Budgets are the BOMB

I was married at the ripe old age of 21. Our daughter was already ten months old and we'd been living with each other for over two years at that point. Right before we got married, I was still working in the mornings, while my husband worked at night. We had more money then than we do now, yet we were constantly bouncing checks and paying the bank loads of over draft fees.

Why?

Because we failed to budget our money.

We'd fritter it away on fast food and other nonessentials. Oh, and on those pesky overdraft fees. I admit it, in the beginning of our relationship, over the course of those two years (and a bit beyond, truth be known) we probably paid the bank a couple of THOUSAND dollars worth of overdraft fees.

Makes my heart squeeze a bit harder just remembering the Stupid Tax (a la Dave Ramsey--more about him in a moment) we had to pay the banks over and over again.

We got married on April 30th and moved about eight months later to pursue a new career for my husband. Since he has no degrees or certificates, he started out on the bottom rung of the IT department and was paid accordingly. He has since been promoted to Senior IT Tech of the entire company (only has one boss above him, other than the owner of the company) and managed to keep his job amongst slews of layoffs back in 2008. He still has no degrees or certificates, so... he's still getting paid far less than those in his field of work who DO have those pieces of paper.

I stay at home and raise our four children while he brings home the bacon. Being a Single Bacon Home has presented its challenges, and but by the grace of God have we managed to stay afloat at times.

Grace of God.. and budgeting.

Back in the day, we had a $500 limit credit card associated with our bank. And always carried a balance. Then we heard about The Total Money Makeover with Dave Ramsey. We'd heard him on the radio and our church had offered his classes throughout the years of our attendance.

His plan is very simple: write down a budget, and don't live beyond your means. Get rid of your credit cards and pay cash for everything. I know, crazy, right?? Oh, and you need to get debt free. Best way to get debt free is to write down all your debts, smallest to biggest, and work at paying them off. I don't know that I can go into all the details without infringing on some copy right law or other, but I would highly recommend his book if you have a lot of debt to pay off.

As of December of last year, we are officially debt free. We own our house (even if it IS a double wide mobile home with lot rent), our family van and the motorcycle we need to fix up to sale. We've got our Emergency Fund in place and are sitting pretty. Do we get to buy everything our little hearts desire? Nope.

But we can budget for it.

I sat down a couple of weeks ago to write out the budget for the year. Seeing where all the money is going and planning accordingly allows us to know when we can go visit family (despite the rising gas prices!), when we can get clothes for ourselves and the children and when we can afford to purchase more homeschooling materials.

Write it down! If you want that gorgeous dress you see hanging in the display case, but you don't have the money? Budget it in. Save for it. If it isn't there by the time you have enough saved, then it wasn't meant for you to have it anyhow. Learn to tell yourself "No. Not yet." and don't give in to the advertisers' ploy of "Buy now, pay later!"

Trust me, the peace of mind you have when you don't owe anything for that dress will make it look that much better on you.

Fences - And Other Minutiae of Parenting

Mollie writes

A friend of mine was in a dilemma about some money she and her husband had managed to save for a home improvement. First, let me congratulate her, saving money and having four wee ones simultaneously is a feat of Herculean proportion. I have no idea how she did this on a SAHM budget, but, there you have it, she did.

(Pause and bow)

The dilemma was whether to build a fence or a tool shed. Right there, I was in a tizzy because both are really critical purchases. Fences help keep the baddies out and the sweeties in. Tool sheds are great places to store tools (go figure) and other dangerous accoutrements of home ownership.

What's a SAHM to do?

What's a MOLLIE to do? In the end, I figured that a gal who was smart enough to budget her money well enough to save a bit for a home improvement didn't need much advice from ME (Mother Emeritus). So I piped down, but, when she made her decision I just about popped with pride.

She and her husband went for the fence. Their kids are of an age where letting them run free in a fenced back yard is the ultimate in blessings. No little feet will adventure out of a back yard with a fence (or at least not as quickly). It's easier to house break a dog when you have a fenced yard. Strangers see the fence and wonder if the parents are actually vigilant about their kids . . . the list goes on.

Fences make quiet statements. "This is where we begin" is a good one. "We buy fences, not designer clothes" makes another statement. It tells people that you are proud, protective and private. "No quick get away" is another - imagine having to boost your booty (both your keester AND your swag) over a 5 foot fence when being chased by an angry homeowner/parent.

It had to be hard, however. Now where to keep the drills, saws, mowers, chemicals and other dangerous accessories? A shed makes a statement to the kids as well. They see that shed, with the lock and the absent key, and know that there are places that are out of their reach. They know that there are adult issues that are not safe for them.

There were really no bad choices here. But my personal fave was the fence. You can build a cabinet relatively cheaply and hang it in your garage/carport. A simple lock on the door, and voila, no curious fingers 'sploring.

So, here's to you, Mom and Dad, another tough decision masterfully adjudicated.

Mazel tov!

Black Holes and Amnesia Portals

Millie writes:

I can't find my brush.

I'm the only one who uses this brush, and the only time I take it from its assigned spot in the bathroom cabinet is when I'm using it to brush my hair in the bathroom. It's either put away or in use, no in-between.

Yet it's missing.

My brush is only the latest in a long line of victims, because we live in a house full of black holes.

Everyone knows about socks being eaten in dryers, but in our house it goes far beyond that. Losing things is only to be expected in a family of 8, 7 of whom are completely disorganized (dare I say it?) slobs – but in our house things will sometimes disappear while you're watching them! It's not merely a localized phenomenon, either. For example, in a grocery store I can look at a can of New England clam chowder from the moment I pluck it from the shelf until the moment I place it on the conveyor belt at the checkout counter, yet when I get home it will have morphed somehow into Manhattan clam chowder. No one in their right minds would eat Manhattan clam chowder. This is why I only make clam chowder from scratch, these days – it stays put.

I can put up with a certain amount of what the retail world calls “shrinkage” - a certain percentage of things walking away under their own steam is just a part of doing business. It's the amnesia portals that really bother me.

See, there are a few spots in our house that have become known in our family as “amnesia portals.” I have only to walk through one of these portals – say, the archway between the kitchen and hallway – and whatever thoughts I have will instantly evaporate. There's no way to prepare for it even when I remember it's going to happen. I can be heading in to inventory the toilet paper supply, chanting “toilet paper toilet paper toilet paper” to myself, determined to only have to make ONE TRIP; I will charge through the amnesia portal, be distracted by some sort of ghostly frisson, and then stand there looking dumbfounded. I either have to ask someone, “What was I coming in here for, again?” or go back through the portal and see if I can find the thought my mind dropped on the other side.

I've noticed that lately these amnesia portals seem to be spreading throughout the house.

Oddly, any one of the kids can instantly lay hands on any of his property from even the most disorganized bedroom; and when I send them to the store for clam chowder, they buy and bring home the right chowder.

Come to think of it, my brush is the only one missing . . .

You don't think all these years of child-raising have taken their - what's-the-word - on my mind??

. . . nahhh.

Gotta Choose

Ever have one of those days where if you don't laugh (hysterically), you'll break down and weep at the pointlessness of it all?

I've been having one of those days.

First thing this morning I had to deal with a difficult family member that drives me batty in order to help coordinate a get together.

Then I spent forty minutes on the phone trying to give someone directions to our house... but I couldn't just give them "turn right over the bridge, past the Chevron" sort of directions. No, THAT would be too easy. The lady taking down my information wanted me to give her North, South, East and West directions, in miles, then as they get closer to my house, in yards. Seriously? While I was on the phone with her, I tried putting the baby down in her playpen, because she fell asleep in my lap and I was beginning to cramp up the way I was sitting. Does she stay asleep? No. No biggie, I was smiling at her through the playpen meshing while trying my best to keep a cool head with the lady on the phone.

But then my phone started to beep, indicating its need to be plugged in. So I had to walk away from her. She was fine for awhile, until her oldest sister woke her older sister by making the gates come crashing down outside of her bedroom. Then she flipped out and wanted out of the pen.

I was finally able to get off the phone (and will be very surprised if the guys can find our house, seeing as she didn't let me finish giving directions), only to need to put a bandaid on the foot of the child who just woke up. She declared she "couldn't walk" and I needed to "hold her".

This same child has been day time potty trained for quite some time now. For the past few days, however, she has been having accidents left and right. To say that I have been unamused is putting it nicely. To be honest, I'm quite irritated with the situation.

So when she peed on the carpet this afternoon, I had to choose not to cry.

Oh, I wanted to. And I might still if this day continues to go the way it has gone all morning and into the afternoon.

But for now, I'm holding the tears back, behind a thin veil of laughter.

Whew. What a day.

The Gloves Are Down!

Hey Millie - Hey Maggie - Hey May

I triple double dare you . . .

We are going to be a year old next month. Wanna go for 365 posts? It doesn't have to be anything deep, just an observation about the kind of daily wisdom we exercise every day . . .

Mollie

Crock pot Chicken in a Hurry!

Mollie writes:

This is sooooooooooo easy, and I expect many of us already make this, but, for the young here's a simple dish that cooks up quick while you're away.

No fuss chicken.

1 fryer, cut up

1 cup white wine (or beer) or 7-up or chicken stock

2 cans of cream of anything soup

4 potatoes, quartered

1 onion chopped

salt and pepper to taste

Dump it all into your crock pot. Set on High if you're grocery shopping, or Low if you're going to work. Cook 'til the meat drops off the bone.

Serve with a bag 'o peas zapped in the microwave.

Pillows, Pillows Everywhere

Millie writes:

My husband has a tendency to wax sarcastic when he talks about what he calls my “pillow and wreath fetish.”

See, every season I get the urge to spruce the place up. Not for March the sober browns and reds of winter décor; spring is coming, and the house needs robin's-egg blue, pale green and a little bit of sparkle to reflect the sunlight that's peeking in through the windows. Conversely, summer calls for whites (with red and blue accents in July) and fall, of course needs orange and gold.

This means that four times a year it's time to change out the throw pillows and knick-knacks, and put a different wreath on the front door. Makes sense, right?

Well, apparently not to a husband. To a husband – at least to my husband – once you get your home set up the way you like it you're done, and you should never move anything or change anything again. “But I was just getting used to this room,” is his plaintive cry when I sweep in with an armful of overstuffed brocade or fleece and start collecting afghans and oil lamps.

Last Sunday turned out to be Re-Pillow for Spring Day. You can't plan for these things - I think it's something about the tides or the pollen count – but the way Lance carried on, you'd have thought I sprung it on him at the last minute expressly to annoy him. Because I am a prudent, frugal housewife we already have all the pillows and throws that are necessary, but still you need something fresh so we went out to scour the thrift shops.

We have hundreds of sand dollars – collected during a delightfully frenzied low tide on the midnight of our fifth anniversary – and I had the bright idea of buying 3 glass cylinders of graduated sizes and filling each with a stack of sand dollars. (I know, right??) We also found a gigantic green-glass lidded jar (one of those that looks kind of like a pumpkin) to hold the rest of the sand dollars, plus a really pretty green-and-blue glass mosaic candle holder. It was just the shot of color and sparkle that room needed, and with a coupon I had it was all less than 10 bucks.

Lord, you'd've thought I was dragging that man around to vasectomy clinics for free samples. He's not cranky by nature but he thinks this constant need of mine to be re-feathering a perfectly good nest is evidence that I'm perilously close to needing one of those coats that are all arms and a nice long rest cure. He was polite and gallant because it's impossible for him to be any other way, but he wasn't really getting what I'd call “with the program.”

We came home and moved a few ornaments around, swapped the ornaments and the pillows and wreaths on the front and back doors and then went about our business. There didn't happen to be any kids at home while all this was going on, but they gradually filtered in.

And every single one of them not only noticed the changes immediately, they applauded them.

Today Lance confessed to me, “Okay, I admit it. Sunday I was thinking, 'All right, go ahead and do this, if it pleases you, but don't think anyone else will notice, and don't pretend the kids will care.' Then they all come through and say, 'Yayyy! It's the Spring Stuff!' Maybe you're right about it being important how things look. Maybe down deep someplace even I care about stuff like that.”

As you know, I am a loving and a dutiful wife, so I hastened to assure him that I know a rare and ethereal soul such as his is far above such worldly concerns as comfort and beauty. He wandered off, mollified (or maybe I mean “millie-fied”). I watched him smile at the “rainbows” thrown on the wall by the sunlight reflecting off the glass mosaic, and run his hand absent-mindedly along the velour throw on the back of the couch. He settled into the cushioned chair in front of his laptop (placed in a non-glare location, with the aquarium on one side and the heater on the other) just as the teapot began to whistle. I heard him sigh contentedly.

Sometimes keeping house is as much about subterfuge as it is about art.

Mollie writes:

Hey, what's the deal with pillows???? John and I had our share of pillow fights . . . we still do!

I LOVE having lush pillows all over the house - I'd put 'em in the bathroom and shop if I thought I'd get away with it (oh, yeah, I have a water-proof pillow in my tub . . .).

My husband, spartan fellow he is, hates pillows. He sees it as the ultimate waste in money . . .

So sorry, honey!