I don’t really trust the holes in my washer.
I refuse to put the soap in until the bottom holes fill with water.
Who wants to throw all that detergent into a pock-marked abyss?
Not me.
And so I wait.
Archives for February 2007
Tip Tuesday — Save a Penny
With a leettle expert advice, we’ve decided the new roof can wait for a few years while we save up to pay for it in cash. If things get really bad, we may send Laylee and Magoo to live in the attic holding pots and pans. Maybe they’ll make friends with the rats who will one day repay Laylee by making her a beautiful ball gown, which I will subsequently tear to shreds.
So now, rather than adding a high interest second mortgage payment to our monthly expenses, we need to save an extra $400 per month for the next 3 years. I am personally scared spitless considering I feel like we’re living close to the edge of our income as it is.
I’ve started to institute some cost-saving measures around the house and wondered if you had any other ideas to help me out.
1. You’re just not that into it — You may think you are now, in light of the amazing sale going on at J.C. Penny. But take a moment before you buy that rhinestone encrusted t-shirt or 3 TBSP capacity motorized jell-o grinder.
-Picture yourself carrying the item home.
-Where will it go in your house?
-How often will you use it?
-Tug and pull at the fabric. Is it likely to stretch out wide and shrink to the flattering level of -just above your belly button with only a few washings?
-Do you have anything at home that could do the job just as well with a little creativity?
-Would you put it on your birthday wish list and be happy with it as your gift?
In the end, if you wouldn’t be tempted to buy it at full price, don’t snatch it up just because it’s on sale.
2. Just because the recipe says you need it, doesn’t mean you do — I have always been one for following a recipe to the letter, especially the first time around. If it says to buy Kalamata olives to the tune of $5 per jar, I listen to the recipe. Not anymore my friends. There are tons of great substitutions you can make. Also, the more you make from scratch, the more you save. It doesn’t have to be hard. This book is helping me immensely. I’m also saving a lot with The Grocery Game.
3. Form an accountability group, preferably with someone who is effected by your spending habits — Dan and I have started meeting each night to discuss how much we’ve spent each day and what we have to show for it. If I know I’m going to have to say out loud, “I bought myself another brown purse because this one has more pockets and ooo look how much more current the style is than the other 10 brown purses collecting dust in my closet. IT HAS GOLD RIVETS!” I’m 67% more likely to leave the purse on the rack. I may be sad for 30 seconds but by the time I get back to my car, I feel mighty powerful for just walking away.
4. To quote Mir, “Friends don’t let friends pay full retail.” Subscribe to wantnot.net for great deals on things you were planning to buy anyway.
5. Have you ever heard of the library? – Don’t buy every book you ever thought of reading. Fully half the books I buy end up going back to the used bookstore as soon as I’ve finished. I waste buckets of money doing this every year.
Now share your tips, I beseech you.
reasons: rolling half-chewed apples, playdates, future Oscar wins, pigs feet
The Touching
Come visit me at the parenting post today and see why I’m thinking of hiring a Human Resources director to come live at my house.
Tip Tuesday – Cheer Up Little Fella
What cheers you? What brings you joy? When you need a quick pick-me up during the day, where do you turn?
Paint your toenails all different colors. If you really want to cheer up, paint your daughter’s too. If you REALLY need something extra, paint your son’s as well and see how long it takes dad to notice.
Lay on your back in the middle of the laundry pile and move the clothes around until they fit your body exactly. Then fake laughter until it becomes real or maniacal. Throw large clothing items at your children.
When your children are yelling at you, yell back in unrelated jibberishical syllables while dancing around and shaking your hair. Stop. Take a trip to the potty by way of the Cadbury mini-egg stash and stay there for a day or two. (If your home contains young children, you are authorized to peak through the crack under the door every hour or so.)
Eddie of the house of Bauer.
Conduct and star in your own living room opera. If you’re at work, go find your car in the parking garage and scare a few unsuspecting commuters with your muffled melodies. CD soundtrack is optional.
If all else fails, post your medical history on the internet and watch the encouraging comments pour in. I’ve got this goiter, ya see…
I’d love to hear what little releases you all have up your sleeves.
Comments Rule
Today I got the best comment ever on my blog at The Parenting Post.
“Seriously.. if my name were Magoo I’d want to commit suicide.. I can’t believe people are actually listening to this stupid baby-naming fad.. STOP NAMING YOUR CHILDREN AFTER FICTIONAL CHARACTERS. Also, stop making up new names.. we have a list of names for a reason.. so USE IT!”
The commenter kindly provided his email address to which I sent this response:
Yes, Magoo is totally his real name. I didn’t give him an alter-ego at all on my blog to protect his privacy. I thought it would be a good idea to use his real name on the blog so his junior high friends could google search “Magoo Daring” and find out all about the consistency of his infantile poop. You’re right. I must be stopped.
Our next child will be named McFrick or Throckmorton, regardless of gender. Are those on “the list” or should I keep brainstorming?
God Knows We’re Lost
It’s coming up on two years since Magoo was born and I still struggle with anxiety and depression issues originally triggered by his birth. My brain hurts from thinking about my brain. I’m tired of wondering what constitutes chemical deficiency and what is just normal for a stay-home mother of 2.
I go off medications. I struggle. I get back on a dose so small I could swear it was a placebo amount and suddenly the people around me are a little less annoying, I’m slightly more likely to do the dishes and less likely to wake up in a panic with no idea why.
When things were really bad at the beginning, I came to a point where I said I would be willing to do whatever was medically necessary to function and take care of my family, to alter my brain back to the way it was before the crash. I said I would take medication for the rest of my life if necessary. Now that the post-partum period is almost up, I want to be DONE with brain meds. I want my old brain back. It wasn’t always sharp and sometimes it was a tad twisted, but I could trust it.
I recently told my therapist that I didn’t want to go on anything at this point because that would mean I was “depressed”. She asked the logical question, “Do you think taking medication will make you depressed?”
“No,” I bawled, “It will make me NOT depressed.”
There you have it. And what’s so bad about that? The dependence, the fallibility, the HUMANITY, the admission that yet again God doesn’t chose to heal me instantly but provides a humbling way for me to be healed by relying on other people and medical advancements.
The other day Laylee and I were on the way to the therapist’s office and I got lost in a construction detour. I said a few faux naughty words and Laylee asked what was wrong. When I told her we were lost, she said calmly, “It’s okay. God knows we’re lost. We’ll find it.”
I believe he knows I’m lost. I believe he cares I’m lost. I believe he will help me untangle my steaming pile of grey matter. I’m not at a point yet where I always understand his methods or even pretend to know what they are.
For the next 2 weeks I’m going to do everything I physically can to stave off the next round of brain science. The sleeping. The exercising. The meditation. The prayer. The water. The breathing. Then we’ll see. We’ll try and then we’ll see.
Pigs Feet in My Pantry
Yesterday Dan was microwaving his lunch at work when a woman walked past him into the lunch room, removed his food halfway through its heating cycle and started nuking hers. He was so dumbfounded by this that he just waited for her to finish. When she was done, she left his food on the top of the microwave and walked out without a word.
Sometimes people are just oblivious. I like to imagine that she knew he was there microwaving his food and just felt that her needs were somehow more important, a lunchroom bully, waiting in the hallway for her next victim to begin reheating his leftovers. In reality, she was probably spaced out and didn’t even realize what she was doing.
A few years ago Dan and I had dinner guests who we didn’t know very well. I made some Indian food, a complicated dish requiring a ton of onions. I have zero tolerance for onions and sob like a child every time I come in contact with them.
Some time after the guests had left I walked past a mirror and noticed several inches of black mascara circles running down my face. “DAN! Why didn’t you TELL me I looked like a crazed clown the entire evening?” He had no idea what I was talking about. He came over. “Oh yeah. You do have a little something there.” It’s not that he’s a moron. He’s actually quite a genius. He’s just so used to seeing me a certain way (fabulous goddess of beauty) that he has a hard time noticing when something changes a wee bit.
Which brings me to the pigs feet. A couple of weeks ago I was grocery shopping as I am sometimes wont to do. In between the bottled artichokes (I was making a new dip recipe from Chilihead) and Vienna Sausages (I was keeping my distance) I found a “value pack” of pigs feet. I laughed out loud in the store and placed them in my cart.
Since I’m trying to lose weight and can’t eat all the food I’d like without feeling guilty, I’d rather just buy groceries that make me giggle.
I got them home and placed them in the food cupboard at eye level to see how long it would take Dan to notice them. 52 hours. It takes Dan 52 hours to notice a jar of pigs feet next to the niblets. But I couldn’t stop there. This is too fun.
I decided I would send the feet to anyone willing to play this little game with me. Then Mir started rambling on about liquid/ fragile/ perishable blah blah blah and I rethought my strategy.
It works like this. Go to the store. Buy a bottle of pigs feet (they cost around $4). Put them in an obvious place in a cupboard your spouse will open at least once a week. Email me a picture of the feet but don’t blog it so s/he won’t know what you’re doing. I’ll put a link to your blog on my sidebar with a counter of how long the pigs feet have been sitting there. Fun, yes? Just say yes, okay? I’ll enjoy it because I’m twisted like that.
Someone told me in an email today that I was a “solid example of motherhood” on my blog. Of course I know this is true and never more true than in my Parenting post today. Feel free to go over there and be enriched by my greatness.
The Faeries are Coming!
Thanks to everyone for your awesome suggestions for Laylee’s faerie birthday. You people know how to part-tay! I’m sending the DYM shirt out to Heffalump for her suggestion of little flower pots and tools so the kids can create their own faerie gardens at home. I love this idea for its creativity, utility and cheapitude.
I will be using several of your ideas and will hopefully post pictures on the website some time in March. Again, thank you all so much. This may be the best birthday party EVER. Okay, if I gave them each a bag full of sugar and let them run in an orbiting pattern around my kitchen appliances it would be the best birthday party EVER but these suggestions should help make it more than adequate.
Wishing You
Pleasure
Romance
and Love
Thank you Dan for the clean kitchen, the flowers and not raising your eyebrows as I drown myself slowly in chocolate.
Happy Decadent Holiday of Catholic Origin everyone!
If you’ve written about love today, leave a link in the comments. For now, go check out Jeana’s awesome post.
Some Life
Things have been a little strange around our house lately. I refuse to buy bread but I can’t remember how to make it. There is a pink balloon floating around my kitchen, which I think may be partially to blame.
I just cut Magoo’s hair for the first time and although he looks very much like a POW, I still love him madly.
After 2 weeks of flaming acid poo, we now hose him off instead of using wipes. It’s cool because I think he’s becoming so much like me. I am fairly confident that I would also shower if I ever soiled myself.
When we pray with him, it goes like this:
Me: Dear Heavenly Father
Magoo: Food
Me: Dear
Magoo: Food
Me: Heavenly Father
Magoo: Food
Me: We thank thee for our food
Magoo: Ahhh ha ha FOOD
Me: We thank thee
Magoo: Ank-ee
Me: For our family
Magoo: ‘Men
Me: For our lovely house
Magoo: ‘Men
Me: For all our blessings
Magoo: ‘MEN
Me: In the name
Magoo: ‘MEN!!!
Me: Of Jesus Chri-
Magoo: ‘MEN!!!!!!!
Me: Amen.
Laylee and I both have minor colds and spent a good portion of the day fighting over whose cold was worse. I totally won because if you fight about how sick you are while bouncing around the room like a muppet Kangaroo on Red Bull and asking the other person to play games with you, you’re automatically disqualified.
For the past few nights, Laylee has requested Dancing Queen by ABBA for her bedtime song. She’s also requested songs by Bob Marley. I sing while Dan contributes vocal percussion.
She’s really sad she can’t marry Magoo. I told her she’d be arrested. I told her it could never work. She says “He’s the best boy I’ll ever know” and she’s probably right. I told her that if she still wants to marry him when she’s 18, we’ll talk about it again.
On the phone with my sister, Laylee said that I made really good Spaghetti-O’s for dinner and she loves Spaghetti-O’s and that makes her very proud of me.
If I could stop eating the Cadbury mini-eggs, I’d be very proud of me too.