What Would Captain Planet Do?

doreenA few years ago, when I was living in Scotland, I went to a psychic for a tarot card reading. Actually, I went twice, because the first attempt was a total flop. After staring deeply into my soul across a dingy card table for five solid minutes, the psychic told me she couldn’t see anything. I was blank. There was some sort of cosmic blockage.

She gave me my money back, suggested we reschedule, and I walked around for the rest of the day convinced that I was about to be hit by a bus – which, in the UK, is a very real possibility at any moment. Pedestrians beware.

I was in grad school at the time, in the throes of PhD research, and pretty much constantly plagued with doubt about whether or not I would ever score a tenure-track gig in a completely glutted job market. I was also working part-time in a little shop full of new age wonders, like enormous quartz phalluses and kitschy little books about angels by someone named Doreen Virtue, Ph.D.

It was in the tiny back room of this shop where I had the reading, from a local psychic who came in on Saturdays. I loosened up a bit on the second visit. I let my guard down, played along, and, unsurprisingly, she was full of insights into The Future. Not so much MY future, though; she mainly went on about my husband, how he would get a good job, be successful, how we would travel a lot (not a shocking leap, considering I was obviously an American living abroad). I kept waiting for her to get to the juicy details about my career prospects, but all that I can remember her saying about me is that:

1) I was an Egyptian man in a former life.

2) I was going to have three kids.

I’ll spare you the obvious commentary about how annoying it was that she assumed I was primarily concerned about Michael’s career. (Apparently she was not able to intuit the huge feminist chip on my shoulder.) I want to write about that last thing, her one prediction that’s stuck with me, the one about me having three kids.

You see, the truth is, I’ve always wanted to have three kids.

mash

Remember, O fellow children of the 80s, that charmingly heteronormative game MASH? In elementary school, when I played MASH at the back of the school bus with friends, I was thrilled whenever I managed to dodge the nightmarish scenario of having twenty children and living in a shack with someone TOTALLY GROSS, instead landing the utopian vision of marrying my cute crush-of-the-moment, living in a nice house, driving a jeep Cherokee (the dream car of my pubescent self), and having three children.

Three: the perfect number. A holy number. Or so it has seemed to me, the youngest of two, who always wished for another sibling below me on the totem pole.

Since having Julian, and discovering that I actually love being a mother most of the time, and I might even be sort of good at it, this Trinitarian vision of procreation has resurfaced. I daydream about us as a family of five, Julian as the caring older brother to two younger siblings. I picture a noisy dinner table, a house full of chaos and love.

Unfortunately, my reproductive plan has a slight hitch.

Maybe you also remember that movie 12 Monkeys? Where David Morse plays a scientist who attempts to purge the earth of human beings, because we’re pretty much just a bunch of parasites, sucking the life out of our planet? Well, there are some days when it’s not too much of a stretch for me to imagine that Michael could one day be that guy.

captain-planetMichael loves the earth. Maybe a little too much. He feels guilty every time he gets into a car. He is the reason we have a trash can that is a fraction of the size of our neighbors’ and yet never seems to get full. He is the reason we recycle. He is the reason we compost. I eat the organic vegetables he grows and the eggs from the chicks he raised, all on our little suburban plot. He weatherizes our house every winter; he installed a timer on our water heater; he programmed our thermostat to conserve energy. He convinced me to go with cloth diapers. While I love to take long, indulgent showers, Michael does that thing where he lathers up with the water off and only turns it on to rinse. Compared to the average American, he is Captain Planet (thankfully sans green mullet).

How does this relate to my baby dreams? Well, Michael is worried about overpopulation. Like, really worried. To the point where he feels that choosing to have more than two children would be morally wrong.

I have to admit that, although I understand his concerns on an intellectual level, I have a hard time not feeling exasperated at his dogged environmentalist principles – because, let’s be honest, whether we have one, two, or three children is not going to have any real cosmic impact. It’s only when you spiral things outward and say, “well, if everyone takes that approach…!” that you maybe get planetary doom and destruction.

Of course, this post isn’t really about tarot cards, or overpopulation. There’s another half-formed question lurking underneath all that, a question about how to live a simple, ordinary life as a finite being in a world that can swallow you whole with its brokenness.

Maybe you’ve heard of “disaster fatigue,” how people can only observe so much suffering before they experience a sense of paralysis or numbness, before they cope by not caring. I’m a master at this, particularly since becoming a mother. I shut things out. I disengage. I’ve written before about how I consciously avoid the news, even though that probably makes me a bad Citizen of the World. But I often feel a strong sense of moral obligation to dive back in, to educate myself on all the tragedies assailing humankind. Last week, I kept trying to force myself to read about Gosnell, thinking I need to know this. But I wonder: do I really? Do I need to be informed of every horror with front page potential?

And this question leads to another question: should the ills of the wider world always dictate our life choices? Should I curb my desire to have three children because of fears about climate change or overpopulation?

I like to watch Michael while he cooks. He moves around the kitchen easily, adeptly, despite our baby being strapped to his chest and the weight of the world resting on his shoulders. I want to tell him: care less. Be selfish, like me. Shut out the world. But of course, I love that roomy, guilt-ridden heart of his. I love that he gets mad at me when I throw a yogurt container away instead of putting it in the recycling. I love that he is someone who values the needs of humankind above his own. We need more people like him. That’s partly why I want to make babies with him, to grow a little tribe of humans who will choose, like their father, to live with intention and compassion — but hopefully without being crippled by apocalyptic guilt.

I’m not trying to say we shouldn’t care about the world, or the species, or humanity writ large. Caring is good. What I’m wondering is how that concern can and should translate into action. It’s hard to be a global citizen. It’s expensive, inconvenient, and perhaps, for Americans, nearly impossible to avoid being a human parasite on the globe. So what does “the good life” look like for us?

12 monkeysIn response to this last question, I tend to zoom in until the faces in my immediate circle spring into clarity and the rest of the world is a distant blur. Michael zooms out – way out – trying to gather the whole human species in his scope. I know that if I weren’t married to Michael, my carbon footprint would be exponentially larger. I likely wouldn’t make intentional, ethical choices about food and energy consumption on my own. I would not be a Planeteer. But maybe being married to me is what will keep Michael from turning into the deranged scientist from 12 Monkeys.

I pretend I’m wise sometimes, that I have things figured out, but I don’t. I might not be an angsty grad student anymore, looking for reassuring answers from a back-room psychic; instead I’m an angsty mommy blogger, jonesing for more babies, with an environmentalist husband who wants to save the world.

Maybe Captain Planet has an answer for us. Maybe we can clear some middle ground between my pragmatism and Michael’s idealism and build our home there. Maybe – WITH OUR POWERS COMBINED!!!  – we can figure out how to keep loving the earth, while also allowing ourselves to fully live on it.

…with three kids.

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10 comments

  1. Deja

    I love this. And I think the powers combined part is key. When I get worried about overpopulation, I tell myself something like you’re saying here: I’ll do more good by trying hard to raise really good kids than not doing so. So many like us–educated is what I mean by like us–choose not to have children at all. And if you play that out to a larger population, it’s a problem too right? But then, I come from a family of six kids, a feat of childrearing which daily blows my mind.

    • Abigail

      As I was writing this, I wondered about my LDS friends, and if they ever have these sorts of dilemmas, since having lots of children is more of the norm in LDS culture. Having three kids probably doesn’t sound like a whole lot to some people, but it does to me! Can’t even IMAGINE six!!! Whew.

  2. Odd-toed Ungulate

    While I think overpopulation is largely overblown as a problem, I can certainly appreciate Michael’s desire to live sustainably and economically. It’s a good example to follow, whatever one may think about dire Malthusian predictions. As a potential solution to the “more kids vs. smaller environmental impact” dilemma, might I suggest adopting additional children? You’ll get your larger family, without the additional human beings in the population. And as a bonus, you and Michael would be able to raise an adopted child (children?) with your concern for environmental sustainability and conservation, multiplying your impact without necessarily multiplying your specific genes. Your adopted child (children!) would otherwise likely be raised more as typical American consumers, so your adopting them would be an environmental good. It’s a win-win-win!

    And as my final argument for you having more kids, might I suggest the opening scene from the movie “Idiocracy”? Please excuse the occasional foul language:

    http://www.livevideo.com/video/1EFA01743AB2491F99D063C46158820B/idiocracy-intro.aspx

    • Anonymous

      I can’t believe you posted something with foul language on my blog!!!! I never use swears. And, regarding the adoption thing, that’s certainly an option, and a noble and important one. I have MUCH admiration for parents who adopt. But I also think that one should really feel a calling to be an adoptive parent, and feel wholly committed, 100%, to going down that road. This is probably fodder for another post, but I’m not sure if I’ve got the calling (or the cahones) to adopt, as much as I want to be that person.

  3. Krista (@marriedlife)

    Do you live in my house? Seriously, my husband is so concerned that we are overpopulating the planet! However… we got 2 boys and he just really wanted a girl… and we got double trouble! 😉
    I’m the one that’s into recycling though, a year living in Seattle will do that to you – they force you to recycle… by hitting you where it hurts if you don’t!
    (and please excuse my crazy writing style, my mother is an English teacher, but I write like I think, which isn’t very pretty!)

    • Krista (@marriedlife)

      My train of thought got hijacked mid-comment here (it’s been a loooong day) and I meant to say, I actually wrote some (what I think are) similar thoughts last night. You can read them on my blog if you choose.
      And my husband is always saying it’s a good thing we married each other because we are so different we help each other out (while I see it as a pain in the you know what since we always butt heads, but that’s his optimism and my pessimism talking).

    • Abigail

      Now there’s a solution I hadn’t thought of — I should just somehow arrange to have twins when we try for our second…