Whining and errata. Errata and whining.
First, the correction: in our previous post, we erroneously assumed that the boy had neglected to bestow upon us the smelly green security blanket also known as the weekly cash.
The boy had merely neglected to inform us that the cash was on his desk.
Let that be a lesson to us in Our Issues, and how they shape our view of the world. Thankfully, I learned this before having A Discussion regarding the distribution of funds within the household.
We did have a discussion (lowercase) on earmarking a percentage of the weekly amount towards groceries and trying to stick to that percentage. I believe that would make the breakdown 20% fuel/transportation; 40% groceries; 20% cash for the boy; 20% cash for me.
Now, onto the whine.
Wasted food by way of failed cooking experiments makes me sad. Always has, always will. There's something so pathetic about the failed food, sitting there sadly, so close to and yet so far from its intended outcome. Food that fails by neglect--such as fuzzy fruit, green meat, and wilted lettuce--makes me mildly sad, but it's not the crushing blow to the spirit that is cooking gone wrong.
When you're living on a tight budget, cooking gone wrong is a gut punch.
My cookies went wrong. Horribly, disgustingly, throw them away wrong.
Mixing, cutting, timing--those all went well. It was our flour (the budget stuff we had left in the pantry from a big sale, not our usual name brand flour) that doomed these poor treats to failure. It's marked all purpose, but it's really not. It's closer to bread flour, and attempting to use it as all purpose flour leads to dried out baking in the best case, scorched in the worse, and all of the above in the worst.
The worst part isn't looking at them as they cool on the rack, knowing they'll probably never be eaten once you get over the waste. No, the worst part is keeping a running mental tally of how much each individual ingredient cost and wondering how you could have been so stupid as to waste X amount of money through the false economy of using the cheap flour.
Reader, I wept at them.
Random wish list
Not the usual "If money rained from the sky" sort, more a list of practical things for which I should start saving up.
- An exersaucer. Sometimes, like when I need to do dishes or laundry or get dressed, or go to the bathroom, I think I'd sell my left breast for one of these. Or trade the cats. Or possibly the car. By the time I could in theory have that money saved (at least two months), it'll be less of a life saver, so perhaps I should start pretending I don't have one as a matter of principle. I'd ask my mother how she survived without one, but already know the answer would somehow involve uphill in the snow both ways. (The actual answer is probably more along the lines of she wore me in a backpack or strapped me into the Johnny Jump-Up or handed me off to my then-14 year old sister.)
- A pedicure. My toes are still suffering from that time in my third trimester when I cut the nails way too short so I wouldn't have to cut them again before I had the baby.
- A haircut. Which won't happen until even product won't fix it and/or I have to start interviewing.
- Comfortable shoes for winter. I can cheer myself with the knowledge that, even with all the money in the world, my post-baby feet don't fit well into anything, so this one's a perma-pipedream.
- New nursing bras. After six months of constant wear, the stash is getting ragged around the edges.
- A half-dozen to a dozen one-size all-in-one diapers. She'll outgrow the ones she's in at some point, and it doesn't make sense to not have the next size up already in stock.
Of course, that last one's the one I should consider my top priority.
Money stuff.
The budget is doing better this week than last. In theory, I have a whopping ten dollars for the rest of the week, where last week, I had pocket change.
In theory.
I haven't actually been given the money, so I'm still at zero when it comes to cash on hand, the parking for our Kindercare tour having eaten up most of the aforementioned pocket change. It's not like I had plans for that ten, beyond sticking it in my wallet and just knowing it was there like a small, green, stinky security blanket, but the lack of it is making me cranky.
I suspect I'm going to have to speak to the boy about how we handle the weekly cash divide, explain how having to ask for my share makes me feel inadequate and more like a dependent than a partner, and do it without somehow making him feel like I'm accusing him of something.
That's going to be fun.
We've developed a bad habit, even when I'm working, of sliding into expected gender roles when it comes to bill paying. We didn't used to be that way. I think it started after the tech crash, during my long and miserable period of unemployment. It's something I keep meaning to address (and I've tried in a half-assed fashion once or twice) because it drives me bananas.
When we both have income, I'd rather we just divide things up and write separate checks, like we did when we were still renting. When it's just him working, I'd still like to sit down and go over the bills as a family, even if the only check in the envelope has his name on it.
In other, totally unrelated news, we're taking a break from solids. The girl's still not very into them, and it's not worth the time, mess, and general upset to keep pushing them. She gets a week break, then we'll try again. She'll be ready when she's ready, no sense in forcing the issue.
I am not a Viking.
I mean, I plan on sleeping soon, but my brain's still rebelling. And meal planning. I hate meal planning.
I need to come up with an inexpensive yet tasty entree that will reheat well so that I know what to get when we go grocery shopping on Sunday. Tragically, I'm sick of everything I can cook on the cheap.
I miss take out. With take out, you just had to choose an area of the world, narrow it down to a specific country, and order some vague facsimile of a popular regional dish. Take out ruled.
My brain needs a new spin doctor. All the one it has can come up with is, "It's more than just a way to save money! Cooking at home is teaching your child valuable life-lessons!"
You know, my parents cooked at home.
It taught me that damn, some days, I'd really rather just have mediocre Chinese.
Hey! What she said.
Sometimes Blogging Baby is just plain boring and makes me roll my eyes.
Other times, they give good link.
This post, from Friday Playdate, falls into the latter category.
One of the things that I didn't quite count on was the feeling of losing my own carefully discovered and nurtured identity. More of that identity than I care to admit is/was tied up in work and hobbies that have been placed on the back burner, or in clothing that either no longer fits or is no longer practical. Frankly, the person I see in the mirror isn't the person I see in my mind.
It's what drives me batty about online forums for mothers. People there don't call you by name, they call you "Mama." "You go Mama!" "I hear you, Mama!"
Mama.
Isn't there more to me than this? Inside, I'm still the girl who could walk into a Sephora and have the staff all know her by name, the girl who could throw out nuggets of pop culture trivia as easily as breathing, or roll her eyes and debug a project's CSS in the time it took you to ask me what the problem was. Remember me? I'm the one who could make a margarita that would knock you on your ass.
These days, Sephora's one of those things I can no longer afford, my pop culture knowledge is increasingly dated, and I'd have to drag out a book to debug your CSS (use it or lose it, baby). I can still make the margarita, but I won't be joining you with one of my own.
I guess you could say I'm on hold.
Just don't think of me as disconnected.
Daycare blues.
Back when we were still pregnant, we put in an application for the daycare at the boy's place of employment. For lo, we were good little worker bees carefully getting all their ducks in a row. Only, as it turns out, not. Despite putting in applications before we even had settled on a name, despite our crossed fingers and well-knocked wood, when last we checked, we were still about two years away from an opening. So, we've been looking at our other options.
It's grim. I mean, I knew it was grim before I had a kid, but I knew it in the abstract, "Gee, this metro area really needs more childcare that working families can afford!" way with a side of "Gee, this metro area really has its head up its ass as far as childcare regulation goes." The concrete reality of it is far worse. The pickings are slim, and once you've narrowed things down to places you'd feel safe leaving your only child that don't currently have outstanding complaints filed against them with the state, the pickings are closer to none.
We toured the single in-city KinderCare today, and will need to decide soon if we're going to put in the $60 application.
The pros
- Probably will have an opening when I find full time work
- Looks like a good program
- Comes recommended by friends
The cons
- $350/week
- Will do cloth, but only with a doctor's note
- Downtown, so out of our way in the worst way
- Did I mention the part where it's $350/week?
I'm starting to see why people move out to the 'burbs. Sure, with the longer commute, you pay more for gas, but the KinderCare our friends send their son to is $125 a week cheaper, and they're only about 15-25 minutes away from the city, and $125 a week is a lot of gas, even at today's prices. Plus, there seem to be plenty of centers out there, one for every subdevelopment. It's daycare heaven. Too bad that a: we're not in a position to move to the 'burbs; and b: I find them hellish, even if we were.
If I had any real way of knowing when and where I'd be working outside the home again, it would make things easier. Right now, all we know for certain is that there may be a slot opening up in December somewhere that I may be able to fill. The uncertainty of contract work doesn't mix well with motherhood, but it's about all that's out there in my field. Staying home's not an option. I need to be pulling in a regular income by next spring at the latest, and it has to be enough to take care of both daycare and the non-essential expenses.
Bleh. Two or three more places left to call. One of them has an application fee of $100. Just to apply. No information about cost per week.
Why do I suspect KinderCare is going to start looking like a blue light special?
First Rule of Cloth Diapered Babies
Save your megacrap for the first diaper AFTER the diapers go in the laundry for their final wash cycle.
Dear house and systems,
Please be advised, we here at (address) are on an exceedingly tight budget. That is why your (insert non-critical need) has not yet been dealt with. We are aware that the (non-critical need) is important, and rest assured, it is on our radar, and when time and budget permits, it will be handled promptly and with great care.
Breaking pipes and disabling the kitchen sink, while a clever way to get our attention, serves only to divert money and time from (non-critical need). Please refrain from doing it again.
Yrs,
The Management
Effect, meet cause.
Oh. So that's how I wrenched my back.
See, the mattress and boxspring are directly on the floor. No bedframe, no footboard, no headboard. Just pure bed.
I recently realized that my stomach muscles have recovered enough that I can actually use them to sit up (for a few months after having the girl, I'd try, fail, and become very confused before remembering that I'd just had a baby).
I have a daughter who loves it when I play airplane with her. It's great. I'm developing upper body strength for the first time in forever.
The other day, I combined all three of the above. I let my upper torso hang off the end of the bed, and tried a stomach crunch variation on the airplane game. Later that night, my shoulder felt like someone had tried to pry it off my body. Being occasionally slow, I failed to put two and two together until a few minutes ago.
When I did it again.
This time, the pain was immediate.
Oops.
I think, I think, I think I need a drink.
Not that I'll have one, mind. I just feel the urge to break out something overproof and slam it down in a manly fashion.
Thankfully, we lack overproof anything in the house, the liquor we do have, we can't afford to replace, and I'm a strong believer in rationing the essentials. Single malt, in my world, remains an essential. (The Home Alcohol Essentials, for the record, are decent tequila, decent bourbon, good single malt, sippable rum, good gin, and Polish potato vodka. We'd stocked up pre-pregnancy, so we're in no danger of running out of these in the near future, unless we actually, well, use the stuff. Of course, with a six month old in the house, "use" has been redefined to mean a small tipple once a fortnight or so, meaning we probably won't run out of anything until she's old enough to drink.)
It remains, however, that I am tense and stressed and just want to kick back and not be a responsible adult for an hour or two. Maybe, instead of a shooter, what I really want is one of those froofy drinks with umbrellas, to be consumed while wearing something equally froofy and preferably pink.
The ducks are circling again, waiting for their chance at nibbling me to death.
I'd like to have a nervous breakdown, but I'm too busy with parenting, or laundry, or cooking, or insert task here. My body, sick of being driven past its comfort zone, is rebelling. My back is being twitchy, my hair needs a trim, and my great experiment in avoiding makeup hasn't done jack about the sad, sad state of my skin. So I went most of a week with the dark circles exposed for nothing. (On the bright side, the only people who saw me without my face on were family, and I'm sure most of them have seen me looking even worse.)
I need a break. I realize this. I just don't know how to accomplish it. In six months, I've been out of the house without the baby twice. This is partly--mostly--my own fault. I have several people who've offered to watch the girl, but I still don't feel comfortable leaving her with anyone other than the boy. The one time we got out of the house together, I left her with my mother and fretted the whole time.
Change (all sorts of)
Today, we started solids.
Sure, there should be scare quotes around the word solids, as a tablespoon of organic rice cereal mixed with a liberal amount of breastmilk is thinner than a supermodel after a bout of food poisoning, but scare quotes or no, the girl has started on food from a source other than me.
I'm not sure how she felt about it. She liked the spoon, as it angled nicely and felt good against the spots where her latest teeth are pushing through, but she seemed indifferent about the actual product we were offering up. I can't say as I blame her, seeing how rice cereal's not exactly a four star meal.
In a few days, we'll try some pureed pears so she doesn't get stuck with the impression that all food tastes like wallpaper paste. Not that she knows what wallpaper paste tastes like. I do, but contrary to what an alarming number of SciFi tales would have us believe, we don't pass that knowledge down on our DNA.
It's another tight budget week. The boy's family decided we'd all go do some sort of autumn event this weekend. It was fun, though not exactly my sort of thing, and it ate up about a fifth of the budget in one fell swoop. Throw in gas and groceries for the week, and I'm down to a dollar bill and the contents of my change purse until next Sunday. A month or two ago, this would have been an exceedingly depressing thing to realize.
Now it's only mildly so.
The soup was excellent.
I feel now like it was money very well spent indeed.
I think this weekend will need to be spent sorting through boxes in the basement.
I was going to spend my insomnia tonight crocheting something. Then I remembered that, when I was pregnant, we took our huge coffee table with drawers (where my crochet hooks and random computer things lived) to my parents' house so that we'd have room on the living room floor for baby-related things. At some point, we moved all the random crafting things I had in the drawer of the armoire down to the basement so that we'd have a place to put the random crap from the coffee table.
I forgot this small detail until, of course, I was in the mood to do something with my hands other than type. Oops?
This isn't the first time this has happened to me. We moved a lot of stuff into the basement in our frantic efforts to make room for the girl.
At this point, I've got so much crap down there that going through it's going to be a lot like shopping, only cheaper.
Food = expensive
As we're firmly in the cold, wet, miserable part of autumn right now, I decided that it was a good time to start making nourishing, inexpensive, tasty soup.
Normally, soup happens randomly, with various beans and root veggies tossed together and cooked with some stock and some spices, and occasionally some meat. Soup this way is very, very cheap. It is, however, fairly utilitarian. As we have the Cook's Illustrated cookbook for two more days (after which, the library makes us give it back), we decided to make their Hearty Lentil Soup. After all, it claims to be cheap to make, and tasty to boot.
It probably is cheap to make, but I'll admit the cost of ingredients (we didn't have many on hand) lead to some sticker shock on account of my baseline being the aforementioned utilitarian soup. We were also out of staple items like milk and fruit, so it was a more expensive grocery trip than last week's by about $14.
It's good that I still had some of last week's money left, or I'd have precious little to get me through to the end of this week. Nothing like spending more than 3/4 of your weekly cash on the first day.
In other thrilling and exciting news, having learned that we're about two years away from an open spot at any of the University's day cares, despite getting on the wait list before the girl was even born, we've started looking for slots in other, less convenient places. I somehow expect I'll be looking at sticker shock there, too.
