When my kids won the Sunday trash collection staredown

For many years, Sunday evening has been the time when we collect garbage and recyclables from around our house and roll them out to the street for pick-up the next morning.

When we first moved in and the kids were little, I would handle this chore alone. I would walk around the house emptying various wastebaskets and lining them with fresh grocery bags, dump the recyclable items into the bin that sits next to our driveway, and stuff everything else into a black plastic garbage bag that would get thrown into our large Kimble Services trash container.

At some point maybe 15 years ago, I decided it was time for the kids to start emptying their own trash and helping me with this chore. I assigned each child a room or rooms for which they were responsible. I think there was even a little chart on our refrigerator.

It seemed like a good system in theory. In practice, it was less than ideal.

The problem was that once I decided it was garbage time – usually around 6pm on Sunday – there was a better-than-even chance some of the kids wouldn't be home, and an even better chance that few would conform to my timeline.

I would yell up the stairs that it was time to collect the trash, and maybe one kid, sometimes two, would immediately respond. I would then have to remind at least one of them, usually two, a second time to empty the cans in their designated rooms.

Often a third reminder was needed.

Eventually it would get done, but it took far longer than if I had simply done the whole thing myself.

I know what I should have done, of course. I should have threatened punishment for the malfeasant. I should have incentivized them not only to do it, but to do it immediately when told. I should have stayed strong to help them understand (a) this was not a request, and (b) there would be penalties for those who didn't listen.

Instead I made the poorest parenting decision possible. I chose the way of the tired and the impatient. After a couple of months, I just started doing the whole thing myself again. It was quicker and much less of a hassle.

It was also an undeserved victory for my children. The hammer should have been thrown down.

I was just so chronically fatigued in those days that the path of least resistance was my default.

For what it's worth, my nearly-18-year-old son Jack will help me collect the garbage any time I ask, so clearly we did something right with him.

But the rest of those ingrates? For those among them who plan on having children, I want to be there when they try and fail to get my grandkids to empty the trash for them.

Of course, knowing them, they'll have their own kids trained correctly.

It makes me angry just thinking about it.

Curbside recycling apparently requires constant vigilance

I am grateful my city provides curbside pick-up of trash, recyclables, and yard waste. It's a convenience too easily taken for granted (though of course you do pay for the privilege).

For many years, I have been in charge of waste management in our house. I generally collect everything and wheel it to the curb on Sunday afternoons, and any time there's a recyclable item in the kitchen, it's usually me who takes it to the temporary staging bin in the garage.

"Temporary staging bin" sounds very official, but it's really just an old recycling container from a previous service provider. It's easier to open the door from the mud room into the garage and toss an item into that container rather than walk all the way outside to the big wheeled recycling container to drop something there. Once or twice a week I'll empty the smaller, temporary bin into the larger container.

Not that you needed to know any of that.

Anyway, it came to my attention a year or two ago that Kimble, our waste management/recycling provider, will only recycle certain types of plastics. Other plastics need to go into the regular trash container.

Specifically, Kimble accepts plastics labeled #1 or #2. Higher numbers cannot be recycled.

Actually (and my understanding of the process is admittedly limited), I think they can recycle higher numbers, but our city's contract with Kimble only allows for recycling of #1 and #2 plastics. I assume recycling the higher-numbered plastics costs more, but I don't know that for sure.

What this means, of course, is that I'm constantly checking the bottom of plastic jugs and containers for that little number surrounded by the three arrows arranged in a triangle shape. Again, 1s and 2s are good. They go into the recycling bin. All others are destined for a landfill, I guess.

This has led me to realize that many things I've dropped into the recycling over the years will not in fact be recycled, and are presumably picked out of there and dumped into the general flow of trash by Kimble service workers who (and I'm guessing here) probably hate all of us for not paying closer attention to what goes into which container.

Chi-Chi's salsa, of which we consume a lot and therefore produce many empty plastic jars? That's a #7. I used to recycle it, now I throw it out.

Milk jugs? #2s. They're OK.

Greek yogurt containers? The ones we get are #5. No dice.

I don't want to pat myself on the back or anything, but I'm going to wager that a relatively low percentage of my fellow Wickliffe citizens pay this much attention to getting the plastic recyclables right.

So yes, I do want both a cookie and a medal. The medal can be made of plastic. #1 or #2 only, please.