But I play one on the Internet
Evidently I missed my calling as a financial advisor. I’m absolutely SUPER at it, by the way. Here goes: Don’t spend what you don’t have.
You’re welcome!
If you require more information than that (so demanding), well, might I suggest this excellent article by the AP’s Heather Lalley, which happens to feature some heavily-edited sound bites from yours truly.
Alternatively, I can break it down for you into just five easy steps.
And while we’re talking about money… you do know about DonorsChoose, right? You can pick the project, the school, the teacher you want to support? It’s a great approach to a great cause (bettering our nation’s schools, and you KNOW how I am about this topic), and while there are plenty of bloggers running challenges in conjunction with this, I just hope you’ll find something that inspires you to give a few dollars. If you need someplace to start, check out the BlogHer Contributing Editors’ Challenge for ideas.
A fitting conundrum
I love Fridays. It’s the one day of the week I allow myself some unstructured time. Monday through Thursday, it’s all work while the kids are in school. And Saturday and Sunday, all family. But generally I can sneak a few errands in on Friday before the kids get home.
Today I needed to go to the post office, because for SOME reason when I give prizes away on Want Not people actually expect me to mail them out, or something. I don’t know. People are so DEMANDING. And although I have all the makings of a home office here in my, uh, home office, I do need to leave the house to do that. (Dear Stamps.com: Your software is incompatible with Macs. You are therefore compatible with extreme suckage. Love, Mir.)
And as long as I was headed out, I thought perhaps I’d go run some other errands. And seeing as how it’s been rather nippy here, in the mornings, suggesting that cold weather is indeed coming, I decided to go shopping for some pants. read more…
Love is a conduit
I had something else planned, for today, but then I read Karen’s post and realized there was something different I needed to say.
Once upon a time I was a Stephen Minister, and at a certain point during my tenure as a single mom, it was one of the things that needed to be cut from my schedule to help preserve my sanity. I really regretted having to step down—it was and is something I feel strongly about—but there is only so much time in the day, you know? And I was heeding some excellent advice from a friend, too, at the time: You cannot help others if you haven’t helped yourself. My translation was something more along the lines of “You can’t be useful to someone else if you haven’t gotten any sleep,” but yeah, that.
And with our church-hopping here in Georgia, I still have not returned to the program. read more…
Ten years off my life, every time
I would like to tell you that there comes a point in parenting where you become impervious to the rough and tumble nature of kids. Surely, there comes a point where you’re no longer afraid that you “broke the baby” or whatever, right? RIGHT?
Sadly, I have yet to experience this magical time when I can stop worrying about one of the children falling over dead. And while I’m perfectly willing to believe that I am slightly more neurotic than the average person (shut up), I really think this is one of those “features” of motherhood that people just don’t talk about very much. Sure, we all swap stories about the various infant crises. (“And then! That one time! The baby wouldn’t stop crying! So off to the ER we went!”)
Maybe after they leave for college, I will no longer freak out about every little thing…? read more…
Extra special bonus day
Our weekday mornings ’round here are pretty typical: I am up first, checking email and pouring milk, and the kids eventually make their way downstairs and get themselves situated with breakfast, and finally Otto emerges from the shower and joins them at the table while I finish up packing lunches.
The kids and I will often chat about various minutiae while this is going on, and then Otto will either join in or read the paper, depending on how awake he’s feeling.
It’s not a bad way to start a day, all in all. I mean, sure, about 20% of the time the children end up having some sort of squabble (see: Yesterday, also known as “the day my son decided my daughter was hiding a book from him just to be spiteful,” or “the day I couldn’t figure out if my daughter was hiding a book from my son just to be spiteful,” or “the morning both children ended up crying over a book that is probably jammed in the sofa cushions”), but most of the time it works out fine. read more…
So this is being a “modern mom”
I miss the olden times.
Oh, not the REALLY olden times, like when you ate what you grew or killed yourself, because that seems fairly messy and also girls weren’t allowed to wear pants. That just seems like a drag. But I mean the halcyon days of middle America when every modern invention was fabulous and nobody knew or cared that it might not exactly be good for you. Sugar cereal? YUM YUM! Canned veggies with cups of salt in ’em? DELICIOUS!
And as for things like medications… well, if your kid had allergies or whatever, you didn’t have to get special medicine for it. Silly! You just gave them a spoonful of cod liver oil or honey or maybe you gave him a shot of brandy, I DON’T KNOW, but it all just seems like it was a lot easier. read more…
I’ve got your politics right here
I only watched half of the debate last night. The second half. I tried not to, because I knew it was just going to infuriate me, but then I couldn’t stay away. Guess what? It infuriated me! Go figure!
They’re having a little problem with my section over at Scholastic, and I just discovered that my last two reviews aren’t listed on the main page, although they are, in fact, there. So in case you want a little antidote to last night’s lunacy—in the form of kid-sized politics—I’ve got you covered.
Last week, we read LaRue for Mayor. And this week, we read Otto Runs for President.
(Both books, incidentally, were less ridiculous than last night’s debate!)
Further “not in the manual” chapters
My favorite overused joke is about how once Chickadee becomes a teenager, it’s either military boarding school (for her) or the Witness Protection Program (for me). I still feel woefully ill-equipped to handle a teenager, but I guess I’ll be getting one in a few years whether I’m ready or not.
The thing is, though, everything’s a moving target. I remember having one of those deep, philosophical conversations, once, with a mentor who was already a senior citizen when I was in college. “I think about it, now,” I said, “and 50 or 60 seems really OLD, to me. But maybe that’s because I’m 20. Maybe when I’m 30, I’ll see 70 as old. And when I’m 40, 80. Do you ever FEEL old or does it keep shifting like that?” He assured me that the “scary old” age just keeps moving forward as you age (and at least so far in my experience, that’s been true).
So, really, maybe I needn’t worry. Maybe by the time we get there, it’ll be okay. I’ve certainly figured out lots of things I never expected, so far. read more…
Love belongs
There’s an interesting study to be made of my decorating choices in my first marriage and the different sorts of items I place importance on, now, in this home. Everyone I know goes through that phase in early adulthood where you don’t so much “decorate” as “scavenge,” of course, but even once the money was there to be more deliberate about our furnishings, oh, what a different person I was back then.
Our dining room set was… sturdy. Yes. Oak, mostly. Official-looking. We rarely used it. The price was excellent, as I recall, and I talked about reupholstering the (uncomfortable) chairs at some point, but I never did it, even though we owned that set for many years. It weighed a ton. And although I had a few pangs of guilt about selling it before I moved—it had been a housewarming purchase from my parents—mostly I was relieved to be rid of it. read more…
Powerless over pie
Otto is a man of relatively few words when it comes to feelings. It’s not that he doesn’t HAVE them, or even that he won’t talk ABOUT them, if pressed, but despite his penchant for a good story, he is somewhat taciturn when it comes to attempting to quantify the changes of the last year-and-change. If, for example, you ask him what the biggest difference is? He will most often recall (usually while being bedtime-tackled by both kids, who are vying for the best hugging position) how in the beginning I would say, “Okay, kids, go say goodnight to Otto,” and Monkey would go give him a hug and say goodnight, yes; but Chickadee would stand in the doorway—arms crossed over her chest, chin jutting in defiance—and deadpan, “Goodnight to Otto,” before stomping upstairs.
And that was fine, of course, and serves as a great memory to remind us of how far we’ve come. Now when Otto gets home in the evenings WOE BETIDE HIM if he dares to hug or kiss me, first. “NO NO! HUG MEEEEEE!” she squeals, hanging from his shirt. “SAY HELLO TO MEEEEEE!” It’s a pity they haven’t warmed up to each other, no? read more…