Pimp My Ride

Taurus Edition. Awww, yeah.

Be ironic and rock a vanity plate.  It says "I'm educated.  I'm smart enough to drive a used car.  It's my choice!"

It fits nicely in the garage, which is nice for those of us with depth perception limitations.

Customizable!  Window decals say "I'm too classy for bumper stickers, but I belong, too!"

Optional entertainment center!

Holds two large car seats!

Drive this and you too can watch "Toy Story" every day around town!  Quote obscure lines in conversation!

See that toy car on the middle seat?  Mom, you can squeeze yourself in there on car trips to quiet the natives!

12 programmable radio stations- AM and FM.

Plays cassette tapes. Now you can play those old Boyz II Men singles!  Let's Don't Wait Til the Water Runs Dry...

Window Shades optional.  Nothing says "I have children and boy, do I like it!" like this shade.

Convinced, yet?  Ditch the payments and you too can act your wage!

What If?

I have pet topics of ruminiation.  Like all the little boys I had crushes on growing up.  I can still remember all of their names.  Starting in kindergarden: Christopher, Jason, Thomas, Chris, Joe, Adam, Adam again, Andy, Andy again, Jeremy, Josh, and by 11th grade I went on a few (like 3) dates.

I sometimes wonder where I'd be, what I'd be doing, and how content I'd be if I'd never met Alex.  I wonder if I'd still be living near Atlanta.  If I'd still be teaching middle school.  If I would have bought a home.  Who my friends would be.  What I'd do with my summers-- full of promise, and also full of weddings.  I think about awesome women who are living their lives on purpose as single women.  There are all that and a bag of chips.  It would be condescending of me to say "all they need is a husband and they'd be set," but I still want that for them because it is not good for man (or woman) to be alone, and I sure need someone.  So I wonder how I'd feel if I was in that situation, where society tells women to be both independent (the shoes on my feet, I bought it) and how to snag Mr. Right so that our Pottery Barn inspired fantasies will be realized.  Monogrammed towels.  Place settings.  Crib bumpers.  All that 'married lady' stuff.

I know for sure that being married to Alex and us being parents to Jeremiah and Sarah are absolutely God's will and his blessing on our lives.  I have three mental snapshots of my life's highlight reel thus far: smiling from ear-to-ear as I walked down the aisle, holding Jeremiah for the first time, and exclaiming "Sarah!" as she decided it was time to be born, with or without a doctor to guide her entrance into the world.

Family life is a lot more sacrifical than I could have imagined.  These baby years feel like an anti-selfisness boot camp punctated by some wonderful times of discovery and laughter. 

I'm not sure if this all ties together in print, but to me, all of this is to say, God gives us exactly what and who we need, when it is for our benefit, and even for our training, and I'm just grateful for what I've been given.  May I cradle these blessings with open hands. 

And that's all I have to say about that.

P-Dub Redux

Acquaintances.

Friends.

BFF (with a book plug!)

I saw/meet/became BFF (for 1.75 minutes) with Ree Drummond, the self proclaimed Pioneer Woman at her book signing at the Borders store in Buckhead, GA.  I have followed her blog since seeing it linked on a friend's (hi Lara!) blog.  PW chronicles her life on her family's ranch and she's just my kind of weird.  Witty, authentic, talented, smart, fun, and just plain rad.

My friend Denise and I got down to the Borders at 4 p.m. to get our wristbands.  We were in the fifth group to be admitted to the line.  We made it down in plenty of time and were able to check out Filene's basement.  We tried on prom dresses and I actually bought an inexpensive navy mini-dress with tasteful faux bedding on the scoop neckline.  With strappy silver shoes, I looked pretty darn good, tummy bulge and all.  Almost smokin', if I may say so.  I admit it: I have a pretty healthy body image.  I couldn't handle any more insecurities!

We get back to the store and piddle around the cafe until P-Dub takes the mic to welcome the crowd.  Her husband, the Marbolo Man (MM) is there with their two sons, all clad in boots and cowboy hats.  The man truly must be heroic, because the flocks of slightly manic women wanting my signature and picture would spook me.  Plus, his wife (PW) is always extolling his Wranglers.  I would worry that some zealous fan would want to check him out a little too closely.  But PW must be more secure than I am, mini-dress and all.

Denise and I wait in the long line that snakes in and out of the humor, HTML, and photography aisles.  We exchange PW tidbits with the two ladies in front of us.  When we are about in the last aisle before our PW encounter, I notice that she has a fan pointed toward her.  I am in the throes of a dry cough/snotty nose/sweating moment and am trying to keep my composure after standing in line for two hours.  I mention to the ladies that PW has written about her sudden sweat spells when she gets very nervous, notably right before her wedding.  And PW hears me!  Kindred spirits, I tell you.

We make our way up to Ree, who is as gracious and lovely as her writing.  She comments on my kids' baby pictures, encourages Denise as she prepares to homeschool, signs her book and smiles for our picture.

On our way home, we even manage to find a La Madeleine in Sandy Springs, where I inhale a Chicken Friand with Mushroom Sauce.  A PW day from beginning to end.  Fashion, foibles, and food.

As Ree would say, The End and Amen,
M-Yo

Household Minutae

1.  Are all men wanton towel users?  Alex grabs a fresh towel every day (unless lovingly reminded), so we end up with about 4 towels hanging up at any given time-- his towel from yesterday, today's, mine, and maybe a rogue towel hanging by the bathtub.

2.  Why are young children so facisnated  by the dishwasher?  They seem to zone in whenever I open the door to load it.

That's all I've got today.  (And yes, yes.  I am grateful for the dirty-towel maker and dirty sippy-cup users.)

Stupid Tax

Been There.

Done That.

Bought the painfully expensive t-shirt.

Sold the painfully expensive van.

Remember my cheerful post about our new van?  The one where I was like "I know this is stupid, but hey, we need it?"  Yeah, that was denial.

Stupid Tax is Dave Ramsey speak for going into debt.  As of this Friday, we are debt-free except for our mortgage.  That's a big except, but being out of consumer debt is a huge relief.

But it hurt.  Really hurt. 

To recap:
Years 1-2 of marriage:  Live in a cute apartment.  Sleep on floor with twin mattresses for a few months.  Pay off $24,000 in student loan/credit card/stupid tax debt.

Years 3-3 1/2:  Buy small, older townhouse that costs less than our combined salaries. Fix it up.  Put in energy efficient windows.  Resurface counter tops.  Put in tile.  Paint.  Go on vacations.

Year 3 1/2:  Wake up to biological clock and have absolute, total meltdown.  MUST HAVE BABY. 

Year 4:  Have precious, life-changing baby boy.  Leave teaching to be a stay-at-home mom.  Economy tanking.  Alex takes a new job 6 weeks after bringing baby home to our perfectly feathered nest.

Move to another cute little apartment in a new city.  Sell townhouse.  Lose on the deal.  '98 Malibu keeps breaking.  Buy nice 2004 Highlander.  Commit to building a house.  Cue financial spiral.

Year 5:  Move into new house.  Take out savings and buy new furniture.  See savings dwindle each month as expenses outpace income.  Conceive another precious baby.  Must have mini-van.  Everyone with two or more kids have a mini-van. 

Year 6:  Sweet baby girl arrives healthy.  Life is good.  Rollin' in the van.  High medical deductible.  Bleeding money.  Stress. Two kids. Sacrifice of time and sanity.  Stress.

Which takes us to October of last year.  We both arrive at the conclusion that is is just not worth it to have a nice car if it is a burden on the family.  We literally could not talk about money because it was such a source of stress.  So, we sell (dump) the van at a significant loss, take out Roth money (ouch, ouch, ouch), buy a cash car (2001 Taurus) and start digging out from the credit cards that we've used to float our high medical bills.

February 2011:  With our tax return (which was our hard earned money to begin with, not found money), we pay off the last bill.  We cough up the cash to pay a sitter for a long overdue date.  We buy nice car seats for our kids.  And dream of going to Hawaii.  Hopefully with, you guessed it, cash.

And now?  Save.  Rebuild savings- for medical bills, car repairs, a 'newer', but not new, car.  Maybe one day return to work when our kids are in school.  Pay off the house early.  Save so we don't have to eat Alpo at 75.

Little blog community, here's my promise to you.  I will not buy a car that I have not saved for ever again.  I will not buy any luxury item for which I have not saved.  If I do, I'll confess it. 

And when I see those shiny vans, with automatic doors?  I'll push aside the envy, roll past in my Taurus, and remember this: the borrower truly is slave to the lender.  And I'm done with being a slave to stress.

P.S.  This is meant in no way pass judgement on anyone.  Just my "debt testimony"!