What're you lookin' at? | Ramblings from a self-proclaimed yada yada yada...ist

More options than an Old Country Buffet

While I was busy debating how to address my high school reunion, surprisingly, life carried on. Here's just a sampling of what's been occupying my time:

Great Aunt Flo Watch of 2008
Geez, you might be thinking, is she really still talking about this? Hell, yes, I'm still talking about this, today is day 55 of my cycle and still not a word from that bitch Aunt Flo. I took another test when I came home from work this afternoon because my stomach felt jittery before lunch, but alas, still negative, my fourth one since Mother's Day weekend. It's not so much that I'm freaked out about maybe having children THIRTEEN MONTHS APART, HOLY CRAP, but more like dying of curiosity; however, even that attitude isn't doing me any good, so I've decided to just sit tight until I'm presented with either two pink lines or a bloodbath in my underwear. I've been cramping on and off for days, and my gut feeling is that I'm not pregnant, but my gut also told me I would deliver Kara before her due date, possibly without drugs, and we all know how that went down.

While waiting for the latest test to register, Luke jokingly asked if there was a way to jumpstart my period. "If you can speed up labor, why not this?" he said.

Indeed.

Weight Watchers
Today marks week three of Weight Watchers 2.0, and things are going...okay. I've not been as dedicated as I was the first time around, so there were several incidents involving pancakes, bacon, and chicken strips, but I've lost 4.2 pounds to date--almost two pounds since last week--and that's not a bad thing. I've really enjoyed the ability to track my eating habits and calculate Points values online; it was through the Web site that I learned one point plus one point doesn't necessarily equal two. As in, three of the Weight Watchers one-point chocolate chip cookies are five points, not three, and I'm not sure why that is, exactly, but being off by a couple of points each day definitely makes a difference on the scale. I just discovered this gem a few days ago, and my newfound knowledge is bound to make a positive impact on next week's weigh-in.

I will say that I participated in a free health risk assessment at work the other day, and baby weight aside, I'm much healthier than I originally thought. In 2005 I was diagnosed with high cholesterol, and my efforts to bring it down were half-hearted at best. I was pregnant for most of 2007, and pregnancy raises cholesterol, so it wasn't until now that I was in a position to retest. I'm happy to report that all of my levels are in the optimal or near-optimal range, and I can breathe a little easier knowing I've reduced my risk for heart disease. It was in taking that test that I realized I'm doing Weight Watchers for more than just the weight loss. I've had an effed-up mentality regarding food for years, and I want to put my best foot forward and engage in a healthier lifestyle. I want Kara to look at me and see a strong role model for making good choices about food and exercise, and I want her to think that it's easy. I don't want her to use food to get attention, like I did when I made myself throw up for three weeks in junior high. I don't want her to obsess over supposed imperfections or compare herself to peers with drastically different body types or run to food whenever she needs comfort. But if I want that for her, I have to want it for me, too. And I do.

But hot damn, do I miss my spinach dip.

It's not all bad, though. I've been doing a little more in the kitchen, and on Tuesday night I used my Take Five! cookbook, a collection of Weight Watchers recipes with only five main ingredients, to make Pita Pizzas for five points a piece. And they were delicious. Isabel, you bonafide pizza lover you, they will not disappoint. I promise.

House
After months of hemming and hawing and pouring over Excel spreadsheets to make sure we are really in a financial position to do this, Luke and I took our first major step in becoming homeowners and mailed off an application to the Indianapolis Neighborhood Housing Partnership, a non-profit that helps first-time owners secure their first house. Now, Luke and I both have excellent credit (quick shout-out to myfico.com, where we purchased our credit reports and Fico scores from all three bureaus for forty-five bucks a piece), so we don't need to go through an agency to make this happen, but the INHP has relationships with banks throughout the city that will offer loans without requiring a down payment OR private mortgage insurance to qualified buyers. Plus, I took a (free!) intro-to-home-buying class last spring that they sponsored at a local university, and it was very infomative. It certainly couldn't hurt to see what they can offer us.

Our lease on this apartment is up at the end of July, but we'll definitely need more time then that to get our act together, so the plan is to switch to a month-to-month lease and close on a property sometime in September. We won't start looking until we've been pre-approved by a lender, which should allow us to move forward relatively quickly once we've found the house of our dreams. Luke and I are beyond excited about being able to do this and STILL have someone home with Kara. I know how lucky we are and I thank God every night for it.

My Gorgeous Baby
Kara turned five months old on Saturday, and she is taking the world by storm: scooting backwards, becoming more vocal, and as of Sunday, experimenting with rice cereal. She won't entertain more than a few spoonfuls before she's pushing away the spoon, but she's extremely interested in everything on our plates, so this is a good place to start.

Plus, she looks absolutely adorable in her high chair.

She continues to hold herself up really well and can sit unsupported for about ten minutes before toppling over like a house of cards.

She's also still snacking on her fingers and toes with passionate abandon.

So, to sum up, things are going really well right now, even if I feel a little like I'm burning the candle at both ends. Work is extremely busy, and I'm helping with a baby shower for my sister Samantha in June, which means invites needed to go out like, yesterday, and writing for Parents always keeps me on my toes. (Not sure why me wanting to clean my daughter's toes from a strange dog's germs is basis for telling me to relax, as if I couldn't wait to dip her foot in bleach or something, or why not wanting my five-month-old baby to be approached by a dog I don't know means I'm afraid of all dogs all the time, but whatever.) Sure, there are times I'm afraid of passing out behind the wheel, but really, what's a good night's sleep, anyway?

I can't wait to see what tomorrow will bring.

Because MY Jerry Maguire moment includes buying my own damn goldfish

Since Kara was born, it's harder not to think about taking better care of our finances. Luke and I are doing OK so far; I've been depositing money into my company's 401(k) for the last three years (hooray for full vestment on company matches), so at least we've gotten started on retirement, and we finally have adequate life insurance, thus enabling us to buy a home, pay for Kara's education, and snag a hottie gold-digger in the event of the other's death instead of shacking up in a cardboard box on an Interstate exit ramp. We also paid off the Cobalt so that the only debt we owe is to dear old Sallie Mae and padded our savings account to cover my twelve-week maternity leave. An unexpected holiday bonus left us better off than we expected, and the majority of it still sits in the bank, earning a meager amount in interest, taunting us, practically begging us to hand it over to the nearest car dealer and finally put Luke's 1991 Chevy Lumina to rest.

And if we didn't have Kara, that's probably what we would do.

But now we are parents. Now we have more incentive to consider the long-term consequences of our decisions, and truth be told, we have a lot of financial ground to cover before we can invest in something as frivolous as a car.

Problem is, it's hard to know where to start.

The choices are numerous. We could save the money and put it towards a down payment on a house, except we're not sure if we want to lay down roots in Indianapolis just yet. We could funnel it into a Roth IRA for Luke, who still has no retirement account to speak of despite his ability to withdraw funds a good six years before me. We could begin a college savings plan for Kara, even though she'll have scholarships, loans, and work study at her disposal and the quality of our golden years will depend on what we had the good sense to sock away. We could add short-term disability to my life insurance policy so I can enjoy a lengthy PAID maternity leave with baby number two, but I still harbor wild dreams of becoming a stay-at-home mom before then and wonder if the added expense would be worth it. Then there's still the matter of creating our will, which doesn't affect our cash flow now but could if Luke and I both died tomorrow (the last thing I want is to see Kara's inheritance eaten up by court fees for years and years), and emergency cash fund? Ha! Where do you think the money for all this crap is coming from?

Each path is a worthy option. We just don't have the means to cover them all.

Right now, our gut's telling us to go for the Roth and take advantage of compounding interest while we're still young. Liken it to being in a plane crash and putting on your oxygen mask before tending to somebody else's--you're no good to anyone if you haven't taken care of yourself. Once we're on track with our retirement goals, we'll be in a better position to help our kids with school, weddings, down payments, and any other big-ticket items on their plates, though we have no plans to pay for any of those things in full. A couple of loans never hurt anyone, and while I don't want to see my children drown in six-figure debt, I also don't want to instill in them a lofty sense of entitlement held by the majority of our millenials these days. Most importantly, I want them to sleep easy as adults with the knowledge that their father and I worked hard to make sure they're not stuck with our Shady Pines membership.

It took some convincing, but Kara eventually came around.

I appreciate your reasoning, but all this money talk hurts my tiny fontanelle.

No Mustang for my sixteenth birthday? You bastards!

Who are you guys kidding? These chubby cheeks will have you eating crow all the way to the bank. I'll snag that car by kindergarten.

...And now I hate Chase

Luke and I were in Target tonight, cart filled with various household and grocery items, when our credit card was declined. Twice. In a store we drop money in almost every freaking day. After almost four years of being a faithful card carrier. Two days after receiving a bank statement that confirmed our most recent Chase payment had cleared just fine.

Man, was I pissed.

The first thing I did when I got home was call the customer service line, which put me on hold for about fifteen minutes before spending another ten verifying my last five purchases. When I finally got a hold of a "customer service advisor," I was told that an Internet charge of $52.99 had been randomly flagged as suspicious activity, so Chase decided to decline it and all other purchases until they could be verified by the primary card owner.

Apparently embarrassing said card owner when she's trying to pay for frozen pizzas, cough drops, and Raisin Bran is considered a more humanistic approach for handling such matters than, say, CALLING THE DAMN CARD OWNER.

Of course, when I tried explaining this to my "advisor," all she could do was run circles around her script, apologizing for the inconvenience and informing me the card could now be used freely.

"I'm not sure I want to use the card anymore," I said. "My husband and I are lucky we had another one on hand or we would've had to leave more than a hundred dollars worth of groceries behind."

"I'm very sorry for the inconvenience, ma'am. But let me reassure you that the card has been reactivated and is now available for use."

"But the purchase you declined was legitimate and no different from any other charge we've made in the last few months. That was a charge meant to keep our anti-virus software up-to-date, and you just told me that we now have to set up that account all over again. My computer could already be vulnerable because of this."

"Yes, ma'am, and I'm very sorry. But let me reassure you that the card has been reactivated and is now available for use."

"But I'm not sure I want to use it. How can I be sure that Chase will honor my purchases?"

"Let me reassure you that the card has been reactivated and is now available for use."

"I hear that, but I'm not sure I want to use it."

"Well, ma'am, that is another matter."

"...."

"Thank you, ma'am, for calling Chase. Have a nice day."

Click.

Yeah, you, too, effing bastards.

At least Sallie Mae.... Aw, hell, she sucks, too, because I received a letter on Monday stating the paperwork I faxed in for my private loan consolidation application was incomplete, but when I placed a call to customer service, my records were completely up-to-date and my application was pending approval. I will say, though, that the woman who took my call was nice enough to place me on hold while she contacted the processing department personally to make sure everything was OK instead of passing me off to someone else.

The only thing worse than a pissed-off customer is a pissed-off customer who's too pregnant to see her own crotch. The next corporate giant to ruffle my feathers will be in for a real treat. That I can promise you.

Why I hate Sallie Mae: A play in one act

Setting: Saturday afternoon, Frema-Useless Clutter household. Frema decides to get all ambitious and FINALLY tackle the dreaded private loan consolidation application currently plaguing her prenatal to-do list (for which an update will definitely be provided tomorrow, in case anyone cares).

Frema logs on to Sallie Mae's Web site. Learns her application has been withdrawn due to inactivity. This makes sense, seeing as she hasn't touched the damn thing since September.

Frema: Ah, fuck.

Visits the Mae's Contact Us page to locate the phone number reserved for private loan consolidations. Calls number.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Welcome to Sallie Mae, champion of higher education! To request a new loan, please press one. For information about your account, please press two. To report trouble accessing our Web site or to request a paper application, please press three. Para mas informacion en espanol...

Frema: presses two.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Thank you! Please enter your account number.

Frema: enters account number.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Thank you! For security purposes, please enter your five-digit zip code.

Frema: enters five-digit zip code.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Thank you! One of our representatives will be with you shortly.

A few seconds pass.

Sallie Mae Fembot: I'm sorry, all of our representatives are currently assisting other customers. Please wait on the line and someone will be with you shortly.

A few more seconds pass.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Let Sallie Mae call you back in approximately six. To. Eight. Minutes with our call-back feature. You won't lose your place in line! To learn more about this feature, please press one. For other options, please press two.

Frema: doesn't trust that she won't lose her place in line. Presses two.

Sallie Mae Fembot: To hear a description of a call back, please press one.

Frema: waits to receive other options.

Sallie Mae Fembot: I'm sorry! Your response was invalid. Please try again. To hear a description of a call back, please press one.

Frema: REALLY does not want to hear a description of a service she has no desire to use. Presses zero in an attempt to reach operator.

Sallie Mae Fembot: I'm sorry! Your response was invalid. Please try again. To hear a description of a call back, please press one.

Frema: ...

Sallie Mae Fembot: I'm sorry! You've reached the maximum number of invalid responses. Please try your call again later. Good-bye!

Frema: Noooo!

Dials number again, a little too roughly for her index finger's liking.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Welcome to Sallie Mae, champion of higher education! To request a new loan, please press one. For information about your account, please pr--

Frema: presses two.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Thank you! Please enter your account number.

Frema: enters account number (again).

Sallie Mae Fembot: Thank you! For security purposes, please enter your five-digit zip code.

Frema: enters five-digit zip code (again).

Sallie Mae Fembot: Thank you! One of our representatives will be with you shortly.

A few seconds pass.

Sallie Mae Fembot: I'm sorry, all of our representatives are currently assisting other customers. Please wait on the line and someone will be with you shortly.

A few more seconds pass.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Let Sallie Mae call you back in approximately two. To. Three. Minutes with our call-back feature. You won't lose your place in line! To learn more about this feature, please press one. For other options, please press two.

Frema: is pleased to learn her wait time has been cut in half since her last phone call but still refuses to press one. Does nothing.

Sallie Mae Fembot: I'm sorry! Your response was invalid. Please try again. To learn more about our call-back feature, please press one. For other options, please press two.

Frema: prays for a representative to interrupt her interchange with the automated voice-message system from Hell.

Sallie Mae Fembot: I'm sorry! Your response was invalid. Please try again. To learn more about our call-back feature, please press one. For other options, please press two.

Frema: presses two to stall for time.

Sallie Mae Fembot: Thank you! Let Sallie Mae call you back--without losing your place in line. Sallie Mae--

Frema: zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Sallie Mae Fembot: To take advantage of our call-back feature, please press one.

Frema: realizes her only "choice" is to take advantage of the freaking call-back feature if she ever wants to make any headway with this stupid application. Presses one. Provides name and phone number for Fembot, who assures Frema she won't lose her place in line. Adds the finishing touches on her latest entry for Parents.

True to Fembot's word, the phone rings two. To. Three. Minutes later.

Frema: Hello?

Sallie Mae Fembot: Hello! This call is in response to a request from Brea.In. Dun.scom.be. You are the next person in line. Please hold.

Frema: holds.

Sallie Mae Fembot: You are the next person in line. Please hold.

Frema: Yes, I see.

Sallie Mae Fembot: You are the next person in line. Please hold.

Frema: Got it.

Sallie Mae Fembot: You are the next person in line. Please hold.

Frema: Motherfu--

Sallie Mae Actual Real-Live Person, It's About Damn Time: Hello, thank you for calling Sallie Mae, this is Kim, how can I help you?

Frema: Hi, Kim. I tried to finish my private loan consolidation application this morning online and was told my request had been withdrawn. I'd like to get things started again, please.

Kim: Can I have your confirmation number?

Frema: gives confirmation number.

Kim: I'm sorry, I'm going to have to transfer you to our customer relations department. Please stay on the line and I'll transfer you right away.

Frema: No, wait, I--

Sallie Mae Fembot: Welcome to Sallie Mae, champion of higher education! To request a new loan, please press one. For information about your account, please press two. To report trouble accessing our Web site or to request a paper application, please press three. Para mas informacion en espanol...

Frema: bangs head against desk, explodes.

It's beginning to look a lot like...your mom

In an effort to avoid lugging Freka through crowded city malls shortly after her birth, Luke and I have been spending the majority of our free time Christmas shopping. I've always loved buying presents, and even though we've had to downsize our gifts budget, it's still a lot of fun trying to find things our loved ones won't want to exchange after the New Year. Even though all that walking around usually brings on those sonofabitch Braxton Hicks contractions. Hey, it's for a good cause, right?

I'm sure it's because of the baby, but nevertheless, I can't believe how excited I am for Christmas to come. I've already expressed to Luke my wish to decorate our apartment on Thanksgiving, seeing as we won't be able to travel north, and this Saturday, while he's enjoying a Purdue football game with his dad, I will most likely be watching A Very Brady Christmas while wrapping all the presents we've accumulated thus far.

Despite all the new-mom kinks I'll be working through, already I know that the high I'll get from smelling my baby's head, having full-time support from Luke for the first two weeks after my discharge from the hospital, abandoning corporate America for three blessed months, and filling our modest little two-bedroom apartment with family and friends eager to meet the newest member of our household will outweigh the suckage that is sleepless nights, sore boobs, and a halted paycheck.

(One thing making the "halted paycheck" thing easier to handle is the fact that Parents wants me to continue blogging for them after my contract expires at the end of December, at which time my "column"--that's how I think of it, anyway--will have morphed into a journal documenting my trials and tribulations with new motherhood. Luke and I have money stashed away to be used while I'm on leave, but dude, it feels so good to know that we'll have additional reserves coming in just in case we spend more than we anticipate. Which, let's be honest, is most likely going to happen, because hello, NEW BABY HERE.

In other fabulous financial news, this past Saturday I mailed out the last payment for our Chevy Cobalt, which means the budget we planned for our life post-maternity leave is now a feasible reality. Hooray for an extra three hundred and thirty bucks a month!)

Anyway, I'm ready for the Christmas music. I'm ready for the gift wrapping. I'm ready for eggnog. In fact, I've already had my first glass.

It was wonderful.

Safety nets are sooo overrated

June 13th marked two years of employment with my current company, and my service was rewarded with a handsome raise that I believed would steer Luke and I down the path to Easy Street when it came to keeping one of us at home with Freka after the conclusion of my maternity leave.

Our household has managed on my salary before, back when he first came to Indianapolis and was searching for full-time work, so I assumed it would be easy to do again, plus one, especially since I was bringing in more money. Also, we've always intended to pay off our Cobalt in full before the baby's arrival, padding our budget with an extra $330 a month to absorb food, diapers, and other essential infant needs.

On Monday night, we opened Microsoft Excel for the first time since April to access our spreadsheet template and updated it with the numbers we'll be dealing with come next spring. We accounted for the ninety-five-dollar rent increase, the need for two cell phones instead of one, the absence of the Cobalt payment (and Luke's salary, sob), and factored in my raise. Since my contract with Parents expires at the end of December and there's no guarantee of a renewal, that particular source of income is not part of our postpartum finances.

We designated four hundred dollars a month to be directly deposited in my HSA. We drastically reduced allocations for entertainment and dining out and eliminated the "Gifts" category entirely.

"With all the cuts we're making, I bet we can even afford to sign up at the Y again!" I said, a move we've been seriously considering for the last couple of weeks.

We held our breath and added the totals.

Fortunately, my gut instinct was right. We can afford for one of us to stay home.

Unfortunately, it required whittling down our savings contribution to ninety dollars a month. (Farewell, safety cushion. To know you was to love you.) And it provided tangible proof that, right now, in our current situation, stay-at-home motherhood is not in the cards for me.

The two of us stared and stared at the new financial life glaring at us from the harsh light of the computer screen, me not believing how greedily that spreadsheet had devoured our Cobalt money, Luke not saying a word. Finally we just went out for shakes, because apparently, we better slop 'em up while we can.

I know things aren't as bleak as they seem. I'm extremely thankful we can afford to sock away so much money into our HSA each month; that combined with my employer's modest contributions should prevent us from being blindsided by any spontaneous medical emergencies. That takes a lot of the pressure off our savings, and good thing, too, because there won't be much in it for quite a while.

Also, managing to stay in the black on one income for three people is no small feat. Having anything left over for savings at all when tons of couples entering parenthood are forced to embrace a permanent balance on their credit card puts us on the fast track to success in my eyes. And of course, we both love that we'll be able to have a parent look after our child during the daytime hours and avoid the stress that often accompanies the lives of families with two working parents.

However, just out of curiosity, I placed a call with a local daycare facility yesterday afternoon. It's part of a national chain and happens to be located across the street from the major road that leads to our apartment complex.

How much to enroll an infant? I wanted to know. And what will that figure entitle me to?

The answer: it would take $222 a week (A WEEK) for this place to watch my baby Monday through Friday, from the hours of six-thirty to six. That includes formula during the infant stage and baby food and cereal for later months. And, you know, the promise that someone will change Freka's diaper every couple of hours.

Holy shit is daycare expensive.

But we could do it. If Luke wasn't up for being a stay-at-home dad, we could afford to send Freka to daycare and still have a sizable amount left over for savings. If both of us worked, we could keep that place at the dinner table for our safety net, lavishing him with praise over filet mignon and crumpets or whatever.

It's a lot to think about.

For about a year now, whenever the topic of kids came up, we talked about keeping one of us (originally me) at home. And part of my reasoning was that the benefit of two incomes wouldn't outweigh the drawbacks associated with placing our offspring in somebody else's care. But now, with all the facts and figures before me, it kind of seems like it would. The expense of having a baby isn't automatically forcing my husband out of the work force. We have a choice.

And our choice still stands. I'll bring home the bacon, and Luke will stay home with Freka when the time comes. We are dedicated to giving our preferred family dynamic a try. But if he decides he'd like to go back to work sooner than later? Man, do I have a new appreciation for what daycare could enable us to do.

I'm nervous. I'm scared. I'm excited. I'm terrified.

But it's a small price to pay for motherhood.

On a totally unrelated-yet-not-unrelated-at-all note, any money-saving tricks and tips y'all have shoved up your sleeves would be much appreciated. That Y membership isn't going to renew itself.

In case you're not a long-time reader, it would help you to know we don't have cable, we pay off our Visa bill every month, and though we plan on purchasing a new (used) car for Luke before the end of the year, we'll be paying for that in full.

At least the box spring and bed frame were brand new. That counts for something, right?

So, have you noticed it's been a while since I last spoke about money? Because really, it's been a while since I spoke about money.

A few months ago, I had devised the ultimate spreadsheet for keeping track of our finances. Segmented by week, divided into categories, I envisioned dedicating fifteen minutes every Sunday night to adding receipts and typing figures into cute little Excel boxes, all to influence our purchasing habits for the rest of the month. And for a while, it worked. We didn't always stay within budget, but at least we knew just how much we'd overspent and which categories had received more than their fair share of TLC.

Then, on April Fool's Day, we found out I was pregnant, and it all went to pot. We have not updated a spreadsheet since, resigning ourselves to removing precious savings from our bank account each month to pay our credit card bill in full.

What can I say? My hands were too busy clutching the toilet to sort through all those tiny pieces of paper, and we knew we could always cover the Visa total, so it seemed better to focus our time on more important things, like bidding a formal farewell to life as we know it, sans any fruit of our loins.

Though we've not done well tracking our money lately, we've sure done a bang-up job of spending it. In two weekends, we'll move into a larger, two-bedroom apartment. In a few months, we'll be upgrading our cell phone plan--a plan that currently involves one phone shared between two people--so that by the end of my pregnancy we'll be readily available to each other at all times. There's talk of replacing Luke's rickety 1993 Chevy Lumina with a vehicle I would actually allow our child to ride in and paying off the Cobalt to make room in the budget for diapers, doctor's visits, and baby food. All of this while hoarding pennies for my maternity leave and preparing ourselves for Luke's eventual job loss.

To say I'm feeling overwhelmed by all we hope to accomplish during these next five months (holy crap, five months?!) would be an understatement.

Regarding our more immediate future, we've discussed replacing several pieces of furniture within our apartment to make life a little more comfortable. A kitchen table that seats more than two people, for one thing. A bookshelf not made of particle board. A sleeper sofa for accommodating the slew of guests we expect to receive once the baby is here because I refuse to put our parents on an air mattress and also refuse to sleep on one myself when I'll be getting up to feed a newborn every two to three hours.

So far we've been lucky in that we haven't had to blow any cash on major items or appliances in our adult lives. My first sofa set was purchased for a whopping hundred and twenty dollars and featured decor straight from the set of All in the Family, and I passed it on to my sister, Ryan, when Luke moved in because he had inherited a sturdier one from his brother. My parents bestowed upon me an old kitchen table and a brand-new microwave when I moved into my first apartment back in Rensselaer, and I scored coffee tables from my aunt. The TV we use was given to Luke for his birthday a few years ago, and I bought our "gently used" mattress from one of Saint Joe's administrative assistants back when I was an employee. If there were a universe called Free And Second Hand, we would be the masters of it and the bosses of you.

Keeping in mind our penchant for used (and eventually abused) furnishings, it should surprise no one that Luke and I both hyperventilate after agreeing to pay a thousand dollars for a couch or spend two hundred dollars on a damn table. We already have those things! Look! They're right there! What the hell are we thinking? Yet there were no qualms about dropping five hundred dollars on the Nintendo Wii and its related accessories, and there was never a question as to whether or not we'd take a vacation. Tell me we're not the only ones who subscribe to such madness.

In the end, it'll be OK. We have a respectable amount in our savings account, including what we'll need to cover my three months of FMLA time, and we add to it every two weeks. I'll be getting a raise this month, and possibly a bonus. I'm pursuing a freelance opportunity that'll reveal itself soon, and I'll bring in a small stipend for teaching the blogging class this fall. Luke will most likely get a raise of his own come August. There's no need to worry. Deep in my heart, I know this.

But it still breaks my arm to hand over that damn credit card.

Bah Humbug Thursday

Because I can't very well call it Wednesday if I'm posting at 1:12 Thursday morning, can I?

My last official Weight Loss Wednesday entry was on March 7, when I delighted in a lovely reading of 135.8 pounds. Then I went to Chicago and had a grand ole time. Two pounds of grand, to be exact.

It's been downhill ever since.

LAST WEEK'S (SECRET) WEIGHT: 138.2
CURRENT WEIGHT: 138.8
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 13.8

I don't know what happened to bring about this new blasé attitude, but for the last two weeks I've eaten whatever I liked without paying mind to the consequences. It all started the Thursday before our Chi-town extravaganza, upon Luke's receiving a totally well-deserved but completely unexpected cash bonus from work and our decision to celebrate with a dinner out; it snowballed on Friday with a trip to Steak 'N Shake after our Jerry Seinfeld show and climaxed several times during the weekend over mushroom pizza, my dad's barbeque ribs, and bagels at Panera to hold us over for the drive back home. The following Friday I gave in to my burning desire for two dollars and forty-two cents' worth of grease and potato at Chi-Town Dogs and Beef, maybe to relive happy memories from the city, I don't know, and then on Monday we dared to step foot in a local burger joint because nothing sounded good at home. The finale last night? Spinach dip. And if you think it's good with one cup of Parmesan cheese, imagine the ecstasy that follows an extra fourth. I don't know which was more offensive to my scale's delicate senses, the extra three pounds or the unabashed flatulence.

We were doing so well there for a while. I thought I'd finally become the master of my nutritional destiny, perfected avoiding the triggers that lead to junk-food cravings that in turn lead to spending money and ultimately credit card balances that give me nightmares to this day. One weekend away and it all went to pot. But for some reason I don't have it in me to muster up the appropriate level of concern, partly because I'm still living off the high you get from a smart hair cut and therefore have convinced myself I can wear the extra pounds so long as I keep my salon appointments, and partly because so many other things are out of wack that reflecting on my life's path over a mint chocolate chip ice cream cone from Baskin Robbins doesn't sound so bad.

What am I thinking about? I'm thinking about how Luke and I have accelerated our plans for family expansion and are curently moving full speed ahead in all things baby. About our very recent decision to hold off on buying a home right now and how this will probably lead to caring for an infant in this eensy weensy one-bedroom apartment, not to mention my dermatologist's "skin therapy" is leaving tiny red dots all across my nose and forehead and I'd much rather use the perscription money for a pedicure. Nothing's wrong, exactly--the baby news is quite exciting!--but it's like someone took the Earth from their gym shoes and sprinkled it all over our short-term road map. Dirt is everywhere. Everything feels unsettled.

Still hanging in there with Lent. I've slacked off a little on the Bible reading but haven't missed more than four nights altogether, and the characters on All My Children continue to manage fine without me, though sometimes I miss it so violently I can't hear. Luckily, Blockbuster Online has filled in some of that screen time; this month alone we've seen The Departed, Lady in the Water, The Night Listener, and two episodes off the second disc of Big Love, which, can I just say, made my night when I saw a Suze Orman cameo and Lionel Richie "Hello?" cover within just twenty minutes of each other. They almost made up for the absence of Bill Paxton's butt cheeks. I'm setting high standards for episode five.

The weather's still exhibiting Sybil-like tendencies, but the recent time change means the sun doesn't set until around eight o'clock here, so I'm sure it's only another couple of weeks before Luke and I can leave our own sneaker dust on the path of the city's various greenways and the trails winding through our state parks, which should increase my motivation to get physical (physical) once again. Plus, I've signed up for a free, six-course home-buying series at the local university over a series of lunch hours spanning March and April, so the more I learn about credit reports and mortgages and escrows and such, the less willing I'll be to blow our down-payment money on smoothies from the mall. At least, here's hoping.

(Speaking of credit reports, OMG. My first class in the home series focused on money management and credit maintenance, which whatever, Suze has so already told me everything I need to know, but it did encourage me to obtain a free copy of my credit report for the first time ever. By law, every individual is entitled to receive one free copy a year from each of the three major credit bureaus, but until now I was afraid to. It's kind of like going to the dentist; nothing's wrong as long as you don't go, right? But suddenly I knew I couldn't be a baby about it anymore. If there's an error on my report, it needed to be fixed before Luke and I stepped foot in a bank to ask for wads of dough. Luckily everything was in the proper order, and the report itself was surprisingly easy to read, but I was still blown away at the sheer amount of detail. I can tell you the highest balance accrued on the Fashion Bug card I had for two years in Rensselaer or what I paid towards my Limited statement in June 2005. I know all the different ways my name's been spelled in U.S. mail and how many different addresses I've had. Twenty-two pages. It's all there.

Have you ever seen your credit report? Because you so should. Really.)

(...And one more: Have you seen Isabel's rockin' post about TLF? If not, GO. Go now.)

Priorities

Last night Luke and I were plowing through the aisles of Super Target, accumulating items scribbled onto our first shopping list of the month, and it was within the first ten minutes of our entering the store that my loyalty to The Spreadsheet was tested.

We were strolling through the electronics section searching for possible gift ideas for my brother-in-law when, through a series of red-and-white sales tags strategically positioned at eye level, the TV kiosk announced that every season of Sex and the City was available for an impressive twenty bucks a pop. I gasped and clutched at my heart over the wool of my pea coat, so excited that I thought Luke was going to have to fetch the eyeballs that had just somersaulted out of my head. My fingers reached up to caress the case for season three, as I already have the first two and the second half of season six (purchased in a frenzy almost two years ago when Luke's VCR missed the last ten minutes of the series finale on TBS); the unedited unfolding of Big and Carrie's extramarital affair could be mine, all mine, for the price of Women and Money, Suze Orman's latest book, purchased the night before at Barnes and Noble. Ms. Orman is constantly inspiring me with her frank approach to personal finance, and the gems I gleaned from her Money Book for the Young, Fabulous & Broke helped me to choose funds for my 401(k) account at work, and their average annual rate of return seems to hover around eight percent, thank you very much, thus cinching my undying devotion. Plus, I am a woman and I have money. It's like Suze wrote it just for me!

However, making a decision about the DVD was more difficult, because you see, Luke and I only allotted fifty dollars for miscellaneous spending this month, and my upcoming hair cut in Chicago will cost exactly that much with tip, so I was already kicking myself a little for buying the book but figured the difference could be offset through thriftiness in other areas of our budget. The cost of the DVD coupled with the hair cut would definitely leave March in the red.

There was one possible solution to this dilemma that would allow me to walk away with the book, the DVD, AND the hair cut: postponing the purchase of my salon-brand shampoo and conditioner and opting for a cheap knock-off brand to tide me over until April, at which point all budget lines would be replenished and I could blow the thirty dollars with a clear conscience.

(Yes, I realize how selfish I am for hoarding our miscellaneous dollars for frivolous indulgences, but Luke made out like a bandit for his birthday last month, and I have already directed the appropriate prayers to God asking for guidance in being a better wife. Together, the three of us have it covered.)

So, there they were, my two choices, each one threatening equally horrific consequences. Do I restock my ISO products and forfeit the chance to add to my sorely lacking Sex collection when I know damn well the next big sale might not be 'til I'm thirty-eight years old, or do I subject my hair to the pooptasticness of Garnier Fructis so I can spend my free time picking apart Charlotte's first husband?

It's unfair for any woman to find herself in the throes of such polarizing circumstances, and I hope it never happens to you, Internet ladies, because either way, such a woman is going to suffer.

But I know I made the right choice.

Sarah Jessica Parker would be so proud.

Of course it was all for naught, because when I came home and examined March's budget I found that seventy-one dollars and ninety-one cents had been unaccounted for. So I hopped over to Beauty First and bought the ISO refills after all.

(J/K, peeps. Totally waiting for April.)

While I had the camera out and about, for some reason I felt it necessary to document proof that I really am trying to be more budget conscious.

See that compact? I bought a new one last October, at a point when I thought this puppy was days away from crapping out on me, so imagine my surprise that the powder is still holding its own as I rub my cotton ball in circles over the metal face for ten minutes, determined to squeeze every last drop from a foundation that costs twenty-one fifty. If I wore make-up more often, it would've been retired to the garbage can around Christmas, but as I fight with various dermatological products to finally get my acne under control and weep over the massive afro poof that has become my hair, I haven't really been in the mood to subject myself to further prettification. I'm counting on you, Brenda, is all I'm saying.

Tragic Love Friday: Coming at you like a spider monkey

Well, our free two-week trial with Blockbuster Online is officially over. Our first monthly payment of ten dollars and fifty-nine cents was charged to our Visa on February 25th, but do you know how many movies we saw in February? Six. SIX MOVIES FOR ELEVEN DOLLARS. This is record-breaking for us, and reason enough to establish a permanent love affair with ordering films online.

It all started on the thirteenth when we received the eagerly anticipated Click (which was very good and even made me cry a little). After we'd had our fill of Adam Sandler shenanigans, we brought it to our local Blockbuster chain because online mailers double as coupons for free rentals in the store, which is how we came across The Illusionist (highly recommend), which in turn held us over until the first two episodes of Big Love arrived while Luke was away on business. That weekend we returned The Illusionist and used the Big Love mailer to score The Grudge 2, which I feel obligated to inform you was not a good decision. Meanwhile, our account had been credited with an e-coupon for a free rental just for signing up with BB online, so we redeemed it for A Sound of Thunder, another questionable choice but Edward Burns was kind of cute so it wasn't all for nothing.

On Tuesday we received Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby, and that movie is so damn hysterical we had to watch it twice. Shake and bake!

"We could watch this every day for the rest of our lives without paying any late fees!" I informed Luke in a sort of awed wonder.

"Or we could just buy it," he said.

There is that.

So yes, this newfangled idea of renting online is working out splendidly, mainly because we're not limited to renting online and we keep getting coupons for additional rentals. Some of the thirty-five titles currently stored in our queue include The Departed, Lady in the Water, Adaptation (which I first watched for a screenwriting class in grad school and can't wait to see again), Proof, Fantastic Four, the first season of 90210, and The Notebook.

Speaking of notebooks (OMG, what a fantastic segue), we are down to the last fifteen pages for the first serial of Tragic Love Friday. Next week will showcase the final installment, and then it's on you guys to come up with a really hysterical summary for this tale of questionable morals and unbridled passion. Remember? Not only will you be performing a huge service for potential part-two readers, but you'll also score yourself an opportunity to relive the days when Brenda Walsh ripped holes in the knees of her jeans and Brian Silver's cousin accidentally killed himself wearing a cowboy hat (or something). What about that sentence isn't appealing?

Some of you expressed concern over the guidelines I laid out, but really, don't pay them any mind. Just summarize the story as you remember it. If I receive multiple submissions, which I REALLY hope I do, I'd like to feature them all, so if you miss something, chances are another reader will pick up the slack. You're also allowed to team up with other bloggers to present The Mother Of All Summaries, but then it's up to you to figure out what to do about the DVDs, because dudes, I love you, but not enough to contribute seventy dollars of 90210 goodness to the World Wide Web when I'm stuck renting it all online.

Here we go, my pretties. The second-to-last installment. Cherish it while you can. 

-------

CHAPTER FOURTEEN - JENNA (CONTINUED)

"You're sure you want to do this?" Michael asked, once again in the driver's seat.

"Positive."

A few hours had passed since I made my decision. We were just about 3 miles from the Illinois border. The area was deserted.

"Stop here," I cried suddenly.

"Why?"

"I - I don't want to go back yet. Give me till tomorrow. Then I'll give her back."

Michael pulled over and parked near a cornfield. He squeezed my hand. "It'll be harder if you wait," he said softly. [That's what my first boyfriend said when he wanted to have sex!] "Just give me till tomorrow," I pleaded. He nodded.

I fed Katherine some formula, then Mike and I ate a little lunch. "I'm proud of you," he said out of the blue.

"Why?"

"I know how hard giving Kayla back Katherine [Awkward Phrasing, how I've missed thee!] will be for you. It won't be a great experience for me, either. I've grown to like the little tyke." He smiled at the baby and tickled her under the chin. She squealed with delight.

"I'll be alone again, Michael." I shuddered and wrapped my arms around my chest. "You'll never be alone as long as I'm around." My friend gazed at me with such intensity, I had to look away. "So much has changed in such a short amount of time. It's scary when you think about it." I yawned. "I'm so tired."

"So am I. Why don't you sleep in the backseat with Katherine, and I'll sleep at the wheel."

"No," I argued. "You've been driving for hours. You sleep back here, too." His face flushed. [I thought you'd never ask!] I felt myself turn red, also. "I mean...if you could just hold me, protect me. That's what angels do," I teased. [But do angels help emotionally unbalanced women kidnap children from maximum-security correctional facilities? Now's not the time to quibble over job descriptions, Jenna.] He smiled shyly and made himself comfortable in the backseat, while I snuggled against him. Katherine was asleep in my arms. It would have made a pretty picture.

I closed my eyes and let sleep take over me.

[This girl so owes Michael a blow job. Really. At this point the poor boy's balls must be bluer than the sky.]

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - KAYLA

I was pacing back and forth in my cell when the officer who was handling my case, Officer Kujak came barging in. [This name sounded so authoritative to me at the time, kind of like Columbo or McGyver. A Kujak could carry his own show, don't you think?] "We have news about your baby, Evans," he informed me.

I felt my body come to life. "How is she? WHERE is she?"

"A woman spotted a car that matches the description of suspect Jenna Meddows."

"In Illinois?"

"No. Wisconsin."

I ran my fingers through my hair. "Is she alive? What's being done?"

"The witness didn't think about the car until she heard about the kidnapping on the news. She was already back in Chicago by then." Kujak checked his watch. "Me and 3 other squad cars are on our way any minute. I've got to notify the Wisconsin police."

"No!" I cried. "If she sees police, she might panic and hurt Katherine." My shoulders sagged, and I felt like crying again. "She's got a butcher knife."

"OK; you might be right. Now I've got to go." [Members of the law are so easily influenced by the flawed yet seemingly reasonable logic of civilians! This kind of exchange happens in Lifetime movies all the time.] He turned to go. I grabbed his arm desparately. "Wait! Take me, too."

"Are you crazy?"

"Maybe. But I have to be there when you find my baby. Please! You can cuff me, gag me [hold me, thrill me, kiss me, kill me], whatever!" Kujak grabbed my arm and cuffed my hands behind my back. "I'll see," he said.

We were gone in 5 minutes. Please don't hurt her, Jenna, I thought as we drove to Wisconsin. If my baby's OK, I can forgive you. "How long until we're there?" I asked. He checked his watch. "It's 4:00 PM now. We should be there by 6:30."

I couldn't get there fast enough.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN - MICHAEL

I woke up from a fitful sleep at around six. I had gotten up twice to change and feed Katherine, letting Jenna sleep. She needed it more than I.

[Jeez Louise, she's had the kid fewer than twenty-four hours and already she's a lazy mother. Michael's like a single dad, only with no actual children!]

I got out of the car and stretched. The sky was shades of pink and blue. Such a beautiful setting, such a sad situation. In the car, my love stirred. I saw her sit up and blink her eyes sleepily [probably rolling Katherine onto the floor in the process]. I went to take the baby from her [See? He knows she can't be trusted] and motioned her to join me. She sat on the hood of the car, hugging her legs to her chest. She was so beautiful. I sighed. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," I lied, a lump rising in my throat. Tell her, tell her! my mind was shouting. "A lot of things are going to happen after Katherine's returned," I commented. "We'll be put in prison."

Jenna shook her head. "Only if Kayla presses charges against us." [You know, because the state of Illinois has no qualms with you stealing babies from their facility. One less mouth to feed!]

"You don't think she will?"

"No. She knows why I did it. She'll forgive me."

"What are you going to do?" I asked. She looked thoughtful; thoughtful and sad, too. "I can't go home. Things are too different."

"Where will you go?"

"Far away from here." She laughed bitterly. "My parents will hug me, write me a huge check, and then I'm gone."

"You can't go," I whispered. "I'll miss you." [Please don't go, girl. Never ever go away....]

She smiled. "I'll miss you, too."

"Jenna." I mustered up all my courage. "I - I love you." [Go, Mikey, go! You can do it!] She looked surprised, then said, "I love you, too, Mike. You're my best friend."

"You don't understand. I love you, Jenna. I'm in love with you, and I need you here with me." I was so scared, I could have cried. How would she react?

[Oh my gosh, I'm so nervous for him! My heart is pounding like crazy as I type this.]

Jenna shook her head. "You're just confused. You can't love me."

I secured Katherine in jackets and blankets in the backseat, and I left the car door open [so someone else could kidnap her?]. Then I grabbed Jenna's hands and gazed into her eyes intensely. "I do. I think I fell in love with you the first day I met you. You're the first thing I think about in the morning, and the last thing at night. It hurt so much when you were pregnant with David's child, because I wanted you for myself."

[Um, thanks for being happy my baby is dead?]

I leaned closer until her face was inches from mine. "I love you so much it hurts," I whispered. "I can't live without you now." Ever so softly, I kissed her lips. My hand reached to caress her cheek, and I kissed her again, only with more passion. She responded slowly. Soon, she was in my arms. Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of my neck. I kissed her forehead, and her eyelids. [That last part was creepy. I don't want anyone kissing my eyelids.] "I would die without you," I whispered in her ear.

I shouldn't have mentioned death. She stiffened and pushed me away. "No," she cried. "This can't happen. You're my best friend."

"I can be more," I said, hurt by her resistance. "I want to be more. Can't you see that?"

"You're just lonely for someone," she insisted.

Tears sprang to my eyes. "Don't you love me, even a little?" Jenna started to cry, too. "I - I don't know." I grabbed her shoulders. "You have to know!! I need to know!"

[OK, OK, I love you. Just please don't hit me again!]

[Also, I don't know why I put so much emphasis on "you" and "I" in the above paragraph, when really "have" and "need" were the ones who warranted extra attention.]

"I don't know," she sobbed. "Even if I do, I can't get involved with you. Love hurts too much! David said he loved me, and then he went to Kayla!"

"I'm not David! I'm Michael; I'll never hurt you!"

"Raise your hands where I can see you! This is the police! I repeat, put you're hands where I can see them!" I turned around and lifted my arms above my head. During our conversation [read: hottie make-out session], policemen had slowly surrounded the car. Jenna, looking terrified, did what I did.

It was all over.

-------

And now it's all over for me. Except for two more quotes from Talladega Nights, because really, so hilarious.

"Dear little baby Jesus, who's sittin' in his crib watchin' the Baby Einstein videos, learnin' 'bout shapes and colors, I would like to thank you for bringin' me and my momma together, and also that my kids no longer sound like retarded gang-bangers."

"I wet my bed until I was nineteen. There's no shame in that."

Hakuna Matata, bitches!

(OK, three quotes. Go see this movie!)

Living within Your Means is the New Black

Two weeks ago, after opening a credit card statement that was just pennies away from inducing Frema's first heart attack, Luke and I decided enough was enough. After several months of obliging every DINKy whim, it was time to buckle down and actively manage how we spent our money. Our little starter house isn't going to buy itself this summer, and if we're so lucky as to get knocked up within the first few months of trying, securing ample living space for our future family of three has to take precedence over feasting on the barbeque lunch platter at Squealer's. Thus, our budget was born.

In my previous life as a non-married Ms., I followed a budget...sort of. Every two months, I would write down my anticipated expenses for the next four pay periods, with each check designated to a particular quadrant; I'd note any variables particular to that moment in time, like a sibling's birthday or upcoming New York and Company sale, and plan accordingly. I was very proud of this system and went out of my way to share it with my family, therefore demonstrating my ability to sustain my own livelihood sans gravy train. "Look at Frema bein' all responsible-like," I wanted to say. "So what if I don't bother to track how much of my paycheck I actually spend? I write numbers in pretty columns on company stationery. I am cool."

This time around, with more at stake than a new pair of jeans, I knew the only way to hold ourselves accountable to our financial goals was to create a spreadsheet and record each and every purchase we made, from the five hundred and eighty-five dollars we pay in rent to the four bucks we occasionally turn over to Dairy Queen for a Reese's blizzard fix. Tracking our expenses over the course of the month and entering receipt data on a weekly basis would enable us to know where we stood with our budget at any given time. It would also take the guessing out of whether or not we could afford another trip to Steak 'N Shake or a Nintendo Wii for my very patient husband. (Not yet, sweetie.) Numbers don't lie, and they certainly won't help you justify the burger and fries you're itching for despite having spent all fifty of the dollars designated for eating out.

Before delving into this new project, I consulted Molly, Queen of Excel Spreadsheets, for some ideas on what to include in my template; however, once left to my own devices (Luke could do nothing but observe me with morbid fascination, I think, seeing as I created our template the same morning we opened the credit card statement, and I was so sick over our lack of common sense that red anger spots actually danced in front of my eyes), what started out as a simple column for our monthly bills turned into an elaborate marriage of pay stub information and sorting options for expenditures by week and category.

(Click to embiggen.)

Some notes about the spreadsheet:

• Even though I record payments made on our credit cards, since the individual expenses have already been accounted for, they're not included in our monthly totals.
• I debated including ATM transactions, knowing Amanda follows this practice on The Naked Ledger, but Luke and I don't really carry cash that often, and I'm more concerned with what happens to the money once it's in our pocket.
• I don't know why I included a line for additional savings. We already dump half of Luke's paycheck into that account every two weeks, and it's a given that any month-end surplus will go into savings as well, but what can I say. It's pretty. I am cool.

Don't trouble yourselves with commenting on my freakness. Believe me, Luke and I are both well aware.

Before you judge, though, this template has really been quite helpful, providing us (read: ME) with greater insight into our financial habits. Spending $389.84 on groceries and/or household goodies within a twenty-eight-day timespan might not seem too terrible (although for two people it really is, who are we kidding?), breaking it down by week draws attention to just how often you're running for milk and bread at Super Target. Thanks to this spreadsheet, I know we spent more than a hundred dollars on such necessities in week two AND week three. Granted, some trips happened at the beginning of week two and others at the end of week three, but still. Not great planning on our part. What can we do to eliminate so many trips to the store? How often are we picking up things that don't quite need restocking?

(Also, in case you were wondering, our grocery/household budget is NOT $389.84. It is $225. Though it might as well be $389.84, since that's what we ultimately spent, budget be damned. And damn you, too, Super Target!)

Luke and I had already made the decision to save all of our receipts last month, so accounting for dollars spent before The Spreadsheet was easy, but the actual implementation didn't come until February 10th--almost halfway through the month--so I was a little nervous about our ability to stay in the black. We allotted fifty dollars for dining out even though we were already four in the hole, and that was before we went out to dinner to celebrate Luke's birthday, another thirty bucks even though we had a coupon for a free entree at Abuelo's. Plus, the Lumina crapped out on us again, as fourteen-year-old cars are wont to do, this time demanding a new battery and seventy-five dollar tow from Luke's place of employment, an ordeal that altogether brought us over our three-hundred-and-thirty-dollar category cap (gas plus oil changes for both cars) by ... three hundred and thirty dollars. I was positive we'd be on our hands and knees crawling to Fifth Third, knocking our savings account flat on her ass once again.

However, by the end of the month, I found that we actually SAVED money. Three hundred and twenty-six dollars' worth of money that I want to kiss and hold in a tight embrace and never let go. Our saving grace? My recent tendency to pay off bills as soon as they arrive on our doorstep, even when there was a good three weeks before the drop-dead due date. There were no February expenses tallied for rent, either of my Sallie Mae loans, or the phone bill, which is the only reason we were able to come out ahead. With our new system, I'd like to get in the habit of paying bills in the same month they're due (after all, the whole point is to funnel money in our savings account, not get ahead on bills that have another twenty-five years before they're paid in full), so this shouldn't happen again, but I'm grateful for it now. Meanwhile, March is already looking pretty damn good because of our handsome tax refund, allowing us to pay for my BlogHer reservations and our car insurance premium without dipping into savings.

Are you totally bored now? I bet you're totally bored. Don't worry. Tragic Love Friday is on its way, even though this entry won't publish until 5:00 p.m. EST and I'm so afraid it'll get lost in the shuffle. Prove me wrong, Internet!

A Winter and Financial Wonderland

Indianapolis currently has its undies in a bundle over the snowfall that began late yesterday and is expected to shower the state's capitol with five to twelve inches of snow by tonight. Last week three inches of the white stuff turned my twenty-five-minute work commute into an hour-and-a-half nightmare, so I've decided to boycott the office today. Which means I can lounge around in my Peace Frog pajama bottoms, catch up on Monday's AMC, flip through the bajillion books* that have accumulated around my nightstand, and cringe over childhood and adolescent ramblings from days of old. Also possibly do The Track to "SexyBack." On a snow day, anything is possible.

I will also be recovering from Saturday's unveiling of our January Visa statement. A whopping two thousand six hundred and forty-one dollars and fifty-one cents worth of statement. Somebody grab me a bucket, because just typing this challenges my ability to keep the butter-and-jelly English muffin I just wolfed down--well, down.

Some of the charges are legitimate, like the five hundred bucks for my implant because my health savings account was short and the hundred and forty smackers I shelled out to update my plates a whopping year and a half after my move to this circular city. We also purchased a new digital camera, a camera we were eventually going to buy anyway but were "inspired" to do so last month after Luke's work one was damaged during his trip to California, because who isn't motivated by an employer's potential wrath over a cross-country business trip's lack of productivity?

These were costly necessities. However, I'm positive that the five hundred and eighty-five dollars we spent at Super Target between January 2nd and February 1st weren't all for milk, chicken, and vegetables, because otherwise I'd be much more depressed over Weight Loss Wednesday. That is the same number I write on our RENT CHECK, people. With all those "groceries" lying around the house, you'd think we avoided restaurants like the plague, but we still managed to rack up two hundred and eighty-three dollars and sixteen cents on activities of the eating-out variety. I'm truly embarrassed over how careless we've been with our money, because even though we cover our bills and remember to "pay ourselves first," that's no reason to be wasteful.

It used to be much easier to commit to a budget. Before Luke started working, I would diligently write out our expenses for each pay check two months in advance and estimate how much we'd have left for miscellaneous items like a parent's birthday or routine oil change. When Luke landed his job, we electronically deposited his entire check into savings with the hopes of paying off the Cobalt by spring. However, after penny-pinching for almost a year, we thought it might be fun to allot ourselves some play money and transferred a small portion of his take-home pay into our checking account. Then we went to the dentist and learned it would take the price of an arm and a leg to pull out Luke's wisdom teeth and accommodate some minor gum surgery and replace my extracted molar and botched crown, so we re-designated our funds to funnel half my check into the HSA and half of Luke's into checking to offset the difference. Because we're paid on alternate Fridays, we were suddenly getting checks every week, and because I'm not very smart, I stopped budgeting expenses and just paid the bills as they came in, not stressing over twenty-five dollar trips to the Original Pancake House until we had to withdraw the entire amount of this damn bill from savings. We spent that. damn. much.

On Sunday night, Luke and I sat ourselves down and, for the first time, actually did the math to figure out how much house we can afford on one income and what kind of down payment we can realistically expect to cough up by August in order to make a purchase by the end of the summer. We created a monthly spreadsheet template to track our spending and categorized our receipts into envelopes labeled for each week of the month, making them easier to record. We signed up for Blockbuster Online's ten-dollar monthly plan to provide ourselves with cheap entertainment. We're still jabbering on about buying a state park pass so we can hit the trails once all this damn snow stops falling and the long underwear can once again find a permanent home in our chest of drawers. And once again, we thanked God for being blessed with the financial means to correct our mistakes and move on with a smarter attitude.

Now, if you're so inclined, please suggest some movies we can add to our Blockbuster queue, even though we've made close to twenty selections already, because seriously, it's so much easier to pick a movie online than it is in the store. We can stand in front of the New Release section for a good half-hour, hemming and hawing over this title or that, because we so rarely rented movies before that we experienced a debilitating case of performance anxiety; who knew when we'd have another opportunity to spend four dollars on the first disc of the first season of Big Love**?

* Don't get crazy over all those pregnancy books. They've been handed down to me by Molly, who's very encouraging on the baby-making front.

** My pick, not Luke's. I'm strangely fascinated by polygamy.

*** This doesn't relate to anything, but did you know that the first season of She-Ra (Princess of Power!) is out on DVD? I'm so adding this to the queue.

Greedy or Not Greedy? (See Also: Could've-Been-Worse Wednesday, But We'll Get to That)

Last week I mentioned several topics I've been meaning to address in upcoming entries, and seeing as tonight I experienced a series of conniptions over a social worker's rejection of almost two hundred thousand dollars, this is the perfect time to discuss Deal Or No Deal, only the best game show to hit television since Ray Combs hosted the Family Feud.

Besides the charming, gloriously bald essence that is Howie Mandel, one of the reasons I'm so enraptured with DOND is that at any given moment, the life of an average Joe (or Josephine) can change forever--if you know how far to push your luck. You're delighted for the middle-class construction worker who can open up his own restaurant, for the Italian retiree who can finally pay off his home and arrange for quality medical care.

(Unless you're the twenty-year-old college student who settled out of the game for a pink Escalade, a vehicle whose value will depreciate faster than you can release your own urine, in which case you deserve every high-interest loan this world has to offer, you stupid, foolish twit.)

Whether the amount is ten thousand or one million, that money is a gift that holds the power to relieve burdens and rectify situations that otherwise might've taken decades to resolve. And of course, it doesn't escape your attention that, one day, that contestant could be you.

Every time Howie relays the banker's latest offer, I think about what I would do with that money, understanding that my priorities will change according to the rise and fall of the numbers. If it's twenty thousand dollars, I'd pay off the Cobalt and set aside the remaining dough for a down payment on a house, which when combined with Luke's and my savings would total that magical twenty percent. With fifty thousand, I'd spend ten on the house, ten on the car, and pay off my private Sallie Mae loan, whose monthly payment fluctuates every quarter and will soon be equal to the price of our new digital camera. With a grand, I'd put it towards the Visa and thank the Lord we didn't have to pull from savings to foot the bill. I don't even entertain the million because seriously, people, nobody on this show has ever gotten the million. You have a better chance of marrying your second cousin than you do winning a million dollars, which is exactly why I don't understand the contestants who turn down offer after offer after offer because they're confident the million is in their case. They're on a mission. They "deserve" this money, and they're going to get it.

Except when they don't. Emika, tonight's audience pick, was a social worker with a small son who admitted her salary was fewer than 50K a year. In the first round she knocked out five amounts smaller than fifteen hundred dollars, thus increasing her chances of toting a significant wad of Benjamins in her case, so she passed on twelve months worth of income. She did it again at sixty-one thousand, and sixty-eight thousand, and again at eighty-four thousand, and once more just for the hell of it at ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS. Approximately four times her pay. The cost of one middle-class house. A mind-blowing retirement account that could reap immeasurable benefits via compounding interest. Paid tuition for her son to the best schools this country has to offer. But she said no. And why? Because a two-million dollar figure taunted her from its place on the tally board. Because her mother grabbed her by the shoulders and urged her to open one more case, even though the next highest amount plummeted to fifty thousand bucks. Because even though Emika was visibly sobbing over the thought of saying "No deal" to such a life-changing amount of money, according to her, "I came here to win."

So she opened one more case--the two-million-dollar case--and minutes later received an offer of seventy-five hundred dollars, barely the cost of a used car.

Oh, was I mad, because I so badly wanted this woman to win her some money. I wanted to see her cry tears of joy when she realized she would never lack for anything again, that this money provided a platform on which to build new opportunities, a new life that didn't involve debating over generic versus name-brand products at the grocery store or fretting over how to finance her son's continuing education or even her own. But no. A hundred and seventy thousand dollars is a miracle, but not miracle enough. Thanks anyway, Jesus!

Lucky for her she still made a good deal, eventually accepting 15K before learning her own case contained just two pennies. It could've been worse; last month, some pervy dude from Alabama turned down two hundred and fifteen thousand dollars only to walk away with a fin. Here, buddy; enjoy this White Castle sack with NBC's compliments.

This may sound incredibly naive, but I would never want to win a million dollars, mainly because it'd create more problems than I'm equipped to handle. When you have that much money at your disposal, how in the world do you spend it? Which charities do you support? Which requests do you honor? Should every single relative on both sides of the family get a small cut, even if they already make a comfortable living, or do you reserve it for the ones in danger of having their heat turned off? Will Grandma Ethel bitch about her five thousand because she knows it could've been fifty? Will any amount you offer ever be enough?

I once read in a magazine that it makes Howie physically ill to see so many people casually dismiss six-figure amounts in search of the elusive mill. Well, Howie, if I ever make it to the show, I won't even think about the damn million. If I could get the Sallie Mae monkeys off my back, I'll call it a day and let you touch my breasts and then invite you to live with Luke and me in our new villa in France. As a strictly platonic token of my gratitude, of course. As long as you stay bald.

Not that he's on my top five or anything, or that I even have a top five.

(However, in case you follow the link, know that my last (hypothetical) spot is currently being filled by John Krasinski of Office fame. We could be Frim!)

In other news, thank you all so much for your supportive comments regarding my upcoming leap into academia. So far, it looks like I'll be teaching for two and a half hours on Thursday nights from late August to mid December, with one week off for Thanksgiving. In the meantime, I spend the majority of my waking hours devising the class syllabus and determining my overall goal for the course, which so far is to compare and contrast current blogging styles to personal memoirs and essays and give students a taste of the current blogging culture. I also want to demonstrate the practical application of blogs in fields like marketing and business and their ability to generate income through ads, merchandising, and paid writing gigs. I already know I'll require students to maintain their own blogs and explore non-literary features that can enhance the blogging experience and their place in the blogging community--photography, videos, podcasts, widgets, etc. This means I'll be doing a lot of research and mucho head-banging against my computer monitor because I'll be damned if I even know what a widget is. But that's what books are for.

I'll be especially eager to pick your collective Internet brain. Who are your favorite personal essayists? Favorite bloggers? What attracts you to someone's site? What can turn you away? Be on the look-out for future posts on all of these topics and more as I attempt to tackle blogging in a way that validates its credibility and elevates it to a more sophisticated level. (In your face, MySpace!)

Finally, lest it think it's been overshadowed by a hottie game-show host or trendy online phenomenon, it's Weight Loss Wednesday. (At least it was two hours ago when I started this entry. Whoops.)

LAST WEEK'S WEIGHT: 135.8
CURRENT WEIGHT: 137
POUNDS TO GOAL WEIGHT: 12

Normally I'd be more upset over my set-your-watch-by-it lack of progress, but I received a couple of esteem-boosting compliments from Saint Joe friends over the weekend and Luke complimented my knack for filling out Banana Republic turtlenecks, so I'm gonna take the numbers for what they're worth and appreciate that my husband thinks I'm hot. Whatever helps you sleep at night, you know?

Say A Little Prayer For Luke, Because He's Subjected to My Nonsensical Ramblings Every Single Day

Only thirty days into 2007 and already I can cross one of my New Year's resolutions off the list.

Luke and I, we'll not be paying off the car.

All this time I've been focused on eliminating the three-hundred-and-thirty-dollar monthly Cobalt payment from our vast array of bills, convinced that doing so would put us in a better position to buy a house. Financial advisors often encourage buyers to whittle down their consumer debt before applying for a mortgage, and if we could just "make do" in our one-bedroom apartment until next summer, the two of us could not only own our car outright, we'd also accumulate about ten percent for a down payment on a modest starter home. If we extended our lease to September 2008, maybe fifteen. As far as the whole baby thing (BAAAYBEEES), well, if the good Lord blessed us with one before we dug our heels into the confusing world of real estate, we vowed to make it work until our lease was up because it'd only be for a few months and Leigh wouldn't notice how cramped we were until she was ready to walk, but we wouldn't be in the apartment long enough for her to start walking because Hello! Our plan was to be in a house by then. So no worries.

(This "new" plan has, in reality, been in place since we got married, and yet I'm still inspired to rehash it once every three weeks or so, punching various numbers into my calculator and pestering Luke for his thoughts on what we can do save more more money, stressing how important it will be for us to choose a home that can be maintained on his income because that's what will enable me to stay at home with Leigh (or Lucy. Or Jillian. Or Nathan, because legend has it some women give birth to boys). And because Luke is used to my love for Rehashing Important Issues We've Already Covered In Excruciating Detail, he slips into his Devil's Advocate gear and reminds me of our salary differences and how difficult it might be to make ends meet with me out of the work force, all the while supporting our common goal to care for a child without forking over wads of dough to a daycare facility. Apparently we save all our fancy dance moves for the choreography of thought-provoking conversation.)

In order to get ready for the upcoming buying frenzy, we find ourselves drawn to the bookstore every few days, perusing the shelves for advice on how to select a home and how to pay for it without defaulting on my student loans. And every few days, we walk away empty-handed because I remember we still have my sister-in-law's copy of Home Buying for Dummies and Suze Orman's Money Book for the Young, Fabulous & Broke, both of which have a wealth of practical information, and also because spending money on financial-planning books may not be the most sound financial plan. Anyway, while reflecting on some of Suze's gems, I recalled a scenario she described in which a young woman had several thousand dollars worth of credit card debt at an interest rate of twelve percent and a savings account that yielded an annual return of point-three percent at best. Why, Suze asked, why oh why was this girl socking away money at such a low rate when she could be using it to pay off the high-interest cards? "Use your head, girlfriend!" she said, wagging a literal finger as demonstrated by her flagrant use of exclamatory sentences.

And that's when it hit me: I was that young woman.

I don't know if I've ever shared this with you people before, but I have very good credit. When I bought the Cobalt in 2005, I scored a two-percent interest rate. Two percent! Over the life of my loan, I'll have shelled out fewer than four hundred dollars in interest to GMAC. Another tidbit you may not be aware of: the interest rate on mortgages? They are not two percent at all. In fact, they are the opposite of two percent, which is Frema-speak for triple. What the hell am I thinking, rushing to pay off a car three years early in order to save a few hundred smackers when we could be funneling that money towards a house, the cost of which will most likely pay for a bachelor's degree at a private college? Also, where did I get the lame-brained idea that we'd have any money to save once a baby enters the picture, especially since we plan to live on one income? My thought process was so faulty you'd swear I spent my free time drinking gasoline and then inhaling the fumes leaking from my ass.

Our new, "foulproof" plan: use our savings to get into a house sometime this year. Our lease ends in June, but if we need to, we can extend it for another three or even six months to make sure we're really ready. Once we're in the house, we can start saving to pay off the car. This plan allows us to properly situate ourselves as homeowners before the introduction of any offspring (BAAAYBEEES) into our family, which we both like. Not that there's anything wrong with apartment living. We love our little unit and have everything we need, but we'd have to make some major changes to accommodate the cohabitation of another person, even if that person's activity level will be limited to producing smelly bowel movements and sucking on my boob (God willing).

Now that we've got the financial logistics straightend out, we can devote our time and energy into my new favorite topic: Who Gets To Stay Home With The BAAAYBEEES?

It's no secret to the Internet that I want to stay home with my children, at least until they're in school. And even then, the idea of being That Mom, the mom who bakes cupcakes for snack time and volunteers for field trips and has dinner sitting on the table at five-thirty every night, stamps a smile on my heart, so I guess I just want to stay home. I have career aspirations, too, but I'm more than willing to put them on hold while Luke and I are in the early stages of building our family.

However, it's also no secret that by some divine twist of fate, I currently make more money than Luke, so much so that if our roles were reversed--that is, if I had Luke's job and he had mine--the question of whether or not we could afford to keep me at home wouldn't be an issue. We'd do without cable for another few years, and our dinners out would be reduced to an occasional extra-crispy chicken bucket from KFC, but it'd be managable.

In previous discussions regarding our previous plan, I would sometimes casually suggest that Luke consider being the at-home parent, and we'd both laugh, and he'd reply that he wasn't sure how he'd feel about taking a break from the traditional nine-to-five work force, and I'd breathe a sigh of relief because that meant it was OK to resign ourselves to a life of (temporary) poverty. If Luke didn't want to be a stay-at-home dad, I would never make him. But I still didn't want to pay for daycare.

That was all before this past Sunday, when Luke and I were out for breakfast and we let our collective gaze wander over to the table across from us, where a blond-haired, blue-eyed little boy who couldn't have been more than eight months old was blowing raspberries with Gerber's latest fruit-and-meat concoction, and Luke said, "Maybe I could be a stay-at-home dad after all. It would make better financial sense."

At that point, my head started to shake and my eyes bulged out of their sockets, but not before they reduced Luke to a pile of ashes with the deadliest, most evil If Looks Could Kill staredown in the history of the universe.

After I stopped banging my head into the restaurant's coat rack in an effort to permanently erase his comment from my memory, I let myself process the information so we could give the matter some serious thought. When I think about having to redefine the image I've made for myself as a mother, I want to grab Luke by the collar and plead with him to work two jobs so I can bring that picture to life. But when I think about what's truly important to me--the ability to enable our children's parents to serve as their primary caregivers--and I realize that THAT dream can still come true, I start breathing again well enough to remember this family is not all about me. And Luke is going to be such a wonderful father. Our children would be truly blessed to be able to spend so much time with him.

Right now, it's too soon to make any definite decisions. Individually we'll keep doing our thing, career-wise, and revisit the issue once we have a baby to stay home with and I get a chance to see how I hold up after a three-month maternity leave.

Yesterday in a Google chat with Molly, I joked that I've gone from being a Catholic singleton with SAHM potential to a Protestant working mom. It's a good thing Luke can cook or this whole "challenging myself to be a more open-minded person" thing would be such a waste of time.

The Money Pit

When