The Frugal Game

So, dear readers, we finally did it.

We cut ourselves off from our credit cards.

This has been REALLY tough, especially in a place where value is measured by purchasing power rather than virtue.

Evanston, where we live, lies on Lake Michigan, right north of the City of Chicago.  It is a suburb, but (and I probably say this only because I live here), it's not really that suburby.  It's a city in itself, but I imagine it to be really an extension of Chicago, only with more trees and a lot less light pollution.  We are right on the El and Metra lines, which shoot straight into the heart of Chicago, so, on a weekday, you can get downtown in less than forty-five minutes.  Which is really saying something in traffic here.

The people are chilly, but that's to be expected in the city.  After a while, you'll find those gems who remember your name and coo over your babies.  Those are the keepers.  We have a "local" national grocery store, where the prices are high, but the people are nice and if I don't show up with my daughters in tow, I am asked at least twice where the girls are.  We have two Whole Foods (that's a long story), lots of boutiques, and the two houses on our block that went up for sale recently each sold for almost a million dollars.

I don't even want to count that high.

So we decided, after lots of tough battles with our budget, that, aside from making more money, the real exercise we need right now is to stop living beyond our means.  Some of you may say, in your smarmiest tones, "Of course! what a silly notion.  I never spend more than I make."  To which I say, "Bravo for you.  What a champion of liberty you are."  But for us, and I dare say the majority of Americans, this is a difficult task.

Just look at "Black Friday."  I almost felt guilty not spending money when everything was on sale.

But I got over it.  And also I digress.

The easiest way we figured we could do this was to stop using our credit cards.  We started it as sort of a challenge, really, in self-discipline, and it's become rather fun.

Our largest expenditure of "variable" things (i.e. not a bill) is on food, so we stopped eating out.  Hard to do, mind you, in the dining capital of the North Shore.  But we did it.  That meant getting up earlier and cooking - not prepared food, but from scratch - breakfast and lunch.  And actually planning for dinner and starting cooking before 5 PM.  We don't have a microwave (that's another long story), so we heat things up with fire.  It's more romantic that way, even if it takes longer.

The funnest part of it has been the meal-planning game.  It goes like this:

1.  Open pantry
2.  Take survey of the various types of beans and legumes
3.  Figure out what sort of concoction one can brew up with mung beans and a can of corn
4.  Find a respectable recipe online (that poor can of corn is still there)
5.  Run to the store and pick up $3 worth of extra ingredients
6.  Cook dinner
7.  Feel pious

Piousness is sometimes better than dessert.

Sometimes.

So, once the bills are paid, we divvy up the remainder into those necessary but somehow the first to be cut categories, like laundry and food.  It's reminiscent of the arts in public schools, no?  But we manage, and it's been fun.  And we've been more regular.  Probably all those beans.

So take that, materialism!  Pow!

Mrs. Baby

This was originally published on Nathan's blog:

http://poemsbynathonius.blogspot.com/2010/11/mrs-baby.html

But I had to re-print it here, because I haven't posted in a while and also because it is spot on Elsie.

Mrs. Baby

Fat.
Wearing a dress.
Crying.
Making sounds nobody knows what they mean.
Saying all the words she knows in random order.
Laughing after soiling herself.
Putting food in my water then screaming at me until I scoop it out.
Pretending to be a cow but making a sound like a bird. 
Looking for things to throw.
Hoarding items in a secret place that only she knows about for days at a time.
Eating bananas like they're crackers.
Demanding pancakes at any and every hour of the day and night.
Sometimes when she's sleeping I call her Mrs. Despot, as a joke.
She then wakes up, gouges my face and shouts at me for a full minute
Before falling back into a "peaceful" sleep.
And I decide go about my day.

Olivia's Second Day of School

So, yes, it is a little after-the-fact, but I took pictures of it, and so I wanted to post it for all you dear ones far far away.

Olivia has started school - preschool, that is, as she will readily correct you - at our local Montessori School.  She loves it, as far as I can tell.  At least, she is excited to go back, and that is a good sign, I suppose.  She is only in school for three hours a day, but that is plenty, as far as I'm concerned.  I like my babies and want to hang out with them.  Most of the time.

Nathan took the first day of school off of work (figure that out, if you can), so he was home with us to drop Olivia off and again to pick her up.  Which also means that he was home with Elsie and I to ease the transition from three to two.  However, daddy was not there the second day, and so Elsie and I had a harder time of things.  Here's how it went:

1.  We drop off Olivia at school.  Here she is in her new school clothes:

 

2.  Elsie and I try to figure out what to do next.  By default, we go to the grocery store.  Here's what we pick out to eat:

 Elsie chooses "Booty" (a.k.a. Pirate's Booty) and Coconut Juice.

 I choose coffee with cream and sugar (I make it decaf to justify the splurge) and a raspberry and cheese danish. 

Clearly, we are drowning our sorrows in food.

3.  I think we took a nap then.  I was too sad to remember.

4.  We return to school to pick up Olivia.  Elsie waits with anticipation by the door:

and watches...

 as the door slowly opens...

...and OLIVIA comes out!!  Hooray!

We missed her.  But we are getting used to the change.  And it is good for all of us.  Even if it is a little different.

Stories From the Third Floor

I found this unposted snippet from several years ago as I was cleaning out files - I think I wrote it probably in December 2008 - before Elsie was even thought about.  It's funny to reflect on the same challenges with two kids - Elsie is at the same climbing stage...

***

We live on the top level of a three-story courtyard building.  Now, that may not sound so exciting, but when you are a short toddler trying to navigate stairs, that means a lot - notably about 4 minutes, which is 3 minutes and 30 seconds more than your mom sometimes wants to spend on the stairs.

And when you add new boots, which are warm and waterproof and almost engulf your entire leg up to your knee, then increase that time twofold.  Sort of like cinder blocks tied to your shoes.  I think it is comparable to those dreams where you are trying to run on the train tracks and the engine is bearing down on you and it feels as though your feet are trapped in a soggy mire.   Only without the panic.   I hope.

It's amazing what sorts of things your child's memory latches on to during your time together.  Once, in a local hospital, we peered over the edge of a second-level balcony into the lobby below - this particular area had a wall of water and a tall grove of bamboo indoors.  I remarked on the use of bamboo as a greenery choice.  Just in passing.  No real discussion or thesis or anything of the sort.   I probably said it once and was finished.

That evening, however, as we completed our trek from the bottom floor to our apartment door, Olivia seized onto the slats of our wooden balcony and peered through as best she could, pointing a quick finger to the air below and announcing proudly "baboo!"  To this day, regardless of our discussions on the nature and/or presence of bamboo, she will occasionally look down through the lofty heights and announce that she, miraculously, has seen a bit of grassy greenery below.  Amazing.

Smoothdie Morning

It was a rough morning - I woke up nice and early and trekked over to my garden plot, only to find my green zebra tomato plant completely dead.  It had only been a few days since I had last visited, but I was still racked with tomato killer guilt.  Until I noticed that there was standing water at the root level.  Too much rain is drowning my tomatoes, and I'm sure harboring perfect conditions for tomato fungi.  Great.

Grumpily, I drove by a house we are potentially dreaming about possibly purchasing (we're that sure, you can see) - the main draw is a HUGE yard which would be transformed into an urban farm, courtesy yours truly.  Only to find that the "For Sale" sign was completely gone.  Again, it had only been a few days since I last visited - there was no "Sale Pending" or even "SOLD" sign.  It was all gone.

You just can't do that to a body - first, kill off the colorful tomatoes and then whisk away the dream house.  It was all too much for a morning's work.

I purposely listened to every sad love song I could find on the radio in the remainder of my ride home.

I trudged up the stairs in my muddy galoshes and kick open our front door (it has been sticking) to be greeted by the sound of a crying baby, upset at Nathan for not being able to lactate.  Dejectedly, I flopped down on the bed and held my cranky baby.

Olivia asked "What's wrong, mama?"

I didn't want to talk about it.

So I did the only thing any one would do when faced with such a bleak day.  I made smoothdies with my daughters.  And took pictures of it.