BAM. CRASH. "Dang it!"*
That's the sound of me learning I was being pushed off the top of the "Best Mom Ever" trophy I THOUGHT I had previously earned title to.
That's the sound of me after I was told, by The Babe, that "You are not the best Mom in the world" along with the cousin statement, a brief three minutes later, "You are the worst Mom in the world".
What, pray tell, did I do to deserve such fierce commentary?
I didn't order overpriced Preschool pictures.
A few weeks earlier, we had been to Target to take his birthday photo. With the Preschool pictures being taken in late September, I also was looking at a budget that was replete with school expenses. I just didn't think having yet another set of photos I'd eventually have to distribute made ANY sense.**
According to the sob story I received, Mr. Nadaphoto was the only kid in class not to get a set of pictures. I guess the rest of the kids are first-borns, come from homes with bigger budgets, or are more adored than my kid. Pity him.
Once we got home, he wanted to see his Target pictures again. When I handed him one, these same pictures he so adored upon pick-up, he pronounced them "dumb" and said "everyone is going to laugh at these". I beg to differ.
No offense intended, Jesus, but I understand*** the Preschool pictures this year were taken in front of the Jesus statue. The one that is about two stories high with hands which are disproportionately large. Mike and I wonder how this bronze beauty made it through the initial phases of planning without someone going "GEEZ. What's up with the hands on that dude?"
Somehow, big-handed Jesus in the background of my kid's picture just doesn't work for the world's worst Mom. Finding this out made me DOUBLY glad I hadn't sent through the order.
The world's most neglected, unloved, photo-deprived child would disagree, though.
*That's a cleaned up version of what I would actually say.
**Yes. You are right. You haven't received your picture yet. It should be coming with the Christmas card. If you want it earlier next time, you'll have to come to Target WITH me when I pick them up.
***With The Babe as my source, how could this be wrong?
Showing posts with label money. Show all posts
Showing posts with label money. Show all posts
Friday, November 13, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
A Minor Flaw in Logic
I just read this banner on the Internet: Financial Future? Ask a Psychic!
Wow! All it takes to determine my financial future is to sit down and talk with a psychic? Sign me up!
But, first, I have to get past the following:
1. If I'm a psychic with intimate knowledge of the financial future of the people I talk to, why don't I just pinpoint the wisdom that made these random people rich, use that information, and become a quadzillionaire?
Then I could get out of the pyschicing business which, I'm sure, is a very tiring industry to be in. I mean, really, how many times can you answer the question "Who am I going to marry? How many munchkins am I going to thrust out? Where should we live for maximum happiness?" I imagine that gets old after day two.
2. I really have a hard time trusting my money with someone who has CFA, CFP, ChFC, CPA and PFS after their name. I mean, it takes a pretty good leap of faith to write a check over to someone you aren't related to, don't live with, and who could be the head of another Ponzi scheme.
I'm thinking the only credential behind the name Psychic is B.S.* That doesn't exactly instill big-time financial confidence in me. I mean, most days I could qualify for THAT credential and I'm not the sharpest razor in the Schick plant.
So, I guess it's back to good old-fashioned saving and investing for the Nowells. And, good, old-fashioned billing for Mike.
Unless one of us can BECOME psychic.
HMMMMMMM.
*And I'm not talking a Bachelor of Science here.
Wow! All it takes to determine my financial future is to sit down and talk with a psychic? Sign me up!
But, first, I have to get past the following:
1. If I'm a psychic with intimate knowledge of the financial future of the people I talk to, why don't I just pinpoint the wisdom that made these random people rich, use that information, and become a quadzillionaire?
Then I could get out of the pyschicing business which, I'm sure, is a very tiring industry to be in. I mean, really, how many times can you answer the question "Who am I going to marry? How many munchkins am I going to thrust out? Where should we live for maximum happiness?" I imagine that gets old after day two.
2. I really have a hard time trusting my money with someone who has CFA, CFP, ChFC, CPA and PFS after their name. I mean, it takes a pretty good leap of faith to write a check over to someone you aren't related to, don't live with, and who could be the head of another Ponzi scheme.
I'm thinking the only credential behind the name Psychic is B.S.* That doesn't exactly instill big-time financial confidence in me. I mean, most days I could qualify for THAT credential and I'm not the sharpest razor in the Schick plant.
So, I guess it's back to good old-fashioned saving and investing for the Nowells. And, good, old-fashioned billing for Mike.
Unless one of us can BECOME psychic.
HMMMMMMM.
*And I'm not talking a Bachelor of Science here.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
The little number 100
When I started this adventure, my goal was to get a friend off my back. A friend who kept telling me I needed to write. Little did he know, he was right!
I found out I do need to write. Kind of like Ted Kennedy used to need booze. Or I need coffee to remain vertical after 10a.m.
My whole goal when I hit 50 posts was to get to 100. That seemed totally plausible.
When I saw Julie and Julia, I decided it would be cool if this thing made money.
So, reality check time:
1. My friend regularly reads this post and often comments. I'm afraid, if I stop now, I'll catch all kind of flack. What have I gotten myself into?
2. My need for writing is, to quote Mike, "an obsession." Just because I've chosen writing over showering some days doesn't make it so, Mister!
3. I hope I don't give up at 100. I have a real talent of hitting goals then completely torching whatever I was doing. Check back tomorrow to see if 101 is here or not. No guarantees.
4. I have no more money today than I did 100 posts ago. In fact, if the time I spent writing these blessed things was spent writing a REAL book, I'd be halfway done by now. Crap.
In the process, I've discovered what I think God wanted me to discover all along: this writing thing works for me. It isn't the torture other people experience when they try to put words on paper. I can do it without pain or angst. Maybe not perfectly, but well enough to get my point across and make people chuckle every once in a while.
I don't know what the next 100 posts hold, or if there will even be another 100, but I thank you for reading this far.
It has been my pleasure to serve as your writer.
I found out I do need to write. Kind of like Ted Kennedy used to need booze. Or I need coffee to remain vertical after 10a.m.
My whole goal when I hit 50 posts was to get to 100. That seemed totally plausible.
When I saw Julie and Julia, I decided it would be cool if this thing made money.
So, reality check time:
1. My friend regularly reads this post and often comments. I'm afraid, if I stop now, I'll catch all kind of flack. What have I gotten myself into?
2. My need for writing is, to quote Mike, "an obsession." Just because I've chosen writing over showering some days doesn't make it so, Mister!
3. I hope I don't give up at 100. I have a real talent of hitting goals then completely torching whatever I was doing. Check back tomorrow to see if 101 is here or not. No guarantees.
4. I have no more money today than I did 100 posts ago. In fact, if the time I spent writing these blessed things was spent writing a REAL book, I'd be halfway done by now. Crap.
In the process, I've discovered what I think God wanted me to discover all along: this writing thing works for me. It isn't the torture other people experience when they try to put words on paper. I can do it without pain or angst. Maybe not perfectly, but well enough to get my point across and make people chuckle every once in a while.
I don't know what the next 100 posts hold, or if there will even be another 100, but I thank you for reading this far.
It has been my pleasure to serve as your writer.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Queen Cry-a-lot
I started to cry during the kid's weekly matinee at the Studio Movie Grill last week. No kidding. Big tears exiting eyes, flowing down my cheeks.
Either I had done a really good job discreetly wiping my face 10,000 times with a napkin reduced to pulp OR my make-up job that morning was pathetic, because when I brought it up in the car on the way home, everyone looked at me like "WHHATTTT? You were crying? During Prince of Egypt?"
Yes, I was crying during Prince of Egypt. You got a problem with that?
Here's how it all happened, me getting from dry-faced taxi-Mom to blubbering idiot, that is:
1. We arrived a wee bit close to start time* and the parking lot was abnormally crowded. Thankfully, Hotels.com was having an outing of some sort in one of the theaters, which explained the five minute walk past all the SUVs and BMWs**. It also explained the buffet of bagels, cream cheese, coffee, and donuts in the hallway that I had to practically extricate the kids from after they made the 40 yard dash toward the table***. They thought they had hit some kid jackpot. I got to be the meanie who pointed out "you only have two sevens and one Jackpot. SORRY."
2. Our price for admission was a reasonable $6. The popcorn, however, was on the high side of average at $3.49. I had to get two bowls because the kids were all sitting about 10 feet apart and I didn't want to be the "popcorn-passing-go-between" all movie long****. The tea was an astounding $2.99. Truly, this is a bargain if you can drink FIVE GALLONS, but for one measly glass? It COSTS $2.99 to make five gallons of tea, and that's if you use BOTTLED water*****!
3. Once I got over the sticker shock that was the menu, we settled in. Before we even got past the first two scenes, it was obvious the Babe had been checked out during the time I was interim chidren's minister at church and we studied Moses. I had to narrate so he could catch the story, as his previous exposure, apparently, didn't stick. Our conversation went something like this:
"That's baby Moses."
"Who's he?"
"The one who heard the voice from the burning bush."
"There's a bush burning? Where?" (Looks like a bobble head trying to get an adequate view)
"No, the burning bush, in the Bible."
"Oh." (Clearly didn't remember THAT)
"What about the 10 Plagues?"
"Eggs? I want popcorn!"
"Never mind. Have you heard of Passover?
"Pass what?"
"Passover. The holiday still celebrated by the Jews? Moses knew about that."
"Moses. Moses who?"
I'm clearly frustrated by this whisper-loud conversation between my cupped hand and his right ear. Each time I whisper something, he turns to me and YELLS his question or response. This isn't working. But I am persistent, if I am anything.
"Moses is the one who brought the 10 Commandments down the mountain to the people. Do you remember Mom and Dad telling you about the 10 Commandments?"
(Look of recognition in his eyes) "YES. That's what you tell me about every time I disohay you."
"Disobey?"
"Yes."
"You are right."
Now that he is caught up on the plot, I watch the movie. The story truly is amazing: a baby boy, marked for execution, escapes to become a prince, only to realize "his" people are being enslaved and to work against the palace to get the slaves out of Egypt, all at God's request.
Moses was a gutsy dude, from leaving the comforts of the palace, to trusting God's voice through the burning bush, returning to the palace and ushering in God's plagues, to leading his people into the wilderness, parting the Red Sea and presenting the 10 Commandments.
When Moses put that staff in the Sea and it rose up, like a backward tsunami, and presented dry land, complete with an image of a whale swimming behind a wall of water, THAT'S when I started to cry.
It was the sheer beauty of the story that got me at that point. These people had been through so much and, here they were, trusting in a situation that was so, very scary. I mean, truly, can you imagine looking at miles-high walls of water and proceeding forward, across what used to be the bottom of the sea just moments before?
It was just an emotional highpoint in the movie for me. And, doggone it, I'm pretty glad I'm not so "grown up" that I can't cry at an appropriate moment.
So, be warned, fair readers. If you attend a theater with me, I may go all misty on you. Just pick up a few extra napkins in the lobby before we enter the movie and life will be all good.
The fact that I might be late meeting you? The horror on my face when I pay to get in? The honking when I need to blow my nose, mid-movie? I apologize for all that now.
*Have I mentioned I have this little issue with time? Seems I can't keep track of it and refuse to be tied down by it. What a rebel.
**This wasn't the average every Mom, daycare, and YMCA descending upon the theatre kind of day. Thank goodness.
***Man! I knew I quit corporate American too soon.
****I paid my two bucks to watch the movie, too.
*****I felt like the servers were standing at the back of the movie, rubbing their hands together, laughing evilly about my ridiculous outlay of money for a glass of tea.
Either I had done a really good job discreetly wiping my face 10,000 times with a napkin reduced to pulp OR my make-up job that morning was pathetic, because when I brought it up in the car on the way home, everyone looked at me like "WHHATTTT? You were crying? During Prince of Egypt?"
Yes, I was crying during Prince of Egypt. You got a problem with that?
Here's how it all happened, me getting from dry-faced taxi-Mom to blubbering idiot, that is:
1. We arrived a wee bit close to start time* and the parking lot was abnormally crowded. Thankfully, Hotels.com was having an outing of some sort in one of the theaters, which explained the five minute walk past all the SUVs and BMWs**. It also explained the buffet of bagels, cream cheese, coffee, and donuts in the hallway that I had to practically extricate the kids from after they made the 40 yard dash toward the table***. They thought they had hit some kid jackpot. I got to be the meanie who pointed out "you only have two sevens and one Jackpot. SORRY."
2. Our price for admission was a reasonable $6. The popcorn, however, was on the high side of average at $3.49. I had to get two bowls because the kids were all sitting about 10 feet apart and I didn't want to be the "popcorn-passing-go-between" all movie long****. The tea was an astounding $2.99. Truly, this is a bargain if you can drink FIVE GALLONS, but for one measly glass? It COSTS $2.99 to make five gallons of tea, and that's if you use BOTTLED water*****!
3. Once I got over the sticker shock that was the menu, we settled in. Before we even got past the first two scenes, it was obvious the Babe had been checked out during the time I was interim chidren's minister at church and we studied Moses. I had to narrate so he could catch the story, as his previous exposure, apparently, didn't stick. Our conversation went something like this:
"That's baby Moses."
"Who's he?"
"The one who heard the voice from the burning bush."
"There's a bush burning? Where?" (Looks like a bobble head trying to get an adequate view)
"No, the burning bush, in the Bible."
"Oh." (Clearly didn't remember THAT)
"What about the 10 Plagues?"
"Eggs? I want popcorn!"
"Never mind. Have you heard of Passover?
"Pass what?"
"Passover. The holiday still celebrated by the Jews? Moses knew about that."
"Moses. Moses who?"
I'm clearly frustrated by this whisper-loud conversation between my cupped hand and his right ear. Each time I whisper something, he turns to me and YELLS his question or response. This isn't working. But I am persistent, if I am anything.
"Moses is the one who brought the 10 Commandments down the mountain to the people. Do you remember Mom and Dad telling you about the 10 Commandments?"
(Look of recognition in his eyes) "YES. That's what you tell me about every time I disohay you."
"Disobey?"
"Yes."
"You are right."
Now that he is caught up on the plot, I watch the movie. The story truly is amazing: a baby boy, marked for execution, escapes to become a prince, only to realize "his" people are being enslaved and to work against the palace to get the slaves out of Egypt, all at God's request.
Moses was a gutsy dude, from leaving the comforts of the palace, to trusting God's voice through the burning bush, returning to the palace and ushering in God's plagues, to leading his people into the wilderness, parting the Red Sea and presenting the 10 Commandments.
When Moses put that staff in the Sea and it rose up, like a backward tsunami, and presented dry land, complete with an image of a whale swimming behind a wall of water, THAT'S when I started to cry.
It was the sheer beauty of the story that got me at that point. These people had been through so much and, here they were, trusting in a situation that was so, very scary. I mean, truly, can you imagine looking at miles-high walls of water and proceeding forward, across what used to be the bottom of the sea just moments before?
It was just an emotional highpoint in the movie for me. And, doggone it, I'm pretty glad I'm not so "grown up" that I can't cry at an appropriate moment.
So, be warned, fair readers. If you attend a theater with me, I may go all misty on you. Just pick up a few extra napkins in the lobby before we enter the movie and life will be all good.
The fact that I might be late meeting you? The horror on my face when I pay to get in? The honking when I need to blow my nose, mid-movie? I apologize for all that now.
*Have I mentioned I have this little issue with time? Seems I can't keep track of it and refuse to be tied down by it. What a rebel.
**This wasn't the average every Mom, daycare, and YMCA descending upon the theatre kind of day. Thank goodness.
***Man! I knew I quit corporate American too soon.
****I paid my two bucks to watch the movie, too.
*****I felt like the servers were standing at the back of the movie, rubbing their hands together, laughing evilly about my ridiculous outlay of money for a glass of tea.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Anal Retentive--who, ME?
When you've determined to run the destiny of your financial life by making Abraham Lincoln scream in pain*, you become a bit, shall we say, ANAL, about money, long after you've decided that you can ease up a bit**.
Which brings me to tonight, the night I've designated as BUDGET NIGHT. Actually, this piece de resistance started well into the afternoon, 2ish, to be more exact, and has continued to about 11pm. And, I'm not done.
But, in nine hours, I've discovered at least one thing: I've lost more than a few receipts from this past month. And it is making me crazy.
Over the years, you must know, we've been determined to track every penny that goes through this house. I mean that literally. Every penny. We save each and every receipt, know when "kids get in free" from Harlingen to Amarillo, and have moved our insurance deductibles so high that even State Farm raises an eyebrow at us. Yet, all this tracking/raising/saving has made us happy.
Yes, folks, a bit of a clue to our shared insanity: we are HAPPY when we know where our money goes, even if it takes queeny a thousand years to figure out.***
So, tonight, I'm running through our credit card bill. Keep this concept in your working memory: we run EVERYTHING through this credit card. I'm looking at multiple entries for $1.08****. I've been known to charge a Slurpee to this card. Basically, if you want a snapshot of our life, check out our monthly statement and you'll see the facts: we make some really moronic decisions. And LOTS of them.
I count no less than seven McDonald's entries. Twelve stops at Exxon for coffee.***** I'll even embarrass myself with the total number of fast food entries: Twenty-three. In 31 days!!******
So, with all these entries, I am in desperate need of receipts, lest they go unaccounted for and I have a heart attack, bad cholesterol withstanding, because I can't find them.
You see, for each entry, I have a compulsive need to match the statement with the receipt. In case you really think I'm looney-tunes, consider this: last month, I had my "Summer pedicure". The bill was $19. I tipped the fine woman $3.80.******* When the bill appeared on the statement? $49.80. Wow. A $30.80 tip! Was I so high on nail polish fumes that I forgot my pedicure came with champagne and chocolates?
So, you see where my cheap meets my anal. They work together nicely. And, we're all happy.
But, tomorrow, I must admit, I'll be at Exxon for their divine 24 ounces of steaming coffee goodness because, without it, I won't be worth a flip. And, darn it, next month I'll resolve again to cut back on the coffee after I see "Exxon--$1.08" at least a dozen times.
But, hey, at least I'll have a receipt. And it won't say, "Starbucks--$4.33"
*Work with me people. Think. Pinching pennies. Get it?
**Abraham only whimpers now when I pick him up off the parking lot of Walmart. Did you doubt I did THAT?
***Of course, the king often "pays" for these long nights by getting a little royal backlash, in the form of yelling, in the days after. A royal pity, if I do say so myself.
****Our Redbox habit. Maybe OBSESSION would be a better word.
*****Did I mention I decided to give up my daily habit of buying coffee? I'm not winning the battle. But, true to form, it's CHEAP coffee!
******When I finally make it to the doctor after the kids are back at school, I fully expect to hear "Good gracious, nurse. Her cholesterol is 563. Rush her to the ER. Stat."
*******Yes, a 20% tip. I said I was CHEAP, not a cheapskate.
Which brings me to tonight, the night I've designated as BUDGET NIGHT. Actually, this piece de resistance started well into the afternoon, 2ish, to be more exact, and has continued to about 11pm. And, I'm not done.
But, in nine hours, I've discovered at least one thing: I've lost more than a few receipts from this past month. And it is making me crazy.
Over the years, you must know, we've been determined to track every penny that goes through this house. I mean that literally. Every penny. We save each and every receipt, know when "kids get in free" from Harlingen to Amarillo, and have moved our insurance deductibles so high that even State Farm raises an eyebrow at us. Yet, all this tracking/raising/saving has made us happy.
Yes, folks, a bit of a clue to our shared insanity: we are HAPPY when we know where our money goes, even if it takes queeny a thousand years to figure out.***
So, tonight, I'm running through our credit card bill. Keep this concept in your working memory: we run EVERYTHING through this credit card. I'm looking at multiple entries for $1.08****. I've been known to charge a Slurpee to this card. Basically, if you want a snapshot of our life, check out our monthly statement and you'll see the facts: we make some really moronic decisions. And LOTS of them.
I count no less than seven McDonald's entries. Twelve stops at Exxon for coffee.***** I'll even embarrass myself with the total number of fast food entries: Twenty-three. In 31 days!!******
So, with all these entries, I am in desperate need of receipts, lest they go unaccounted for and I have a heart attack, bad cholesterol withstanding, because I can't find them.
You see, for each entry, I have a compulsive need to match the statement with the receipt. In case you really think I'm looney-tunes, consider this: last month, I had my "Summer pedicure". The bill was $19. I tipped the fine woman $3.80.******* When the bill appeared on the statement? $49.80. Wow. A $30.80 tip! Was I so high on nail polish fumes that I forgot my pedicure came with champagne and chocolates?
So, you see where my cheap meets my anal. They work together nicely. And, we're all happy.
But, tomorrow, I must admit, I'll be at Exxon for their divine 24 ounces of steaming coffee goodness because, without it, I won't be worth a flip. And, darn it, next month I'll resolve again to cut back on the coffee after I see "Exxon--$1.08" at least a dozen times.
But, hey, at least I'll have a receipt. And it won't say, "Starbucks--$4.33"
*Work with me people. Think. Pinching pennies. Get it?
**Abraham only whimpers now when I pick him up off the parking lot of Walmart. Did you doubt I did THAT?
***Of course, the king often "pays" for these long nights by getting a little royal backlash, in the form of yelling, in the days after. A royal pity, if I do say so myself.
****Our Redbox habit. Maybe OBSESSION would be a better word.
*****Did I mention I decided to give up my daily habit of buying coffee? I'm not winning the battle. But, true to form, it's CHEAP coffee!
******When I finally make it to the doctor after the kids are back at school, I fully expect to hear "Good gracious, nurse. Her cholesterol is 563. Rush her to the ER. Stat."
*******Yes, a 20% tip. I said I was CHEAP, not a cheapskate.
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