The Financial Follies of FrugalJo

Reporting In -- And Reporting Out.

2006-06-30T17:19:00.000-07:00

I've learned a lot about money over the past six months but more importantly, I've learned that I'm a terrible blogger.

I'm sure that to many "blogging" means daily or weekly updates and well, that's not really been going so well. And while everyone is entitled to their own opinion about my writing ability, I think we can all agree that my ability to be a regular blogger blows.

But, true to the spirit of what FrugalJo is, things have been pretty quiet over the past couple of months and I'd like to think the blog reflected that. Yes, all's been quiet on the Frugal Front.

And just because it's been fairly quiet, it doesn't mean there aren't stories to share. "The True Cost of Reusing Baggies", "Confessions from a WIC Mom", "Why Going Organic is Really More Expensive" and "Let Me Put a Bug in Your Ear" are all topics that come to immediately to mind, but those stories will have to wait.

And I'd love to give a little update on the goals we set out to achieve, but not only am I terrible regular blogger, but I just can't seem to tell a short story. I had a final entry written with little updates, but each "little update" ended up being it's own super-long entry, which defeated the purpose of a final entry. It just went on and on and on and on....

So, it's been fun to report in, but now it's time to report out. Thanks for all the comments along the way -- I think all of us trying to live well on one income enjoy knowing that we are not alone.

Yes, you are not the only one whose van doesn't start on the very day that you're to take the kids to the first day of that trendy, super expensive music class that required a third mortgage that all the mommies are talking about because your mother-in-law forgot her purse in there the day before and when she came to get it left the door open resulting in a dead battery

on the same day that...

your new water heater explodes (and nobody -- not the company or the installer will take responsibility for it)

on the same that...

the cat eats a plastic baggie that you're proudly reusing to be more frugal and environmentally-conscience resulting in a $1000 vet bill

on the same day that...

your kids both get ringworm from playing at the compost pile at the organic community garden (which you signed up for thinking the $15 fee is much cheaper than trying to start a garden yourself, but now, reviewing two doctor bills for two kids and the co-pays on four medications makes you wonder if it wouldn't have been cheaper to buy a frickin' roto-tiller)

on the same day that...

you reach for the piece of chocolate cake that you had quietly hid behind an old pasta jar in the fridge -- the piece that you were saving for that moment in your day when the kids were finally -- finally -- all doing something that allowed you a precious mommy moment -- and you reach for it and it's GONE, and you realize your husband must have been on to you, and you lay on the kitchen floor and cry. A good, let-it-all-out cry. And then you see the dust-bunnies, cobwebs and a collection of Tinker Toys under everything as you're crying. And this makes you cry more. Until you realize that you kids have been oddly quiet. And then discover they both pooped, took their diapers off and did "art" on the couch....

And it just goes on, and on, and on....

One Funk Leads to Another.

2006-04-23T13:30:00.000-07:00

After a long, sick few months, I specifically remember thinking that, although being sick sucks, it's part of having little kids. I also remember desperately wishing for just one healthy week. Just one. Long enough to buy some groceries. Do some laundry. Get the snotty tissues out from between the couch cushions. Return some phone calls. Not watch Dora. After that if was fine by me if we were all sick again. Just wanted a chance to regroup, that's all.

And in way that made me think wishes do come true, I had almost two whole weeks of pure domestic bliss: I emptied our bathtub (which was being used as the overflow laundry basket and was also full). I bought some groceries and got back on the meal planning kick. I restocked tissues in every room of the house, washed the cushions with puke on them, paid the bills, vacuumed Goldfish crackers from under the kids' beds. Pure joy.

Two weeks later, on the nose -- well, IN the nose -- we all developed colds. Nothing major. We'd been through worse. We can handle this. No big deal. And then, over the weekend, Gramma and Grandpa were around, playing with Twin A and Twin B all day. Husband and I did errands, enjoyed a breakfast out together, bonded over cleaning out boxes in the garage and fully enjoyed a day away from Twin A and Twin B. It seemed that we all had a great day.

Gramma and Granpa put the kiddos to bed and as they were leaving, around 9 pm on a Saturday night, Gramma casually mentioned on the way out the door that Twin B had been having trouble breathing all day but to "have a good night!!!"

Husband and I look at each other, our shoulders deflating, and we both head to their room to investigate. Sure enough, Twin B was having a very hard time breathing. We call the nurse line and (like always) they tell us we should bring him in. Husband and I do rock, paper, scissors to determine who has to change out of their pjs and bring him to the ER. Of course, we never seem to get sick on a Wednesday at 2 pm. Nope. Saturday night. 10 pm. ER. Good times.

I lose the challenge, put on a hat, and bring him in. We sit down to register and prove that we can, in theory "pay" for the visit, and the nurse lifts his shirt to watch breathing. His chest was practically caving into his back. Tears form in my eyes, I squeeze him tighter with my eyes closed. Immediately I have flashbacks to many previous incidents with him and his brother. I'm not quite sure what happened -- maybe she pushed a secret button -- I don't know -- but in like two seconds, we were whisked into the depths of the ER. Four hours, several tests, tears and x-rays later revealed pneumonia.

After a neb treatment his breathing was significantly better and we were fortunately discharged with an inhaler, a prescription and a teddy bear from the ER "concierge service". After a trip to Walgreens at 2 am, we arrive home. Me exhausted. Emotionally drained. Twin B filled with energy, wanting to tell Daddy all about the x-ray machine.

The next day, Gramma calls to check in on us and Twin B. I tell her what happened and she tells me "I thought it could be something like that..." I took a deep breath and ignored that comment and told her that not only is it a bummer about him being sick, as we were about to head out of town for a family funeral, but the expense is going to push us over. With a $1000 deductible per person and Twin B's not met, we were likely facing a near-$1000 out-of-pocket bill due to the ER visit. Gramma says "I know! Don't you just hate that??'

No, Gramma, I don't hate that.

What I hate is when I don't push the basket in the coffee maker in all the way the night before and I wake up to a puddle of coffee all over the floor, the counter, and the river down the stove.
What I hate is when I get a rare moment to catch up Entertainment Tonight, but some stupid sports event is on.
What I hate is when is the battery runs out on the digital camera during at the precise moment Twin A and Twin B will sit next to each other and look the same direction.
What I hate is when I reach the last can of Dr. Pepper in the fridge and it's gone.
I hate when I'm late somewhere and have to put gas in the car.
I hate when my sitter cancels at the last minute.
I hate growing my hair out.
I hate when I have work to pay medical bills and can't blog as much as I'd like.
I hate zits in my nose. Pimples on my ass. Hangnails that rip down to the knuckle.
What I hate is when someone spends all day with my child, but fails to mention until they're out the door that something seems wrong with him.

These things I hate, but can deal with. But a multi-hundred dollar ER bill on top of all our previous medical bills from this winter?? This is not something I hate. This is something that changes our life, causes stress and tension and keeps us up at night. Causes stomach aches and zits in my nose and God knows where else.

I want to remind Gramma that the reason we moved from Big City to Nice Midsize City in the first place was because of gut-wrenching, collection-calling medical bills. The only place left in our world to tap money (after taking out more home equity lines of credit that should be allowed by law, borrowing from our 401ks and begging from our parents) was to sell our home. Our home in Big City that we'd spent years making "our" home.

Knowing the prognosis for our kids' health and the likely residual continued larger-than-life medical bills combined with our commitment to stay home with them won out over funky shops, hip neighbors and getting to say we lived in a trendy part of town. So we sold our beloved house, moved to a less expensive, less-funky community, paid off the bills and already have depleted the savings we kept for future incidents. Ok, FINE, I bought some new shoes, too. A girl can't lose all her funk.

No, the residual effects of money stress doesn't end with paying -- or not paying -- the bills. It impacts our entire world. And for someone, especially a close family member to dismiss that with a flip comment? That's what I hate.

About Frugal -- 'er -- CrabbyJo.

Bulk Purchasing of Progressive Lizards, or, Shopping For Auto Insurance

2006-03-20T12:53:00.000-08:00

Unlike the guests on Oprah's Debt Diet, our budget doesn't have a lot of wiggle room. We don't have four cable boxes to turn in for cash -- in fact, we don't have cable at all. No leased pianos. We don't eat $29,000 a year in take out. We actually own pans and silverware. Nobody has 16 pairs of $60 jeans in their closets. We don't have any cars that I forged Husband's signature to get. And we certainly don't have a Beamer and Tahoe in the garage, but we do have a van and piece of crap car that both need some form of insurance.

Before we moved to Nice Midsize City over a year ago, our insurance bill was monthly, like most bills on the planet. But somewhere in the chaos of the move and setting up new insurance, we must have agreed to the what I like to call the random bill method, which I think, in theory, saves us a few dollars here and there.

I know that someone isn't sitting in some suburban strip mall arbitrarily sending us bills, but we never remember the bill is coming and because we live paycheck to paycheck, a few hundred dollar bill every few months really hoses everything up. Sure, we may have saved a dollar a month in services fees, but since we ended up paying the bill with the Magic Money account, the random bill method most certainly is not saving us any money.

So, we get a random bill and discuss how we're going to pay it and we end up in yet another long discussion about our bills. Is it annual bill? No, I think we just paid it? Did YOU pay it? Is it quarterly? That's weird. Maybe? Second of two installments? What in the sam hell does that mean?

Inspired by those money mavens on Oprah, I dial up Sandy, our local insurance agent to get things cleared up. Sandy's voice, by the way, is exactly like Marge from the movie Fargo and is someone that we might run into at the grocery store. Heck, Sandy is probably someone that I'd just plain run into. Like with my big-ass van. That would certainly make the insurance process easier. "Oh, haaaayy Sandy! How's it goin'?? Um, this is awkward, huh? Ok, how 'bout if you take care of all the insurance paperwork and I'll take you to lunch, 'k?"

So, I called Sandy and ask her what exactly "second of two installments" meant. I told her about my random billing method theory, which she didn't think was interesting, funny or least bit entertaining. She tells me that auto insurance is based on six months and that we pay twice every policy period. I ask her why. She doesn't really know.

This would make sense if it were on an annual basis, but second of two installments every six months just doesn't make sense. Why can't they just write that? The word"quarterly" comes to mind, or phrases like "this is your second of four annual payments" seem to make sense. And installments? Is that to sound better that payments? Premium? I know it as cheap beer from college, not an uppity word for "bill". It's all just a bill. A bill is a bill is a bill is a bill.

I tell Sandy that I needed a copy of our policy because we were shopping around. Amazingly, in the information she sent, she wrote a note that said they were in the process of lowering their rates, which we'd see reflected on our next bill. Would that be the first of the second half of two installments then? Hmmm, verrry interesting.

Paperwork in hand, and not a clue in the world as to what any of it meant, I got to work trying to find lower insurance rates. Here are my unscientific, completely biased opinions of a few online auto insurance options:

Geico.
Ready to save 15%, just like the gecko promises, I signed on to Geico. Easy to use. Fun. Probably more fun since it was the first one I did. Estimated annual savings every six months: $77.10 or $154.20 a year. Not bad until I subtract the savings we get from having our homeowner's and auto insurance bundled through Sandy. It ends up being a wash. So, we could save 15% or more, but we won't be.

Progressive.
Ok to use. Not as fast. Not as fun. And sorry, but, if you really want people to do this, it needs to be more interesting. Make fun of the lizard. Give me encouragement with beeps of horn every time I finish a page. Give me some feedback on what I've entered, like "Hey, DRIVER A. We see you've been accident free for seven years! We'll be sure to send one of our reps to your neighborhood in one of those cute Progressive cars to help cause a fender bender so you're rates will go up! Now, tell us about Driver B." The savings seemed huge, like half the price for the whole year, until I realized that I actually clicked "no coverage" for either car. Oops. No energy to go back and change it all and not exactly sure what I was paying for if what I printed out said "no coverage."

Costco.
The brochure on Costco's Wall o' Brochures promised up to 20% savings. After filling out their horribly-clumsy web forms, providing waaay more information than the other sites AND having agree to a credit check and giving my social security number online before seeing the rates, I had about had it. I almost quit several times through, but was determined to find us the lowest rates possible.

Toward the end, I had to give a username and password. Every time I entered a username, it kept telling me that they were already claimed. I went through all the obvious names (and many less than obvious) and it told me all them were claimed. Finally, completely frustrated, I entered my username as "thissucks." TAKEN. Seriously? "thissucks" was TAKEN?? Seriously.

Finally I typed -- or rather mistyped "thissucksbigtim" -- notice the missing "e" -- and then it was accepted. Don't know who Tim is and don't want to find out, but FINALLY, I was on my way to seeing the savings. And when I got the quote it was -- are you ready? It was about $300 HIGHER for the whole year.

Deciding that only over my dead body would any of these plans be reasonable, I called Sandy back, ready to find out exactly how much lower she could go. I asked about what every little thing meant on both our homeowners and auto policies. Car rental. Towing. Glass replacement. Bodily injury. Comprehensive. Flooding. Fire. Theft. She was patient and kind, a lot like Marge, but without a gun.

Turns out we can't "renew our policies" until later this summer, but in the meantime, we plan to meet with Sandy to learn more about what we are paying for and to cycle out of the random billing method and back to a monthly payment plan. Because really, to avoid additional fees, (as with avoiding pregnancy by the way), timing is everything. Random? Rhythm? Certain methods are simply too risky this frugal parent. I'll take my monthly statement, thank you very much.

So, we're right back where we started. Sort of. We'll likely have lower rates to the tune of about $300 a year, billing we can budget for and a better understanding of what would happen if a rock hit our windshield or if I ran into Sandy -- in the grocery store or in the middle of busy intersection.

About FrugalJo.

Rewards Gone Wrong.

2006-03-17T10:03:00.000-08:00

Eh. In attempt to reign in the food budget from February's Fast Food Frenzy, we've been digging in the freezer and forcing ourselves to eat what we have. Obvious of course, but the pickin's are slim. Just gagged my way through a leftover Winter White Bean Soup, complete with mustard greens which was about as Irish as it got around here today. As a reward to myself, I ate the rest of Twin A's potty training M&M stash. Then he went potty and wanted M&Ms. As I used my tongue to get chocolate unstuck from between my teeth, I told him they were all gone, that Daddy must have eaten them. Or maybe it was the cat. He melted down. A few melted in my clentched hands. He totally freaked out. While he flailed on the floor, I ate the ones in my hands all at once. Full blown tantrum follows. I calm him down and told him that the M&Ms are actually playing hide & seek today and that I think I saw some go under the couch cushions.

Winter O' Discontent: Dental Drama

2006-03-12T19:40:00.000-08:00

Last fall, when we started thinking about the possibility of maybe getting serious about our finances, Husband and I took a field trip to The Warehouse Club. We contained our purchases pretty well to the necessary stuff: diapers, wipes and a few bulk groceries. Through our trip, we had managed to refrain from all other impulse purchases: books, CDs, bundles of socks, a tent, a pack of forty glue sticks, etc, until we were almost to the check out.

Without thinking, and barely missing a step, Husband tossed in a Val-U-Pak bag of Wint O Green Lifesavers the size of a punching bag in the cart. He justified the purchase by saying he **super** loves them and that often, people bring in little snacks like that into the office -- something he hadn't done since he started New Job. Besides, it was good deal, he said. I sighed, not really caring and not feeling like getting into Lecture Mode about how not everything is a "good deal" at The Warehouse Club.

A few days later, I get call on my cell. It's Husband.

"You'll never guess what happened to me today," he said in way that I wasn't sure if our car was stolen or he received a huge raise.
"What? Are you OK?"
"Well, I broke a tooth at work today."
"Oh no! Does it hurt? Where are you?
"I'm still at work."
"Are you OK??"
"I'll be fine."
"How did you break a tooth -- at work -- anyway?" I pondered the potential job hazards of architecture and couldn't exactly think of any way he could possibly break a tooth, outside of nawing on an Xacto Knife.
"Um, well... remember the Wint O Greens -- well, I sort of was eating them...and well..."
"You broke your tooth on a WINT O GREEN!?!?!"

Turns out, Husband was eating Wint O Greens like normal people eat handfuls of popcorn and chipped a freakin' tooth in the process. We end the phone call. He called the dentist, got in right away, came home and, over dinner, announced he needed a crown. Our conversation was neutral. We never making eye contact during the discussion.

"So when's the appointment?"
"Next week, I think."
"Does it take a long time to get a crown?"
"I don't know."
"Will it hurt?"
"I don't know."
"What do they do, exactly?"
"I don't know.
"What color will it be?"
"I don't know."
"How much do they think it will cost"
"I didn't ask."
"Does New Job have dental insurance?"
"I think so."
"You THINK so??"

Then tension was rising and with that one "you think so?" I may as well have said: "Are you kidding me with this? That you need a million dollar crown because your slamming lifesavers? How are we going to afford that? Yeah, that was a really good deal, there Husband getting the Val-U-Pak. Nice job on that. Really. Nice. Job."

"I'm pretty sure we have dental insurance -- I think it's pretty good."
"Well, can you find out tomorrow?"
"I think the information is in my bag."

Husband's bag, by the way, is the Original Black Hole. It's amazing what he keeps -- and doesn't keep in there. We end the conversation by (sort of) agreeing that he'll look into it and I'll try to be more cheery and try not to make him feel like a total bonehead. I take a deep breath and remind myself that it IS just a tooth and that we've been through worse. And really, what was he going to do? NOT get the crown??

So, even though we (sort of) talked about it, neither of us followed up. He didn't look in the bag. He didn't ask. He didn't call to verify. I didn't remind him or ask either. He got the crown. Didn't ask how much it would be. Nothing.

And then, a few weeks later, we got a bill for about $350 from the dentist. I called Husband and asked if this was a "this is not a bill, do not pay" bills or if it was a real live bill.

"I thought you said you had good dental insurance."
"Well I don't know. I said that I think that I thought I did."
"Has the insurance company been billed yet?"
"How am I supposed to know?"
"Can we get reimbursed for this through your flexible spending account?"
"I think we already used all that up. So, I don't know."
"You think it's used up? Or it IS?"
"I don't know. The paperwork is in my bag, I think."

After we went round and round, the dumb talking to the dumber about this, we just didn't pay it. We have a lot of experience not paying medical bills and I just added this one to the stack. But then, several weeks later, we received another bill, for the same amount. It had red stamps, words highlighted in yellow and made some rude threats, so I figured it was safe to assume that Husband had checked into it and this was indeed the real deal. As I write the check, I start to feel physically ill, knowing this was coming out of our Magic Money account.

Several weeks later, Husband asks if I paid the bill. I said yes and asked why. And from here things get really foggy -- I can't really explain how it all went down, but he didn't think we should have paid the bill and thought the insurance covered it 100% or maybe it was 80. Or was it 20?? But I shouldn't have paid it, that's for sure. Maybe the dental place screwed up???

We still go back and forth over if that bill should have been paid or not. And we still don't know. Neither of us has investigated and we aren't excatly sure where the information is. And it **might** have changed with a new insurance plan as of December 1 anyway OR, Husband might have accidentally tossed it out when he switched black hole bags. Not exactly sure.

And then today, back at The Warehouse Club for our spring stock up trip, I tossed a bag of Wint O Greens in the cart and waited to see just how long before Husband would notice. It was a long time, but the look on his face as he took it out of the cart, restocked it near the bread, and gave me a "ha. ha. that was real funny" look was REALLY funny to me. And not AT ALL funny to him, making it even funnier to me. He told me again that we shouldn't have paid that bill. I maintain that we should have, although I don't really know. He (sort of) vowed to look in his bag for the new paperwork so we could avoid this type of fiasco in the future, and I (sort of) vowed to stop hiding Wint O Greens in his coat pockets just to torture him.

About FrugalJo

Exploding Life Savers
What You Need

Wint-O-Green Life Savers
Ziploc Storage Bag
Wooden block
Hammer

What to Do
Place one Wint-O-Green Life Saver in the Ziploc Storage Bag. Seal the bag and place it on the wooden block. In a dark room or closet, hold the hammer above the Life Saver. Look directly at the Life Saver as you smash it with the hammer.

What Happens
A quick burst of bluish-green light flashes the moment the wintergreen candy is crushed.

Why It Works
Crushing a crystalline substance, in this case the synthetic wintergreen—methyl salicylate—emits light. This phenomenon is called triboluminescence. According to the Consumer Affairs department at Nabisco, maker of Life Savers, "Regrettably, though our mints' flavor is reliable, their sparking performance is not necessarily consistent. Sometimes the background atmosphere is simply not dark enough. Also, moisture seems to absorb the energy needed to produce sparking."

SOURCE: http://www.wackyuses.com/experiments/explodinglifesavers.htm

February: Blowing Through the Green Stuff

2006-02-26T17:22:00.000-08:00

As of today, I've been sick for pretty much 26 days straight, not that I'm counting.

Yes, the month of February was a rude reminder of just how much green stuff the green stuff costs. After a smashingly good start on our own little version of Oprah's Debt Diet in January, we're ready to write off February. We're also ready for that Jean Chatzsky to dump that woman who yelled at her in a hair salon and take up residence in our (almost) germ-free household.

Last weekend, absolutely sick and tired of being sick and tired and with Twin A and Twin B acting like raging lunatics, I looked at them and asked if they had ever seen a mommy's head spin around super fast and shoot off like rocket. They said no. I told them to stay tuned and to watch out for all the green stuff that would likely shoot out of mommy's head.

And, then I wondered, if I really could do that, thinking it would an efficient way to rid of the never-ending amount of mucus that clouded my head -- and my judgment. Yes, apparently, at some point, frustrated with pretty much everything, I decided the thing that would make everything better was a new pair of jeans. I peeled out of driveway, headed for the nearest Old Navy and limped in.

February started with a me developing nasty case of strep throat, which is nothing like "just a sore throat" as a friend thought. No, no, no. This was so intense and horrible that at one I point I was Googling "meningitis" convinced I was going to die. Truly. It was a happy moment when the swab shoved down my throat revealed only strep and the doctor assured me I would live.

They sent me home with antibiotics which I promptly took and then promptly developed hives due to an allergic reaction. Not sure how someone gets to be my age and finds out they are allergic to all things in the penicillin family, but that's another Google search all together. They gave me another drug, which I was also allergic to and they tried a third, which did the same so I gave up. The doctor told me that strep would likely come back if I didn't "finish the course."

But, of course, there was no time to finish and no time for allergic reactions, because I was set for surgery on my foot. Well, my toe really. With age comes glamorous things like bone spurs and bunions. And after years of suffering in the name of fashion in trendy shoes, I succumbed to orthodics, decided to make Birkenstocks an "all-occasion" shoe and scheduled the surgery.

After drilling on my toe bones like a dentist might do on your tooth and not quite fully recovered from strep, I started on a course of narcotics for the pain in my piggies. And while I wasn't allergic to the narcotics, I did manage to lose about three days of my life. I popped a pill and I was out. Gone. No clue. With the buffet of pills on my bedside, Husband was convinced I overdosed, was mixing meds and contemplated calling poison control. And as spacey as I was , I wondered if my head really did spin off like a rocket and landed somewhere in outer space.

But the narcotics made me forget the strep throat pain and my foot no longer throbbed with every beat of my heart and just when things were looking up the entire FrugalJo Family developed The World's Longest And Grossest Cold, lasting pretty much the entire duration of the Olympics.

The the volume of green stuff in our home was truly stunning. Between actual green stuff and the vomit from coughing up green stuff, we could have filled a five-gallon bucket. Husband and I were so out of it that we could barely find the energy to make fun of the cheesy Olympic coverage which, to us, was a sure sign of truly being sick. We called in reinforcements and our parents drove hours to takes shifts until they all became sick, despite being armed with Purell, Lysol and Vitamin C .

I'm certainly not a superhero (despite my trying by wearing Supergirl underwear everyday), but with me pretty much out of running the household for a month, and with a sick Husband and sick kids, it made for an interesting month financially.

While Husband has paid time off when he's sick, SAHMs don't get "time off," time laying around certainly isn't paid and there aren't any coworkers to pick up the slack. In fact, having a SAHM down and out costs big.

We relied on take out food -- a lot-- since I had no energy to meal plan, grocery shop and cook. And it seems like we were at Walgreens every other day and being at Walgreens waiting for prescriptions meant wandering the isles which meant some Valentine items, a couple cheesy magazines, some magnifying glasses for Twin A and Twin B, seven boxes of Puffs Plus with Lotion, countless over the counter medications, some lotion for Husband's cracked thumb and one Stack and Spin storage contain system that we saw on TV and convinced ourselves that if we could organize our storage containers that maybe the rest of lives might follow suit. Tack on six doctor visits, eight different prescriptions, and a surgery -- all when our deductible hasn't been met and well, the month was a financial fiasco.

And so last weekend, still hobbling from toe surgery and with head full of mucus and a pocket full of tissues, I limped into Old Navy, convinced that buying new jeans would make me feel better about all our expenses. The Stack and Spin was fun to assemble and it felt great to get rid of some melted Rubbermaid lids, but there was a still a void that could only be filled with something super cute. Intellectually, I know new jeans will not make anything better, but emotionally, well, for the first time in weeks, I was excited to get up the next morning. And if a $17 pair of pants from Old Navy gave me that motivation, then, for me it was worth it.

And while I may be able to justify the one pair of jeans, I haven't come up with any logical rational for the two other pair of jeans (40% off) the clearance skirt (last summer's style and just .50!!) the belt (70% off) and the four books for the kiddos ($5 each). It was bad and not in the budget. But neither was strep, the toe or the Olympic-size colds. I have buyer's remorse but removed all the tags, and hoped to save the books for birthday presents, but caved and let Twin A and Twin B have them that night.

Yes, we blew through the green stuff in February. And with March upon us, the Cheese Puff Theory will be back in full force. Purell will be considered a necessary purchase and we'll be running to the mailbox every day, hoping the green stuff from Uncle Sam will soon appear, relieving both our financial headaches and sinus strain, allowing us to breathe a little easier.

Lyrics to Rocket Mom, by Elton John, tweaked by FrugalJo

He packed my bags last night pre-foot surgery
Zero hour nine a.m.
And I’m gonna be high as a kite by then
I miss the earth so much I miss my husband
It’s lonely out in space
On such a timeless flight

And I think it’s gonna be a long long time
Till touch down brings me round again to find
I’m not the mom they think I am at home
Oh no no no I’m a rocket mom
Rocket mom burning out my fuse up here alone

Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids
In fact it’s cold as hell
And there’s no one there to raise them if you did
And all this science I don’t understand
It’s just my job seven days a week
A rocket mom, a rocket mom

And I think it’s gonna be a long long time...

Goodnight January: Love Signs and Dollar Signs

2006-02-01T13:16:00.000-08:00

"Any relationship between Aries and Cancer is usually subjected to a generous sprinkling of fights over money -- how to obtain it and how to dispose of it. He's extravagant, she's thrifty. At least, she's normally economical, until she spins into one of her many moods, triggered by the phases of the Moon, and she indulges herself in a buying spree..."
-- Love Signs by Linda Goodman

For two people who can find ourselves freely chatting with pretty much anyone about anything, money is the one thing that stops Husband and I both dead in our tracks. We know we're "bad" at money, have absolutely zero instinct when it comes to money management and have no discipline.

And I'm not talking serious large-scale money matters here. We absolutely acknowledge that we are not competent enough to do big-picture financial planning, and should we ever get that organized, we are perfectly capable of hiring someone. What we are, apparently, not capable of, is getting organized enough to locate all of our checkbooks and understand our dental insurance.

We are unable to talk about these things because, usually, we don't know where the information about the dental plan IS, or Husband is checking with HR about some insurance question or the plan is changing so why bother to figure it out or whatever, and then a bill comes from the emergency crown that had to be put on and we both just assume that because we have insurance that this is an oversight on THEIR part.

So we ignore it, assuming it must be caught up somewhere between the dentist and the insurance company, which usually leads to a whole conversation about how it's no surprise that health care costs are rising when they are wasting time sending people like us bogus bills. And because we've talked about the bill and how lame it is, we figure that we've Officially discussed it and the bill will somehow take care of itself.

We honestly operate this way. A lot.

And because of this -- our total and complete lack of simply taking time to understand the basics of our money -- January, for us was simply about getting in the habit of thinking about money, starting to get organized, asking questions and just trying to get a grasp on what IS going on in our sad little financial world.

So we started by becoming familiar with our online banking system, something I only use for automatic bill pay and Husband was clueless about. And after poking around and learning that the bank actually tracks spending for us we decided to change how we spend our money. No more checks. If it's on the debit card, the system will track it to a category like groceries, gas, utilities, restaurants, etc. If we write a check it gets labeled "unknown spending."

So, even though we haven't drastically changed the way we spend and this raises some privacy questions for me, we figured "unknown spending" wasn't good and that at least this way I'll be held accountable for my had-to-have-it burrito from Taco Bell.

So no more checks.

We also started keeping all of our receipts and questioning all of our expenses. Should we move to a cheaper house? Could we do without the daily newspaper? On the line. All of it.

Every decision started with first considering the financial impact. Husband had to go in for a checkup for some cholesterol medication and I asked if it was necessary and asked how much the visit would cost, since we haven't met our deductible yet. I wanted to sign Twin A and Twin B up for a music class and he drilled me wondering if I could do more music activities with them at home, rather than paying for a class. I made my case that my sanity was on the line and he said his liver was. We paid for both, with checks, violating our new policy but swearing it was the last time and then decided to give ourselves the month of January to wean ourselves from checks.

And finally, we did some reading. "We" means I did the reading and then read key sections out loud to Husband every night. I'd talk and he'd keep reading his magazine, look over at me and nod. I tried to get him to make it his own idea to read the books, hoping he'd have a revelation and be super duper motivated, but after weeks of "accidentally" leaving the book "The Debt Diet" on his side of the bed, and him tossing it back to my side of the bed without even glancing at it, I gave up.

But then, scouring our bookshelves for more of our many purchased-but-not-read financial-related books, I came across this book called Love Signs. The super-groovy 1970s book provides advice and descriptions about aspects of a marriage based on your sign and your partner's sign. Besides the fact that the title of the book didn't have any words like "debt" or "frugal" in the title, I roped him by reading all the negative stuff about me ("it won't be long until he notices her moodiness", it says) knowing that would get his attention. It worked and with him completely sucked in to all the parts about me being a "crab", we got to the part where she talked about money.

Not surprisingly, it turns out the Aries Men and Cancer Women view money, very, very, very differently. Not that we needed a book to confirm this, but to simply acknowledge how different we are and being able to blame it on astrology, rather than our parents or own obsessions or own lack of knowledge or that someone "should have taught us this stuff in college", eliminated a whole layer of discussion. No wonder we're so broke! Look at our signs, dude!

Instantly, I was more empathetic toward him and wasn't firing off at the mouth about how growing up Husband pretty much got whatever he wanted and Husband didn't shoot back about how it was a good thing that we didn't meet in junior high because my mom's handmade clothes would have surely put me firmly in the nerd category and he never would have given me the time of day. Yes, while I was selecting fabric for my new jumper from the clearance bin at Joann Fabrics, Husband's mom was making sure that he was decked out in Claiborne for Snotty Little Boys. And, these little tidbits about our upbringing tend to rear their fashionable -- or unfashionable-- heads during conversations about money but now we could, like, totally just blame it on our signs.

And, so, the start of 2006 was about coming to terms with the Sun and the Moon and pretty much, just how lame we are. We continued to think about future goals and acknowledged that it will, shockingly, take work, effort and organization for them to be realized. And, according to Love Signs, for this to happen, it's going to require "a Sun-Moon trine or conjunction between their horoscopes -- or a great deal of patient understanding from both, to bring these two very different astrological creatures together in an mutually acceptable emotional terrain."

So, in January we braced for the rough emotional -- and financial -- terrain that lay ahead and said goodnight... Goodnight checks. Goodnight financial doom. Goodnight Tex-Mex. And Goodnight Moon.

About FrugalJo.

2006-01-31T06:02:00.000-08:00

FrugalJo lives with Husband, Twin A, Twin B, Fat Cat and Rude Cat near Nice Midsize City, USA. She wears Supergirl underwear every day, considers Coffee her best friend and spends many mornings dancing her financial troubles away with her other close friends -- Moby, Beck, Madonna and the UDO (Unidentified Disco Object) in their living room.

Despite reading a stack of financial books and listening every week to all those money-realted programs on public radio, she and Husband seem unable to apply knowledge to their own situation, think home equity lines of credit are Magic Money and feel honored when banks and credit card companys increase their spending limits.

FrugalJo is a full-time stay-at-home mom and also works from home as a freelance writer. Husband works in the world of architecture and much of their family debt can be attributed to the fact that "you can't put a price on good design." FrugalJo can be contacted at frugal_jo@yahoo.com.*

* Emails from Amy Grant, Oprah, or other wealthy people with TV shows are especially welcome. Emails from those that don't have TV shows -- and those who don't allow TV in their house -- are also welcome. Those who want to tell me about all the bad financial moves we're making should instead contact the producers of those money shows on NPR -- they always seem to feature people who have it soooo together and just can't figure out where to best put their extra $4000 a month. Besides, I'd rather mock you under my jealous breath while listening to you on the radio while driving to the mall than have to craft a thoughtful reply.

Menu Planning and Mustard Greens

2006-01-31T05:02:00.000-08:00

Through our many financially-frugal phases, we've learned a lot about reducing our grocery and food bill. We tried shopping loss leaders at all the big stores, using store coupons with manufacturer coupons on double coupon day, comparison shopping to make sure we were getting a deal, cross-referencing with our detailed price book, and menu planning based on these items. But we grew tired of living on tuna, cans of mystery food from the sale cart, pasta and one pound of free grapes per week.

And we saved some money, but WOW, did we become cranky despite our best efforts. Nope -- no microwave popcorn for us: we'll pop it on the stovetop and save big! After three months of our apartment smelling like burnt popcorn and tuna, we caved to this plan, knowing it just wasn't in us.

And then we met Susan. Susan is a syndicated columnist and creates the 7-Day Menu Planner.** Susan outlines what to eat everyday, has busy families in mind when creating the menus and provides a grocery list to boot.

Her menus are as varied as my family's eating habits: Twin A is allergic to eggs and peanuts, Twin B has some mysterious feeding problems, Husband is like a garbage disposal and will eat anything -- the meatier the better -- and I prefer no meat at all. So, we customize Susan's plans. A lot. But, aside from some of her super-weird-to-me-meaty-weeks-featuring-lamb, it seems to be working for us.

Susan's plans probably aren't always the most frugal -- we try to take out the expensive food days and replace with them tuna, pasta, a mystery can of food and free grapes, but for us, planning does help reduce impulse spending and eating on the fly. Generally, the plans are diverse, healthy, fairly simple, and realistic despite every Saturday for her being "entertaining Saturday" usually featuring some fish item that we've never heard of. It also begs the question: just WHO is entertaining EVERY Saturday. And why aren't we invited?

This past week the plan called for White Bean Winter Soup with the usual soup ingredients: broth, beans, carrots, onion, bay leaf and what's this? -- garlic and teriyaki marinade? Mustard greens or kale? In soup? What in the sam hell are mustard greens, anyway? And what are they doing in soup?

But ever since Susan told us to make Strawberries Supreme -- something we reluctantly prepared based on ingredient bias (balsamic vinegar, Splenda and strawberries over ice cream??) and it turned so heavenly that Husband and I flipped a coin to see who got to lick the pan, we both agree to just do whatever the woman says. Susan wants marinade and kale in a soup? Sign me up!

So I head off to Big Grocery Store and start poking around the produce section. What IS kale? Aren't vegetarians supposed to inherently know this stuff?

After doing a dozen laps around the produce isles, convinced anyone watching a store security camera has me marked as suspicious, I look at my cart. I already have the majority of the ingredients and I remember that Husband invited a co-worker and her baby over to go through some toys that were bound for the thrift store the night soup was on the menu. My understanding was that Husband had already told her she was welcome to join us for soup, so I should at least try... Besides, I had to give Husband credit for looking at -- and remembering -- the menu plan. But then again, isn't this why Campbell's is in business? Adding up the cost of the ingredients so far, I could have bought four cans of bean soup, throw in some lettuce stuck to the bottom of my produce drawer at home and called it fancy.

Remembering the Strawberries Supreme and that, more often than not, Susan's concoctions turn out pretty good, and with a stubborn determination that borders on unhealthy, I head off to the canned veggie section. Carrots, beans, spinach... getting warmer... something called Mixed Greens...

I call Husband, tell him I can't find Mustard Greens ask him to Google it. He reports to me that they are in stock at Whole Foods, to which I remind him, we don't have in Nice Midsize City. Next, he discovers an organization called the Leafy Greens Council** and said that they have mascots for different greens -- so for Kale they have Kal-O-Don, Cabbagesaurus, Lettuceratops etc. and even have trading cards for all the Green characters. We discuss the "who knew?" factor for Greens Council. What must their annual conference be like? Does the event coordinator need to work in as many leafy greens as possible into their menu? What happens if they serve a pesticide and herbicide enhanced iceberg lettuce salad? And just how many trading cards are really out there? Are the kids of the members of the Leafy Greens Council swapping with each other or is it just the kids at the Waldorf school**? Or are they the same kids?

Eventually, he suggests the food coop, which is 10 minutes away, and we determine that it would NOT be frugal to drive 20 miles round trip for greens. Still online, he tells me all about Sylvia's Southern Cooking and that she has canned mustard greens. I look for Sylvia's Greens and figure that while Sylvia might make them, she didn't bother to deliver any to this store. Frustrated yet grateful to know that, during a future Greens Crisis I can turn to the Leafy Greens Council for help, I return to the can of Mixed Greens and this time take a minute to read the ingredients: mustard greens, kale...! NO WAY! HOORAY!

The next day, making the soup, I re-read the recipe. "Discard stems and center ribs from 8 ounces of mustard greens, cut leaves into 2 inch pieces, stir in and cook 25 more minutes." CRAP. After all that, the can of greens isn't going to work after all and Twin A is napping leaving me housebound with company arriving shortly. I call Husband asking him if he can run to the Coop and get the greens AND come home early. He bursts out laughing and tells me I've become obsessed with soup. No, I tell him, I'm frustrated that the ONE thing in my day that, in theory, I thought I could control, just failed.

I pull it together, decide to forge ahead with the canned greens and ask Husband what time his coworker will be stopping by. He says he wasn't sure, but probably around 6. And by 6:30, with the soup simmering, slimy greens and all, no company in sight, and a very hungry family, we dish up the soup. And just as the spoons hit the bowls, the doorbell rings. It's Husband's coworker, with a pizza in one hand and a baby in the other, apologizing for being late.

Surprised, but delighted, I dumped the soup back in the pot, trying to shoot Husband a look that says "what the...??" Later, with company gone, Twin A and Twin B dreaming of Cabbageasaurus, and me content with a tummy full of cheese pizza, we're cleaning up and putting lukewarm soup in individual containers. I calmly ask Husband if he knew she was bringing pizza. "Well, she mentioned it but it wasn't for sure, so I didn't say anything to you." I casually tell Husband to be sure to check out the menu plan for next week when he gets a chance.

"It says I'm eating the Winter White Bean Soup everyday for lunch next week..." "Well," I tell him, "You know the rule -- whatever Susan says."

Recipe for STRAWBERRIES SUPREME
Melt 1 tablespoon butter in a large nonstick skillet on medium-high. Stir in 1 quart halved fresh strawberries, 1/4 cup granular no-calorie sweetener (such as Splenda) and 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar. Cook one minute until mixture is thoroughly heated. Serve immediately over vanilla ice cream.

Link to Susan Nicholson's 7-Day Menu Planner
http://www.uexpress.com/7daymenuplanner/?uc_full_date=20060115
Hint: use the "next date/previous date" link to view all menus. Don't be turned off immediately if you're a veggie. On average, we can use 3-4 meals per week, which is better than pasta (again).

Link to the Leafy Greens Council Cruciferous Crusaders Trading Cards
http://www.leafy-greens.org/tradingcards.html

**Susan is not a relative of mine and I am not receiving a lifetime supply of strawberries supreme for mentioning her. MommySavers and FrugalJo cannot be responsible for helping find any odd ingredient at any time for any recipe and cannot be responsible for the outcome. Personally, I didn't care for the greens in the soup, but maybe had I driven 20 miles for the actual ingredient, it might have tasted better. MommySavers and FrugalJo have not fully evaluated the cost-effectiveness of her menu plans, but absolutely think that's a great idea. And, despite being a strong supporter of most things green, I am not a board member, a staff member, nor is anyone in my immediate or extended family connected to the Leafy Greens Council. Finally, I'm just bitter because we can't afford to send our kids to a Waldorf school.

Oops! We Did It Again: Refinancing with Dummies.

2006-01-25T12:12:00.000-08:00

I wonder if there is a lifetime limit to the number of times you can refinance. I suppose not. The banks dig it. And they adore people like Husband and I. This week marked the third or fourth time we've refinanced, not including buying a different house -- in about eight years.

It's amazing, how, every time we have this great reason to do it. Only once, I think, it was done because interest rates were significantly lower. I've blocked out all the other reasons why we've done it because it's too painful.

And while the excuses may vary each time, one thing remains the same: every time it's the LAST time. But with the housing market the way it's been, it's surprisingly easy and oddly addicting for us. And when things get tough we actually consider refinancing as an option: "Well, we could borrow money from our parents, get out the frozen credit card or just refinance -- at least we'd get that one month where we don't have to make a payment, that would save us some money..."

This time, the goal was to roll in our home equity line of credit and Husband's student loan debt so we'd just have one tidy payment. And, without sharing all the gory details, this could seem perfectly reasonable, OR, if you knew all the details you might just want to smack us upside the head. Good, bad, or just plain ugly, we did it again.

But for sure, this is the LAST time we do any rolling, and from now on we are totally, for sure, not going to even touch the home equity line of credit again. The line of credit, that, Banker Chick somehow convinced us to leave open "for emergencies." I so wanted to say "Hey Banker Chick: Clinique Bonus Week is an emergency in my world, so no thanks," but held back.

Instead, we ARE keeping the line of credit open. It's a bad financial move, we know. But, we kept it open because we are Those People. We are those people, that:

If there is a 1.7% chance of having twins "spontaneously," that's us.

If there is a 1 in 5,000 chance that we'd not know we're having twins until we went into labor two and half months early, that's us. (Now, that's spontaneous!)

If there is a 1 in 50,000 chance that Husband would break his tooth on a Wint O' Green Lifesaver from a Val-U-Pak and need a non-covered crown, that's us.

If there is a 1 in 100,000 chance that I'd wake up thinking I had an ear infection, but it was really just an Asian Beetle that crawled IN my ear, died deep in the canal and had to be medically removed, that's us.

Swear to God, we are a Freak Show. And being a Freak Show ain't cheap.

So, we kept the line of credit open, knowing that lighting WILL strike us, we WILL spontaneously have triplets after a vasectomy, or, more realistically, we simply know that life truly is full of little emergencies. And sometimes Clinique's Three-Step Program is very Clarifying, does make me feel Dramatically Different, and little spending -- on an emergency basis, of course -- for some self-love now, just may save on therapy bills down the road.

Prison Food and Pasta Jars.

2006-01-20T18:08:00.000-08:00

Near the top of the list for being more frugal is to reduce spending on groceries. Really, this is a perpetual goal and, as we all know, is always easier said than done.

I tried making us eat bulk-purchased oatmeal everyday, mixing up the routine with brown sugar, syrup, or -- and this was sure a treat -- almost expired jam, but Husband felt like he was in prison, asking if we could please just have cold cereal a few days a week.
Sure we can. So I bought mongo bags of generic cereal and made milk from powder and after a while, he confessed that, that's not exactly what he was thinking either...

And while I can tell you we saved an enormous amount on groceries during the Prison Food Phase and that we did manage to pay off a nagging credit card bill, I can also tell you that we'd never been so freakin' cranky in our entire life.

We learned a lot during the Prison Food Phase: that we really could save a lot of money by shopping and cooking in an orchestrated and organized manner and that having one specific financial goal -- not just "to save money" worked for us. Rather, eating bulk oatmeal while saying "Bite me, MBNA!!" was a much better motivator for us.

We also learned where to buy bread super cheap, mastered double bagging and reusing baggies, figured out a system that works for us for freezer cooking and learned how menu planning can keep the peace in our house. We learned that it did pay to shop at different stores, that sometimes coupons are a good deal and many times not. And most of all, we grew to simply appreciate what we did have and certainly to never, ever, waste food. Wasting food was practically crime-worthy -- worthy of more time in the slammer eating Prison Food.

And so the other day, fresh into our Latest Frugal (but not quite Prison) Food Phase, Husband was on duty while I was out and asked for suggestions as to what to make Twin A and Twin B for supper. I encouraged spaghetti -- again. It's cheap, they love it, and that way we'd use up the open jar of sauce in the fridge.

Or at least that's what I thoughtI said. Because, apparently, the jar of pasta sauce failed to sprout legs, move the cottage cheese to the side and do a little song and dance before leaping into the arms of Husband and shouting "TA-DA!!"

And so the next morning, grabbing milk for Twin A and Twin B, I notice a full jar of pasta sauce right in front. I study it. Hmmm, no crud forming under the lid -- that's odd. I look to the back of the refrigerator, behind the cottage cheese, and sure enough, an open jar of pasta sauce, the date marked in Sharpie when it was opened -- early January.

Something snaps in me. I remain calm on the outside for the benefit of Twin A and Twin B, who could care less, but for whatever reason I just FREAK about Husband opening a new jar.

Husband thinks I'm mad about the pasta sauce, but it's really not about the sauce at all. We have big financial goals and New Plan that we're trying to stick to, and in the meantime, we need to slash our spending to better live within our means, which means cutting costs and reducing spending on food. And to reduce spending on food means to use what we have. And to use what we have means actually LOOKING for might already exist!

Big sigh.

And really, it's not big deal -- but for me it was symbolic of how we differ. I would always look in the refrigerator -- and even move some things around -- before opening a new jar. And Husband just opens a new jar, without thinking too much about it. I tried to explain my view and he explained his: it was nutzo in the house, Twin A and Twin B were hungry, there was an emergency with a neighbor and he really, truly didn't see the open jar in the chaos of two kids hanging on his legs while he tried to make dinner.

Besides, Husband reminded me that starting and growing a garden this summer was part of The Plan. He successfully steered the conversation toward something far more positive than me reminding him of all the times he "truly didn't see" something practically staring him in the face. He agreed to start figuring out the best place for the garden, and I agreed to start planning what would be the easiest and most cost-effective for us to grow, items for pasta sauce a given.

We both acknowledge that this will be a great learning experience for us and agree that we want Twin A and Twin B to understand where food really comes from. We want them to appreciate the work that goes into the planning, the growing, the caring for and the canning of food. We want them to enjoy the simple pleasure and satisfaction of eating something they helped grow.

And we both agreed, that, if all goes according to plan, after all the work that will go into making and canning a gazillion containers of pasta sauce we'll both look twice before simply opening another jar.

A Planner A Day...

2006-01-16T13:00:00.000-08:00

After getting Twin A and Twin B to bed, Husband announced he was heading to Land O' Office Supplies to buy a calendar, which was odd to me because I never see him use a calendar.

We have a family calendar, on the fridge, the same place it's been forever, but apparently the days on THAT calendar jump around because "it can't possibly be recycling again today because they were here JUST the other day..." Never mind the big green stickers, but whatever.

So, Husband was gearing up to go buy a calendar.

"Why are you buying a calendar?" I asked Husband.
"Seriously?" He shot back, wondering if I was joking or not.
"No, really. Why are you buying a calendar?"
"Well, NaziJo, I'm buying a calendar so I know where I need to be when. You might remember that it's 2006 now. Would you like to psychoanalyze this? Do you want me to reuse a calendar from 1986? What?"

My look must have spoke volumes. He sat down, sighed and knew that with the kids asleep he was trapped. We both calmed down -- I was annoyed that he wasn't going to think twice about buying something after we vowed to more thoughtfully consider all of our purchases, and Husband was annoyed, feeling like I had just accused him of wiping out the remainder of our home equity line of credit at a gambling casino.

We put our smart-ass selves on hold, and, without either of us flying off the handle, we discussed the calendar using the Cheese Puff Theory. Husband acknowledged that he may not need a calendar, since he does most of his scheduling through Outlook at work. I acknowledged that maybe, yes, he does need one. But without knowing, it seemed ridiculous to run out and buy a $15 planner that would likely be heavily used for about three weeks and then probably lost the remainder of the year. This we both agreed on.

Somewhere during our discussion, Husband grabbed a black, mini three-ring binder off the nearby shelf, and his wheels started turning. Knowing he could print a calendar from Outlook, he decided to see what the print options were for a calendar, punch it, and put it in the mini-binder.

At the very least, we thought, this would buy him a few weeks to see if he uses it, and if he did use it and didn't like it, then a new planner it was (hopefully further reduced further into the new year) and if worked, then great -- a free planner. So far, so good. Husband likes it, uses it and hasn't missed a recycling day since.

*****************************************

PRINTING OUT A PLANNER

SUPPLIES: Assuming you have access to Outlook and a printer.

paper

hole punch

mini-binder (or binder of your choice)

TIPS FOR PRINTING LIKE EXAMPLE:

Open Outlook

Select Calendar

Choose your start and end dates
In Page Set Up, choose "Weekly Style"
From the "Paper" tab, choose "Letter Half" (this will allow you to double side the pages of your calendar)

Print.

Back to back the copies, punch and insert.
Customize as needed.

*****************************************

Dollar Store Delights: She's Got Breadhead.

2006-01-13T04:54:00.000-08:00

I picked up a new magazine recently -- Budget Something Or Another -- and in there was an article all about dollar stores and how they shouldn't be underestimated.

Since our move last year from Big City, I haven't been to the apparently under-appreciated nearest dollar store, but thought this seemed like a reasonable time -- and a perfect excuse -- to check it out.

And so, justified by a magazine article to re-connect with dollar stores, I entered the store determined to stay on track. First goal: NOT getting a cart or a basket.

This was an exploratory trip. Just checking things out. I did have my purse with me, but a cart or basket makes it too easy to simply toss items in and then "think about it" as you shop and the next thing you know, you're lugging eight containers of almost-expired V-8 Splash home, with no place to store them, not sure if the family even likes V-8 Splash and not exactly how, even if the family does like it how it will all be consumed before, or even near, the expiration date in four days, but what the hell? It was A DOLLAR. This was the mentality I was determined to defeat. No basket. No cart. No large-scale juice purchases.

I wandered through and made mental notes of things that would be handy, were cheaper, would make great kid's gifts, smiled at some of the just plain goofy things, and wondered -- a lot -- "who in the sam hell buys some of this stuff?" I rationalized that if it was such a good deal, I'd remember what it was and would go back at the end and get it.

By isle 18, I totally caved to my plan and loaded up on glue sticks, some stationery, some kids books and three loaves of bread. The bread was near expiration, but was a kind that, at the grocery store, runs 2.99 a loaf, so this seemed like a rational purchase: it's edible, we'd buy it anyway, we all like it and it freezes well... After similar rationalization processes for the other items, I got in the checkout line.

The guy behind me was singing along with Mick Jagger and the Stones' I Can't Get No Satisfaction which was blaring over the intercom. Pretty sure he was drunk, I remembered that this is why I shy away from dollar stores on the fringe of town. I closed my eyes and repeated the line in the magazine article: "don't underestimate dollar stores, don't underestimate dollar stores" and reminded myself that drunk people probably shop at Target, too.

"Eleven dollars," said the cashier, as I handed her my debit card. "We don't accept cards," she said.
"Oh, ok... good to know," I said, relieved I had tossed my checkbook in my bag at the last minute.
"...And we don't accept checks unless your purchase is over 20 dollars, " she said. "There's a sign on the door as you come in."
"Oh," I said, "Um... well let me see how much cash I have."

By now the line is backing up, and Drunk Guy starts dinging the little bell on counter, implying he needs help, which he thought was hysterical. I rifled through the depths of my bag and pulled out all sorts of treasures -- broken candy canes, a fork that can extend to one and a half feet, a loose Milk Dud, a trial size Scope, napkins from some fast food place -- and in the end, managed to find six one dollar bills.

"I only have six dollars," I tell her, half hoping she'll announce that I'm the 100th customer and it's all FREE. Wooopee!! I weigh the pros and cons of just running out of there with nothing OR trying to pay for what I can. I push the glue sticks, kids books and super-cute stationery aside. It takes all my strength to not start telling the cashier about the article I read, and this really was just an exploratory trip and I hadn't really intended to purchase anything, anyway -- see I didn't even have a basket -- so this is all really not a big deal, and that I missed the sign because I focused on not getting a cart...

"Ok, I'll just take the three loaves of bread," I tell her.
"Restocking, to Lane 3," the cashier calls on the intercom, clearly annoyed with me. "Restocking to Lane 3."
"Bummer, dude," says Drunk Guy, pounding louder on the bell. "Oh, don't worry about the bell, he says to me. "It's an inside joke," he added, winking at the cashier, and singing aloud "hey, hey, hey, HEY... that's what I say... I can't GET NO.... sa-TIS-FAC-tion..."
"Three dollars," the cashier said to me while winking back at Drunk Guy.

As I was putting my stuff away, trying to shake the eebie-geebies I got by seeing the cashier and the Drunk Guy flirting, I asked the cashier for a receipt, thinking of my due diligence for the receipt basket. On the way out, I noticed the sign the cashier had mentioned, made note of where the carts were and, payment problems and drunk singing men aside, left fairly satisfied, wondering if humiliation was the reason to not underestimate dollar stores.

Dollars Saved: $6, minus cost of magazine, $4.95+tax
Humiliation Level: 7
Complete Lyrics to the Rolling Stones' I Can't Get No Satisfaction

I can’t get no satisfaction,
I can’t get no satisfaction.
’cause I try and I try and I try and I try.
I can’t get no, I can’t get no.

When I’m drivin’ in my car
And that man comes on the radio
And he’s tellin’ me more and more
About some useless information
Supposed to fire my imagination.
I can’t get no, oh no no no.
Hey hey hey, that’s what I say.

I can’t get no satisfaction,
I can’t get no satisfaction.
’cause I try and I try and I try and I try.
I can’t get no, I can’t get no.

When I’m watchin’ my tv
And that man comes on to tell me
How white my shirts can be.
Well he can’t be a man ’cause he doesn’t smoke
The same cigarrettes as me.
I can’t get no, oh no no no.
Hey hey hey, that’s what I say.

I can’t get no satisfaction,
I can’t get no girl with action.
’cause I try and I try and I try and I try.
I can’t get no, I can’t get no.

When I’m ridin’ round the world
And I’m doin’ this and I’m signing that
And I’m tryin’ to make some girl
Who tells me baby better come back later next week
’cause you see I’m on losing streak.
I can’t get no, oh no no no.
Hey hey hey, that’s what I say.

I can’t get no, I can’t get no,
I can’t get no satisfaction,
No satisfaction, no satisfaction, no satisfaction

Big City Free Weekend: I'll Huff and I'll Puff...

2006-01-07T04:30:00.000-08:00

A new year and a clean slate.

After realizing that we're basically clueless as to where our money goes but very aware that we didn't have any, we implemented another common idea for those re-connecting with their frugal side: saving receipts. The plan is to save receipts for one or two months and evaluate our spending. We're not sure what to do after that, but this plan buys us two more months AND we feel like we're doing something frugal, to boot.

Five days into saving every single receipt and writing down everything we purchased, we were doing great. So great, that we decided we needed a reward for being so good at spending money and placing receipts in a basket.

Motivated by confidence in our plan, a new sense of frugalness and plain ol' post-holiday boredom, we decided to head to Big City for free-city theme weekend. An art center was having a free family day, we had coupons for three free loaves of bread at a favorite bakery, we had gift certificates to use at an art-house movie theater and, Husband's parents live there, so that would equal free childcare.

We packed our lunches, grabbed our coupons and gift certificates, and stragetically left at naptime, praying to the Nap Gods that Twin A and Twin B would sack out for most of the drive to Big City. After a quick stop for gas we'd be off. Husband went in to pay for the gas, and came out with not only a receipt for the gas, but for a bag of caramel corn, a bag of cheese puffs and a bottle of juice.

"Um, what's all that?" I asked.
"Oh, just some snacks for the road," Husband replied, closing the van door.
"But we packed lunches."
"I know, but what's a road trip without snacks?"
"Did you really just buy cheese puffs? We have a gigantic bag of them at home -- two blocks away."
"Oh, we do?"
"Seriously? You were eating them last night."
"Oh."

At this point, furious about the frivolous and very unfrugal cheese puffs, I started driving toward Big City. I found myself in my first frugal new year's dilemma. What in the world was he thinking? How do I refrain from making him go right back in and return the puffs? Was I going to let salty snacks ruin our trip? Can you even return cheese puffs at a gas station? What would we say the reason was? My wife is psycho? We have cheese puffs at home and we forgot we're trying to be frugal? Would they ask if there was anything wrong with the puffs? Then what would we say? Would they credit our Visa $2.39 or just give us cash?

I remained calm, trying to remember if I'd ever seen a return policy posted at a gas station. I didn't think so, and started thinking about what it would say. Would they also have to start printing receipts with the policy posted too? Have customer service counters? I'm not sure I've ever returned anything to a gas station before and wondered why not. We bought some almost-expired graham crackers there last summer that were terrible, and had they been from Grocery Store, we might have returned them, or been from the dollar store, we might have eaten them in the name of frugality, but we just gave them to the kids instead.

While thinking about what the time limit would be on returns at a gas station, I did something unusual for me: I kept thinking, calmed down and didn't start running my mouth. I took this as an opportunity to make our talking about money not a battle, not something that Husband did right or wrong or something that I did right or wrong, but as an invitation to discuss problematic purchases like puffs.

So, the puffs became symbolic of our spending as a whole. Even though Husband and I had both committed to being more aware of our spending, for some reason, awareness didn't translate into action -- it never even occurred to him to question this purchase at all. Why? Because every time we left for Big City we got snacks. Snacks that usually ended up under a car seat, stepped on, accidentally dumped in the bottom of a diaper bag or worse -- about one third eaten, left in the van until the next trip, and then promptly thrown in the garbage.

We discussed the Cheese Puff Theory all the way to Big City -- the Cheese Puff Theory being one that asks: is this a necessary puchase or just a Puff Purchase? Can we live without this Puffy item? Is there an alternative to the Puff? Why are we considering buying the Puff? Could we wait awhile and if we still "need'" the Puff later, re-consider it again?

We're not sure if the Nap Gods were present or if the Cheese Puff Theory was simply boring to small children, but Twin A and Twin B slept the entire way while their parents ate cheese puffs and caramel corn, licked their fingers, and discussed how this was absolutely, for positively sure a Puff Purchase and the LAST time that we get to have gas-station snacks on the way to Big City. Or, maybe we'll just return the bag, half eaten with the remaining kernels picked up off the van floor and tell them they didn't taste very good. One thing's for sure: we'll have our receipt.

Welcome to the Financial Follies of FrugalJo.

2006-01-05T15:25:00.000-08:00

I heard about this idea that involved sitting down with your family at the beginning of each year, making goals, framing the list and then hanging the frame in a prominent place in your home. I suppose, in theory, the idea is to be super-inspired to achieve these well-planned, thoughtful and profound goals.

Although it sounded like a great idea and some people might be motivated by creating the list, the framing, the posting and having Goals As Art, I am personally motivated by being able to cross things off the list. And if they were framed, I would be the person that would have to take the frame down and remove the glass just to cross something off the list.

I realize, of course, the goals don't have to be framed, but the person who spoke about this idea was so persuasive in this framing technique that I felt like the whole thing would be for nothing and the Magic Goals wouldn't come true if they were just stuck on the fridge with a magnet.

But over the Christmas break, when there was no shortage of relatives around to watch Twin A and Twin B, Husband and I spent some much-needed time together and decided to give this concept a try.

We didn't plan to plan, and please don't mistake us for That Organized Couple that you hate, because it was truly uninspired the way it happened. Our spin on the idea came from a need to simply discuss our schedules -- we both tend to find ourselves a wee-bit overcommitted at times and wanted to figure out who got what night out of the house. It was either that, or go to a movie that started at 9:45, which is normally our bedtime, so pizza and planning it was. Besides, we were getting older. Getting wiser. It seemed like a responsible thing to do. We had kids for crying out loud.

We ordered adult beverages, found two pens and some paper, all coated in Goldfish cracker crumbs in the bottom of my bag and went to work. Personal goals. Professional goals. House goals. Vacation goals. Things-that-just-had-to-get-done goals. Goals for our kids. We stopped short of a family vision statement, but did develop action plans, to-do lists and a timeline.

Husband, who practices architecture, set out to start the grueling licensing process and even noted that he had to complete the first exam before our vacation to Colorado to attend a scooter rally. No test, no rally. He also had some hobbies he wanted to pursue and his goal for the spring was to finally part with the dozens of banker's boxes full of cassette tapes and empty CD jewel cases that haven't seen the light of day since grunge.

Pretty happy with where I was and finally feeling like I was hitting my stride as a stay-at-home mom, I set the usual goals: not lose my stride, exercise more, eat healthier, watch less Barney, read more books to the kids, read more grown-up books that had nothing to do with parenting, write more, throw out the Supergirl underwear that was getting a bit thin and get my bone spur on my toe surgically removed.

As for Twin A and Twin B, we talked about how we wanted to explore preschool options for next fall, get them signed up for a few activities to get us through the long winter, and discussed getting them bikes this spring. We also decided that a garden would be great and some type of deck-patio thingy was a priority too.

Making a realistic plan rather than our normal living in LaLa Land, for us, was a huge step. Anyone who casually asked "how were the holidays??", hoping for a generic response like "Great! How was yours?" instead got an earful. I took their question as an open invitation to tell them all about our plans and gushed about every detail, including the part about framing them and then revisiting them at the end of each year.

And then on New Year's Eve day, giddy with excitement about our goals and on a high that only a borderline compulsive list maker can understand, our little bubble burst. Our entire family got the stomach flu at the exact same time -- the achy-breaky, pukey-poopy flu. And it was during time spent in bed, watching a bad-we-don't-have-cable-tv-wait-I'm-gonna-puke-infomercial about how to get rich quick that it hit me. It was what we DIDN'T talk during our goal conversation that made another wave of vomit hit me: MONEY. Not once during our three-hour plan fest, did we ever consider the financial implications of our fabulously frameable goals.

Just how, exactly, were we going to pay for Husband's expensive exams? And where was the money coming from to pay for all these kids activities, bikes and possibly preschool for the boys? And a garden? We don't even know where a garden would GO, let alone have supplies to just "start a garden". And vacation? HI. Apparently, our van was like the Magic School Bus and it was going to sprout wings and transport us to our destination. And aside from spending, what about saving? How much would we be bringing in this year? What were our anticipated medical expenses? And how much does removing a claw from a middle left toe cost, anyway?

Realizing this spoke volumes about the way we live our life. And many might say rock on -- why talk about it if you don't have to? But we are the people that need to. We don't have a trust fund or an imminent inheritance. We live paycheck to paycheck -- or rather we should. Living paycheck to paycheck would be an improvement for us instead of accumulating more debt. We should not be trusted with home equity lines of credit. We are honestly surprised every six months when the auto insurance bill needs to be paid. Shocked when the car registration tabs are due and think it's downright rude to get a phone disconnection notice when it was really the fault of The Bank's automatic bill pay process.

It's not that we never talk about money, but I think, rather, it's that we ALWAYS talk about money. It lingers. It's ever-present and is easier not to talk about because why? Every conversation is painfully the same: how to reduce our spending, save more, afford a car repair bill, pay for birthday presents, provide for a few of life's little luxuries, etc. There is never resolution and it's exhausting. Husband and I both simply ignore the topic, assume that we're both doing something about it and hope that Amy Grant will have received our Three Wishes telepathically and do a tear-jerking concert in our cul-de-sac as I cry accepting full-ride college scholarships for Twin A and Twin B.

And with the sad reality of our bank account, our commitment to remaining home with our kids, and the renewed energy that comes with a new year, I re-committed myself to discovering and delving deeper into a world of frugality. First up: post our goals on the fridge and let them serve as a constant reminder of what we didn't talk about, but need to.