of my backseat. There are goldfish and graham cracker crumbs everywhere, but since he kept the fussing to a minimum, I can’t really complain.

Well, not about his behavior at least. My husband…now that’s a different story. He was once again hot and kept turning the air up in the car. I tried to subtly turn it down when he wasn’t looking, but after a few minutes, it went right back up. About four hours into the journey, the condensation started dripping onto my floorboard. I first noticed it when several drops of ice cold water hit my toes. Over the next few hours, my entire passenger floorboard was soaked. Water was actually squishing about. I had to keep my shoes on the entire way home and since they were sandals, anytime I moved, I got wet. Since the car was still blowing cold air, by the time we reached home, my toes were a lovely shade of blue. I’m almost surprised I didn’t lose any to frostbite. When we made our last stop for something to drink (about two hours from home), when my husband turned, we could hear water sloshing. I’m not sure where exactly, but it was loud.

And to top it all off, I only got to see about five minutes worth of fireworkds because the mosquitos were so bad they chased us out of the front yard, and are partially obstructed view of the display downtown.

I am so very excited! My exotic chocolates have arrived. I couldn’t help myself and in all honesty, I sort of knew I wouldn’t be able to help myself. After visiting the Vosges store in Vegas and t hen writing about it and then going to their website, I had to have some. Sure, I know this comes right smack dab in the middle of my diet, but it doesn’t matter. As odd as this sounds, I am notorious for making sweet, milky, delicious truffles last for a very, very long time. I still have an entire tray (10 truffles) left from the box my husband bought me for my birthday nearly two months ago (there were only three trays to begin with). I once bought myself a two pound heart shaped box of chocolates the day after Valentine’s Day from Fannie May (they were insanely cheap and I’d broken up with my S.O. a few months before, so I was depressed and vowed for once I’d get my damn heart shaped box of chocolates) and they lasted me until mid-June. I like my chocolate, but I also like to savour it and make it last.

Anyway, my new chocolates are from the milk collection. I paid an obscene amount (you can go to the website and look it up if you want to see just how decadent I really am) for “16 exotic milk chocolate truffles.” They include “Field Songs”–with roasted yams + maple syrup + African grains of paradise, “Woolloomooloo”–Australian macadamia nut + coconut, “Funk & Disco”–buttermilk banana pudding + vanilla, “Wink of the Rabbit”–soft caramel + organic New Mexican pecan, “Naga”–sweet Indian curry + coconut, “Viola”–candied violet flower, and one I am slightly terrified of, “Blues”–free-range applewood smoked bacon + bacon morsels.

I cannot wait to try them all! I also got a tiny box of exotic caramels with Argentine dulce de leche + Costa Rican cashews + milk chocolate caramel, Canadian maple sugar + walnuts + dark chocolate caramel, Blood oranges + Campari + dark chocolate + hibiscus powder caramel and Tupelo honey + milk chocolate + bee pollen caramel.

It might be an odd compulsion or maybe even a sickness, but I can’t wait to try them all…even the bacon chocolate.

Although I haven’t been able to do my usual workout (a combo of walking/running) due to my either broken or severly bruised toe, I have managed to lose two more pounds! Yeah! Only three more and I reach the first summit on my diet journey. I’m pretty excited about it. I’ll be even happier when I get to work out again and I reach my pre-baby weight.

Don’t worry, this won’t turn into a diet blog, I just like to share these small triumphs!

This weekend while helping to man* the group yard sale several of my friends had on the other side of town, I shared my latest conspiracy theory. I guess it’s not really my latest one as it’s actually the only one I’m subscribing to at this moment. I’m not much of a conspiracy theorist, but this time, I think I might be on to something.

A few weeks ago, while putting away groceries from the local chain store, I noticed the paper bags I’d carried home seemed rather small. Sure enough, when I went to stack them with the rest of my paper bags**, they were shorter. Over two and a half inches shorter, in fact. I thought this was a little strange, but didn’t think too much of it until I went to a different chain grocery store (a funkier, far more environmentally friendly one) and found the size of their paper bags had also shrunk. Since they are pretty eco-friendly and usually pack every single inch of my bags full in an effort to use fewer bags, I found this change a bit odd. I actually needed more bags than I would have during my last trip.

That’s when I realized the shorter bags aren’t really an effort to save money on the stores’ parts. Instead, they are an effort to make the consumers feel like we are getting more. Shorter bags means more bags. More bags means the trunk/back seat/hatchback area looks a heck of a lot fuller. Since gas prices, and by association nearly all other prices are rising, I think this is the stores’ latest ploy to make us feel like we are getting our money’s worth. Sure, we may have just spent $100 on groceries, but look, it filled six bags. Before gas prices soared over $4, that same amount of groceries only got us five bags. Obviously we’re getting more for my money, so things must be ok.

Clearly this is an untested theory. I have no evidence other than two grocery chains (one local and one national) to back me up, but still, it’s kind of a wierd coincidence. Why else would the bags be shrinking at the same time prices are rising and the economists are debating whether or not we are in a recession?

*Read, ocassionally flashed jazz hands at passing cars and cried out, “we have good stuff, I promise, come see it.”

**I get paper bags on purpose since the elementary school across the street has huge paper recycling containers. Since I switched about four months ago, I’ve taken the bags over exactly 0 times. They are starting to form a rather big pile in my family room though.