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The Marital Money Dance
One of the unanticipated joys of marriage is the money dance. You know what I'm talking about. When you have a great idea for the use of your shared money. Only you need to get spousey on board.
For example, J knows that I am already mourning the loss of my hoopty, the Mazda 626.
It has been a faithful pile of crap for the six years that I have driven it. But I will be moving on to greener pastures soon–a 2002 Honda Accord that my parents will be selling me. The Accord has fewer than 35,000 miles on it, all the options, and is a real grown up car. It is also an automatic, which is the main reason why I am sad to see Old Mazda go. Driving a manual shift car was a hard-won battle for teenage me, as I am not particularly mechanical. Now that I can drive a stick shift, it feels like a chapter is closing to drive a real grown up car with an automatic transmission. (Don't get me wrong. I'm THRILLED to be buying Grandpa and Bubbie's car from them at a price I can't refuse. There's just a tinge of sadness to say goodbye to my skull-topped stick shift. [That skull shifter was actually a gift J gave me when he was in the doghouse one time, which tells you all you need to know about me and J's understanding of my quirks. It definitely got him out of the doghouse]).
In any case, J pitched me the following idea to help me overcome my stick shift malaise. We should buy a Mazda Miata for the summer, and sell it when the fast-driving season is over.
Photo courtesy of Bull Doser
I told him I'd think about it, which he and I both knew meant I hated the idea. Buy a car that we don't need and don't have space for just to sell it at a loss several months later?
Meanwhile, I'm trying to convince J that he and LO and I all need to go to New York City in August. I'll be heading to the BlogHer conference and staying with a friend in Astoria, and wouldn't it be a wonderful opportunity for the Mensch family to crowd into said friend's living room and spend some time in the city that never sleeps?
Photo courtesy of Javier Carbajal
After some preliminary searching, it appears that flying to New York will cost us approximately $750, and that doesn't include whatever we'll have to pay for once we're there. J said he'd think about it. Which we both know means he's not so thrilled about the idea.
Now, we start the dance. Suddenly, movies about sports cars and New York will show up in our Netflix queue. We'll happen to bring home Rough Guides to New York and/or Miata owners' manuals. Friends who happen to live in New York or own Miatas might stop by or call suddenly, just burning with a passion to share how much their experience has enriched their lives. All of this will appear to be unprompted and out of the blue.
Unfortunately, the jig is up now that I've written about this. But, things are probably going to work out, anyway. When J asked me what I was writing about today, I told him I was going to talk about the money dance married couples make, like with New York and the Miata. He sighed and said, "Yes, but we're probably going to New York and I'm not getting my car, am I?"
Poor, dear, sweet, smart man.
Snap, Crackle and Pop Are Crafty Little Elves
After serving the Menschkin a pickle, some hummus, and part of a turkey sandwich for breakfast, I realized that part of my dinner (and lunch and breakfast) conundrum this week stemmed from the fact that we were out of all the staples. So, after dropping LO off at daycare today, I stopped by our local Marsh supermarket to do a little light shopping.
It was at the end of the cereal aisle that I nearly became the victim of rampant marketing. There was a large display of reusable canvas grocery bags, over which a large sign proudly proclaimed "FREE!" Now, I'm a bit of a sucker for canvas grocery totes, particularly when they are cute. These were all Kellogg cereal related, and offered adorable scenes of the various spokes-suns/elves/tigers. Since I had only grabbed two of my own grocery bags on the way out the door, I was happy to throw one of these free bad boys in my cart. After all, Marsh gives you $0.05 off for every reusable tote you use for bagging.
That was the point at which the non-acquisitive portion of my brain started asking questions.
"Wait a minute," it said, dashing some cold water on my new bag happiness. "No one gives anything away for free. Read the fine print."
Lo and behold, that portion of my brain was absolutely correct. Underneath the intelligence-dulling word FREE was a smaller notice that read "with the purchase of two Kellogg's cereals or Pop Tarts."
"Not a problem," said my acquisitive side. "I wanted to get cereal anyway."
I waded into the cereal aisle, and started the arduous process of trying to find a breakfast cereal that meets my (admittedly ridiculous) standards for nutrition. Generally, I only buy the kind of cereal that one could mistake for a bowl of twigs and tree bark, with a couple of unsweeted cranberries thrown in. Those cereals cost a mint, but they don't have sugar as one of the first five ingredients–and generally they only have five ingredients anyway. While I might happily snark down a Wendy's burger or a Domino's pizza, I try to keep the foods in the house to a higher nutritional standard.
Raisin Bran just barely met my requirements, even though the sugar coated raisins bother me. But at least it's high in dietary fiber.
"Mmmmm! Fiber!"
But I could not find a single other cereal that I was willing to purchase. Not one.
Ms. Acquisitive shrugged and grabbed a second box of Raisin Bran. That Sun guy is awfully friendly, you know.
And then I argued with myself for the rest of the shopping.
I already have more grocery sacks than any one environmentalist needs.
But this one is SOOOO cute.
I really don't need two boxes of nutritionally questionable cereal in the house.
But it's a healthier after-dinner treat than ice cream.
I'm spending more than I intended to.
But, FREE! And you'll save $0.05 for having another tote!
Finally, my sensible side prevailed, but only because I had to go back near that aisle to pick up the raisins I'd forgotten on the first pass-through. Wheeling past the endcap display of FREE! bags, I reluctantly placed my cutie cute Kellogg's bag back, along with one of the two boxes of cereal. It simply wasn't worth it to bring in an extra box of sugary cereal, plus an unnecessary extra tote bag, and pay for the privilege.
I was a little sad at the time, but now I feel almost as if I've kicked some butt. Yeah, that's how I roll Snap, Crackle, and Pop. I don't let intelligent marketing or breakfast cereal elves into my head.
The Keebler Elves might be a different story, however. Those Fudge Stripe cookies are delicious.
Don’t Order Food on an Empty Stomach
This might sound like nonsensical advice, but I have just discovered that using the internets to order delivery is like going to buy a gallon of milk when you're ready to gnaw off a hand.
As you may remember, LO and I are by ourselves this week. LO has been feeling under the weather, and he's been kind enough to share his cough with me. This led to a 3 1/2 hour co-nap this afternoon after a mostly non-existent lunch. I woke up ravenous, and LO felt about the same way. Since I didn't want to wait the amount of time it would take to cook before I could provide my hungry little boy something to eat (rationalize much?), I decided to check out the freaky fastness of a certain sandwich delivery chain:
Photo courtesy of Ed!
After placing a reasonable order, I got out the peanut butter, the raisins, a sliced apple, and the last of Monday's Chinese food to tide us over for the wait.
Therein lay the first problem. Apparently, Jimmy Johns is one of the very few believers in truth in advertising. I didn't time the delivery, but it was certainly less than 20 minutes. Which, if you listen to stomach scientists (that's a thing, right?) is about the amount of time one needs to go from full on red alert FEEEEEEEED ME to "I don't know. I might be a little peckish." (Provided there is a sliced apple, raisins, peanut butter and some broccoli with garlic sauce in between).
And then I encountered my second problem. The amount of food that seemed reasonable when I was placing the order is a heck of a lot more food than one woman and a half-pint toddler can easily consume in TWO sittings. (For reals–what made me think I needed a sandwich, a pickle, a bag of chips, an order of lemonade and TWO cookies?)
Since J's business trip will continue until Friday, I guess I should just be grateful that I have tomorrow's dinner covered.
I'm willing to take bets on whether that second cookie will make it until Thursday.
Close, But No Cigar
Last night, LO and I were reading the perennial favorite Pat the Bunny, which is now one of the young man's favorite pre-bedtime reads. In particular, he loves the opportunity to play peek-a-boo with Paul, and when Paul's Mummy holds out her ring. I had the thought that perhaps I should show LO the real world application to what he's reading, in good former English teacher style. So, I slipped off my engagement ring and held it out to LO, saying, "Can you put your finger through the ring?"
Photo courtesy of Jeff Belmonte
LO, without so much as a how-do-you-do, grabbed the ring out of my hand and strode purposefully into the other room, giving me plenty of time to wonder if anything good could ever come of my educational impulses. I caught up with him crouched over his piggy bank, attempting to deposit the beautiful, jewel-tipped and hollow coin. He was pretty understanding about my retrieval of said "coin," which makes me think he knew all along that it didn't really belong in with his 529 plan.
It also probably helped that I was laughing and hugging him, since it was so dang cute.
The Dinner Delivery Dilemma
Photo courtesy of dslrninja
J is out of town this week for a business trip. As much as he did not want to go–he'll be in a small town in Illinois for a week working 12 hours a day, which is just about anyone's idea of fun–I was really sad to see him head out. Single parenting a toddler, even for a week, is one of the lesser known methods of prying secrets from military spies.
I do pretty well in the morning and afternoon. The problem hits around 5 pm. This is my normal low-energy time, and add the idea of having to put together dinner for myself and LO, and you have a recipe for eating a home-cooked nutritious meal of greasy takeout every night.
Tonight, it's Chinese. We've got the noodle food group, the saucy food group, and the deep fried filled dumpling food group covered.
Tomorrow night, we'll probably order pizza, making sure we cover the all important cheesy-covered bread group.
I really would like to round out our dinner selection a little more with other vitamin-infused foods, but unfortunately, no one has yet started a company that will deliver a hot fudge sundae within 45 minutes. (Which I simply do not understand, because they would be a millionaire!)
So, at the end of J's business trip, poor J will be exhausted and ready to come home, and LO and I will be in danger of getting Rickets.
I'm just glad he'll be home before the Scurvy sets in.
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