Thrifty Thursday: It's Chic To Be Cheap!

Saving money does not come naturally to me. Confessions of a Shopaholic, one of my favorite chick lit books, comes out in film to theatres this weekend. It could very well be the story of my life. Well, I'm not quite so bad as Becky Bloomwood, but I do find it hard to resist the urge to splurge.

I enjoy finding a bargain, perhaps almost too much. The Dollar Spot at Target lures me like a siren each time I enter the sacred store's doorway. The Dollar Spot is truly fabulous, but 20 items later, I am $20 in the hole. I love knowing that I am finding fun and afforable merchandise, whether it's clothing, shoes, accessories, or stuff for my house. When I eventually get to decorate a little in the "new room" (we still call it that--I don't know what to call it!), I will have to post photos of the amazing ways I found to save in decor by "shopping my house", and shopping cheap! L, if you are by chance reading this, I still haven't decorated, and I am not too big of a person (figuratively, not literally) to ask for help!

Luckily, my children are too young to know that I'm being thrifty. Growing up, if the tag didn't read Abercrombie & Fitch, Express, Limited, or J. Crew, I didn't want to be seen in it. My mom would bring me home a red prairie-length skirt from Wal-Mart, and I really didn't have the power to disagree with "she who holds the purse strings." My sister, Alison, who has always been billed as the smarter of the W girls, discovered at age 16 that she could (gasp!) earn her own money and do what she wanted to with it. I took note.

This turned out to be a mixed blessing. I finally had my own money to purchase whatever skimpy, poor quality tee-shirts from Abercrombie that I wanted, but I became a shopaholic. If it was cute, if it was on "sale," I had to have it.

Fast forward ten years. I still struggle with this. To keep myself honest, and to get some more ideas, I am planning on doing a Thrifty Thursday post every Thursday, or for as many Thursdays as I can remember. If you have ideas on how to save money, where the best buys are, or anything that works for your family, please feel free to post a link to your blog's post in the Comments section. On Saturdays, I'll attempt to remember to do a little feature with your suggestions. (I know my sister and her twenty-something friends will love reading these. I guess I will too, since I'm still a twenty-something)

So now you know how much I am enjoying being thrifty! I have a cute frugal find to share with you for next week's Thrifty Thursday, but for now I bid you Adieu. Naptime doesn't last forever, and my TiVo'd episode of Fringe is calling my name before I tackle the dishes!

Regret

Several times a day, since T left on Sunday, Natalie wants to know when Daddy is coming home from "Lost Baygis." I have repeatedly assured her (and myself) that he is coming home tonight. Unless he decides to run off to Mexico with any cash he might have won at the poker tables after the conferences. In that case I will be holding a big yard sale. If you know of a guy who likes expensive power tools, send him my way.

Natalie has been very curious about this magical place called Lost Baygis.

"Do they have beds in Lost Baygis?"

"Yes, Natalie. Daddy will sleep in a big bed in a hotel."

Thinking.

"Do they have food in Lost Baygis?" She eyes the cookie jar with the candy we reserve for extra special treats.

"Yes, they do. Daddy gets to eat at nice restaurants."

Twirling her hair. "But what does Daddy do in Lost Baygis?"

"He might be winning some money after he goes to work with Mr. R." (Aside to myself: And he better bring home some swag for me!)

"Ooohh, what will he do with his monies?" Eyes lighting up with genuine interest. "Will he bwing me a pwesent?"

"I think so, Natalie."

She grimaces. "Aw, man. I knew I should have gone to Lost Baygus!"

I nod in agreement as I finish cleaning throw-up off Michaela Byrd's high chair. "Me too, Natalie. Me too."

The Beast

A fearsome beast lives with us. Just the mention of her name on our street strikes fear into the heart of residents everywhere. She can dig deep holes, frighten away prowlers, kill and/or maim small animals, and leap over fences in a single bound.

Not so much.

Our dog, Emma Woodhouse, who we call Emma, is a tiny, prissy, ball of fur. Her biggest achievement in life is the time she found a dead squirrel (possibly shot out of a birdfeeder...I'm not saying) and dragging it through the backyard. She is also extremely bossy. When we had Beauregard, our 18 year old miniature long-haired dachshund, we could call him to come inside until we were blue in the face. One sharp bark from Emma was all it took, and he'd come running because he knew he'd get nipped otherwise.

T loves to bemoan the fact that not only is he stuck in a houseful of girls, but even the dog is a girl, and she's not even a real dog. I've seen cats that would win a fight with Emma. T's most embarrassing moment was when he once decided to take Emma on a run through the local battlefield. He hadn't even gone half a mile when Emma gave up. He looked down because he felt some extra weight on the leash, and she was laying on the pavement as he dragged her along. She absolutely refused to go another inch. I couldn't blame her, really. The one time I went running with T (in the days whe I was in slightly better shape), he ran way too fast, and tried to lecture me on the finer points of running correctly. He claims he was humiliated as he walked home holding his dog in his arms, as other runners rushed by, their sleek labs and shiny retrievers panting as they galloped alongside their masters.

It really didn't help Emma's rep on the block when she returned from PetsMart grooming last week with a blowout and two pink bows in her hair. The dog has a better beauty regimen than I do! Natalie, of course, was thrilled with the addition of hair bows. Michaela Byrd was just excited to ride with the "goggy" in the car.

Maybe I should surprise T with a golden retriever puppy for Valentine's Day? T talks a big game, but every night when I go to kiss him before I head upstairs to shower, that little fluff ball is perched on the leather couch with him. He claims she is warming his feet.

Her yappy bark always alerts us when there is a car in the driveway...or a cracker being handed out in the Kitchen, or someone jumping out of bed upstairs during naptime. Yes, Emma Woodhouse is worth her weight in gold...gold plated, that is...all ten pounds of her.

This is Emma Woodhouse. She would sell her soul to the devil for a Cheez-It.

What kind of dog wears pink hairbows, T wants to know. I really can't say. This is more of a fur muff than a dog.

Viva Las Vegas

*Hypothetical* Question:

Which situation would you say is more desirable?

Situation A: Be picked up and driven to an airport. Ride on plane with ample time for napping, reading, conversing (so long as your traveling companions aren't weirdos), or just sitting there and staring at the back of the seat in front of you. Arriving in Las Vegas and staying in a nice hotel. Clean sheets, clean towels, mint on your pillow-the works. A nice woman named Carmela or Juanita will be wiping down the bathroom fixtures each morning. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner out in nice restaurants that do not serve "special sauce" with the entree. Spending the day (admittedly) hitting the pavement in Vegas at the world's largest furniture trade show. Making new contacts. Deciding what the store will buy. Picking. Up. Swag. {FREE STUFF!!!} Meandering a casino after work to play poker with people who don't talk about Sesame Street, graham crackers, and the potty. After winning (or losing) a few bucks, heading back to your hotel room and sleeping soundly with no fear of sickly children crying for you in the middle of the night. Knowing that you wouldn't wake up, even if you were home and the sickly children were calling your name. Riding home on an airplane at the end of the trip, catching up with any sleep you might have missed while carousing the strip.


Situation B: Watching person from Situation A back out of driveway in "chauffered" car, as you hold a snotty, barfy, beligerent baby and your three year old runs up and down the sidewalk wearing her new pink bedroom slippers and a bib from lunch, yelling "Roar, roar, roar." Feeling like yelling "Roar" yourself, but don't because it will make baby more beligerent. Go inside while baby barfs on you some more. Hold baby on couch for two hours while she sleeps, cries, and wallows around because if you move, all hell will break loose. Finally get both children in their rooms for naps and *getting* to catch up on the work you missed earlier because you were at the casino. Wait, I am getting my stories confused...that was Situation A. You wash dishes, clean throw-up off the high chair, let the dog out, consider making a screwdriver but realize it's only 2 pm. Spend the rest of the day pretty much the way the first part went, except the three year old wants to know where person from Situation A went. You tell her repeatedly, and she wants to know "who lost Vegas?" and "where did it go?" Children go to sleep for the night. You eye the cookie dough in the fridge. You would like to go to bed, but have to stay up late enough to let the dog out again so she doesn't start barking at the bottom of the stairs at 5 am. Sit and consider all the ways to burglar-proof the house. Wish person from Situation A was home to protect you. Blog. Go to bed.


If you haven't figured out who the people from Situations A & B are, then I am just plain at a loss. T was shocked when I expressed my frustration that he'd be leaving me for Vegas (baby!--sorry, couldn't help myself) for a business trip.


"It's not like I'm going to be having any fun, Manda." he retorted. "I'm going to be working."


Sigh. If I didn't have sickos in the house, I'd leave them both with Su-Su and head right out to Vegas (baby!) right now and konk him on the head. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, right?

It's Your Party, and I'll Barf If I Want To

My brother, Jamie, had the birthday of his life tonight: dinner, cake, whining babies, and throw-up! Oh, boy! Jamie and Su-Su just moved back to town and they're staying with my mom (Mimi) for a bit until they decide whether they want to rent a place or purchase their first home.

Around 5 pm we headed over to Mimi's for Jamie's birthday dinner. The girls were excited to get out of the house. I ditched them this morning so I could take my Body Jam class at the gym, and neither one was incredibly happy to be left with T. As we walked out to the car, Michaela Byrd was beaming and Natalie was playing choo-choo train, a game which consists of me following her as she ambles down the sidewalk singing "Chugga, Chugga, Choo-Choo" in her loudest voice. I bet the neighbors think she's in the gifted and talented program at preschool.

By the time we had arrived at Mimi's, the anticipation of cake was thick in the air. Su-Su, who is a really talented cook, made an awesome meal. Jamie requested a chicken casserole with rice and broccoli and a squash casserole. Su-Su wasn't thrilled with the starchiness of the menu, but he is the birthday boy, after all. Natalie's refusal to sit at the table should have been my first warning. Girlfriend can chow down with the best of 'em, and she never misses an opportunity to be social. She put up such a fuss that I told her to go play in the family room, but reminded her that there would be no cake until she ate some dinner.

Enter throw-up. About 10 seconds later. All over Mimi's new couch and the hardwood floor. I think she was subconsciously getting back at me for not just letting her have the cake already. It amazes me how calm I am able to stay when a small person is barfing everywhere. We cleaned her up, and that was that. No fever, no chills; she just wanted to lay down. I think T must have slipped her some sort of treat earlier that upset her stomach.

Mimi was exceptionally gracious (those words were typed dripping with sarcasm), and muttered about how she has not had a couch stay "new" in 20 odd years. Jamie just stayed in the kitchen and ate his dinner. He must have mustered some real internal fortitude for that. The look of abject horror on his face the last time he witnessed one of my children throwing up was evidence to me that he is nowhere near ready for parenthood.

You have not really arrived at Motherhood until you have cleaned up throw-up. Or caught it in your hands. Or held a baby while they throw-up all over you. Ah, the joys of Motherhood.

I'm crossing my fingers that I don't spend tonight cleaning up more throw-up. We only have so many sheet sets. And only two couches....

The Bailout

As most of you know, Natalie loves staying on top of CurrentEvents. A few weeks ago, I heard her singing to her dolls, "NObama, NObama, I doesn't like NObama" in a catchy little tune. She's obviously been listening to all the talk about the disastrous, obviously partisan stimulus package. We were upstairs the other night, and she came running out of her room holding her silver piggy bank, which was a baby gift from one of T's cousins.


"Here, Mommy." she said, holding it out to me. "You can put your monies in here so Obama doesn't get it."


So young, yet so wise.


Why didn't he nominate Natalie to a cabinet position? She certainly doesn't have the tax problems that Tom Daschle, Nancy Killefer do. And Chris Dodd, Chairman of the Senate Banking Committee, has had six months to produce his mortgage papers to no effect.


Natalie's solution to the bailout? Keep your own money in your (piggy) bank and let the dimwits who took out mortgages for more than they could afford fail in their investments; otherwise we'll soon be bailing out toddlers who took spills off of tricycles they were too young to ride, kindergartners who took loans from bullies for lunch money that they can't repay. The list goes on.


I think I'll write my Senator (little good that will do) and let him know just how outraged I am at this ridiculous pork package they're ramming through. I look at my precious girls' faces and it breaks my heart that these morons in Washington are going to make my children and their children pay for these mistakes. Thanks a lot.

Rock On!

My friend, Emily, hosted a bunch of moms from our MOPS group last night for the annual "Game Night" (or "Watch Me Cheat Night," as I secretly call it). I don't cheat at all games, just most of them. Especially Spoons. If you've never played spoons, it can get pretty heated as the players rush to grab the last remaining spoons on the table. I think I saw a girl lose an eye once. So in my defense, when I cheat at Spoons, it is for my own safety. Technically, it's not cheating. I just don't look at the cards that are passed to me. I sit and watch for the first person to grab a spoon, and then I follow suit. Unless I get distracted by something shiny.

You can only cheat for so long before you start to get bored. I was skeptical when Emily broke out her family's Wii and decided we needed to give Rock Band a try. Can you cheat at Rock Band? I wondered. Before you judge me, I should tell you that the last time I played a video game was probably 1993. My brother had a Play Station and spent many hours in the basement with Fifa and Madden. He's lucky that he's athletic and played lots of real sports, or he could have turned out to be on of those 600 pound kids that lives in his mom's basement playing video games all day. I just never got into the whole video game thing.

Emily set me up with the drums, her sister E took guitar, J grabbed the bass, and Emily and KO shared the microphone for vocals. We are the most pitiful rock band ever. Not a tattoo, pierced tongue, or ripped jeans to be found. Even our groupies, the other moms, were sitting in the back of the room playing cards and wearing their nice suburban garb. Our tentative name is "MOPSS Rock" due to a spelling error with the Wii. Kind of like KISS, but cuter and with better make-up.

"Wait!" I called out. "Don't start yet! I have to get my glasses!"

I rushed across the room while everyone laughed...what kind of hard-core drummer wears DKNY frames on tour? That's really not a fair assessment, as J was discussing her astigmatism with KO as they strained to see the tiny lyrics on Emily's big screen TV. So I'm not the only one with a handicap!


Um, we pretty much rocked it out. Well, the drums are hard to use, but I eventually got my score up to the 80th percentile. I pretended like I was drumming at a Metallica concert. Or maybe Blink 182. After you get used to the way the Wii works, it's actually really fun! I can see how it can be really addicting, and this is why we will not be purchasing one. T and I don't have a separate garage like Emily does, so the strains of our beautiful music would be heard throughout the house, and then I'm sure the kids would want to play, and I don't like sharing. Plus, I already have visions of the girls standing in the doorway.


"Mommy, can I have a snack?"

"Not now, sweetie. Mommy's playing Rock Band."

At any rate, our first gig as a garage band was successful. At one point, we added some new members...my friend L tried her turn at vocals, and AS gave J a breather on guitar. We signed autographs in Emily's driveway, and I'm pretty sure some of our groupies were crying. Our agent, a Ms. Byrdie of Nollie's Talent World has already booked us a second gig at a local Bar Mitzvah. I envision a world tour, a platinum album, and a pony. The pony is really because I've always wanted one, and I'll be rich enough to buy one after my check from the record label comes rolling in.

MOPSS members, if you are reading this, can I wear pink in our first video? Is that not hard-core enough?

Rock on, chicks!

MOPSS ROCK! You can buy tickets now at ticketmaster for our summer tour.