Because our kids only seem to be around for a limited time, here's announcing baby "Julian" at six weeks. It's kind of like naming hurricanes. They pop up on the horizon from time to time, make our lives miserable for a few weeks, put me in the hospital at least once, and then spiral off into the great beyond. Fifth time's the charm? Maybe? Whatever.
There is a slight chance this time might be different. My uterine cavity has been cleared of all abnormalities. I'm currently on a progesterone treatment, and my nutrition is much better as we've been hardcore vegetable and fruit juicing for about a month. I've decided to go gluten-free for the duration just as an extra precaution. We're really grasping at straws, but it never seems to matter what we do. Oh, well. Time will tell. In the meantime, brace for impact.
I've been looking forward to moving house for a long time. Some friends of ours moved into a lovely apartment almost two years ago and I immediately knew I wanted to join them. Unfortunately we had only just resigned our 12-month lease, so we had a long wait ahead. When our next opportunity rolled around, they served us with new papers earlier than expected, and the location Dave's new job assignment was in question, so we opted to wait another year. The move was now scheduled for next April. I was really looking forward to being closer to friends, closer to Dave's work, closer to the free dog park, in a prettier apartment with a double sink in the kitchen, long counters in the bathroom, a gym and a pool. (Our current apartment lacks both the gym and the pool, the gym being the more attractive prospect of the two.)
The de-cluttering began in earnest. We were going to paint the walls, buy new furniture, replace the glass on the dining room table. There was a whole list of exciting things that would happen "after we move." One of those things was going to be trying for another pregnancy. It seemed silly not to at least give it a shot after all the probings and scannings and surgical corrections we had done.
But you know what they say: location, location, location. As much as I wanted to just move and be done, in the end I couldn't reconcile moving away from my current doctor. It's not that I'm particularly attached to her, but both my PCP and my OBGYN are in the same building, and that building is just a few minutes up the street we live on now. The hospital is a ten-minute drive down the road and through a neighborhood. If we're going to attempt another high-risk pregnancy, it doesn't make sense to move away from this incredibly convenient set-up we have here.
So, I mourned the move for about a day. Then I bought (and built) new furniture and painted the walls. I rearranged everything in the living room and the bedroom. I made pillow covers and new table linens. A large piece of glass will be procured to keep them nice. The thought of possibly being pregnant, miserable and couch-ridden soon made me want to do all the heavy lifting now. In the meantime, we've given up our semi-celibate lives, so we'll see what happens.
Pictures of the new decor to follow, just the "afters" because I forgot to take "befores." Regardless of whether the pregnancy works out or not, I love our new blue walls.
Contrary to all indications to the contrary, the blog has not died.
Christmas was so swamped with projects and commissions that we didn't even decorate, which is a first for me. The only thing we did put out was the Advent wreath, and it's still out.
After all the chaos died down, we realized I had accidently turned up pregnant. January crawled by in a haze of relentless morning (and noon and evening) sickness, finally resolving itself in one distinct bleeding episode and two weeks of blood tests and cryptic ultrasounds. Eventually it was determined that I had miscarried very early but that the placenta was alive and well and determined to make me sick indefinitely. A D&C was successfully completed yesterday afternoon.
That is basically what has been consuming our lives. My OBGYN group wants to finally do some follow-up to try to pinpoint what the problem is, but frankly I can't be bothered to care anymore. I really don't care. If I could have my way, I would never be pregnant again. I'll humor the doctors for a while, but if they want me to do months and months of charting and testing and injections and procedures, I'm going to beg off. I'm not going to cross state lines; I'm not going to invest excessive amounts of time or money. I refuse to let the best years of my life be consumed by wasted efforts to make my decrepit reproductive system function normally. Life is too short for that much pointless vomit. Hope is dead. Hope makes us miserable. We're done. We've accepted it. Now, let's adopt some kids and get on with our lives. Finito.
While combing Netflix for my background TV entertainment while crafting, I came across TLC's "Extreme Cheapskates." I clicked on it because I consider myself a sort of soft-core cheapskate, and I'm always looking for reasonable tips. Some of them are doing things I've done in the past when we had barely enough money to live on, such as picking up spare change on the street and reusing paper towels. I still unplug most appliances when not in use and tear my dryer sheets in half. Not extreme measures by any means, but every little bit counts.
In many instances, the show reveals some of the affluent snobbery of the first world. People who would rather vomit than pick the meat off the head of a cooked salmon have never been truly hungry. I wish more establishments would set out the slightly abused produce and yesterday's bread with proper signage and a reasonable discount. I abhor waste. However, I'm probably not likely to make salad dressing by pouring apple cider vinegar into the dregs of a jelly jar, nor to use a wad of old tin foil inside a plastic onion bag as a dish scrubber. More power to them.
I have no problem with cultivating slightly unusual habits to save money in the privacy of your own home, but when the fixation becomes highly inconvenient and/or publicly obnoxious, it's time to reevaluate the reason behind the behavior. Are you really trying to get by, or would you just rather have a free ride? There's a fine line between frugality and outright theft; fast food restaurants don't put out ketchup packets so you can leave with a pocketful and refill your ketchup bottle on their dime. It is incredibly rude to pay a large restaurant tab with a huge bag of small change. It is unreasonable for a man of means to have his wife (who has exhibited good financial judgment) on an allowance of $20 a week.
Today's random thought, however, deals with a cost-cutting measure which is neither rude nor unreasonable, but neither is it incredibly effective. That thought is reusable cloth toilet "paper."
Toilet paper is tricky. Buy cheap, and you're likely to need to use more in order for it to be effective. Buy better and need less, but spend more. There's a point after which effective toilet paper cannot be cheaper. Anything more expensive is like buying a disposable quilted memory foam pillow for your butt -- extravagant and (in my book) unnecessary. Your butt can suck it up.
The first world reels in shock and horror at the thought of reusable toilet paper. Eew, urine and feces! The family in question used old rags and cut up clothes for this purpose, a basket of clean pieces hanging from the toilet paper rod, a plastic trash can below collecting the dirties for washing. It may not be as far-fetched as it seems, but it probably isn't worth the effort.
PROS:
Allegedly, using reusable toilet paper is "free," eliminating that expense from the budget entirely. One of the appalled neighbors replied that she could never "contaminate her washing machine" like that. Why not? What about those reusable diapers that are making such a come-back? What about reusable puppy pads like the ones I use? There's at least one or two loads of dirty doggie laundry done around here each day. When the washer smells a little funky, we run a cycle with one of those washer cleaner packets. Not so shocking after all. This is a real trend. It's called "family cloth."
CONS:
Reusable cloth toilet "paper" isn't actually free, so I find it hard to believe it's worth the effort from a purely financial perspective. The cost of toilet paper is negligible at best, especially when considered against the electricity, water, detergent and man hours required to maintain a clean supply of the cloth alternative. If you can throw them in with a batch of cloth diapers being washed anyway, that's great. Otherwise, I can't see washing them with anything else (except maybe doggie laundry). I can see approaching it from an ecological standpoint, but I simply choose to pay a little extra for recycled toilet paper. Two ply, of course. In the end all the fuss and bother doesn't really seem worthwhile.
Hey, maybe you don't do it for frugality's sake. Maybe you just like the idea. In that case, there are lots of fancy options on Etsy. These snap together for a look-alike toilet roll. Might as well pay for the good stuff, right? Brown is probably a prudent color choice.
Congratulations to my brother, who had enough ambition to leave home for a tiny apartment and earn a private helicopter pilot's license! The picture is courtesy of his flight school's website. :)
I've decided to finally ditch the kibble and put Andy on a raw diet. The recipe I found uses raw hamburger, cooked rice and boiled eggs (shells on). She has recently discovered that she LOVES boiled eggs, so much so that we probably should have named her Joanna.
Anyhow, the first batch is done, packaged, dated and in the freezer, awaiting it's 14-day parasite quarantine. I'll have to find a real thermometer to be sure it's at least -4F in there.
But I digress. She costs a fortune, but having Andy around finally seems worth the trouble. Rationally, we knew the puppy phase wouldn't last forever, and that ultimately it was about investing the time and resources necessary to have exactly the dog we wanted around for 10+ years.
But despite the fact that we just really wanted a dog, and that she just makes us happy, it was the nearest thing to having kids we could manage at the moment. It's almost like being a real family, not just emotionally but practically.
We tell our friends we got a dog for "practice" before having children. Some laugh it off, but others who have infants and toddlers of various ages dismiss the idea out of hand. "Pets are NOTHING like kids," they say. "It's completely different." Well, that may be so, but there are several important transitions which pet ownership has in common with parenthood, fundamental transitions which many young families may have forgotten about by now.
We planned on having kids right away. Clearly that didn't happen, and that's a story for another post. Now, four years later, we were actually quite comfortable in our childless existence, being able to go where we wanted to go and do what we wanted to do whenever we wanted. Romantic evenings alone were the rule rather than the exception. We could go see movies, take trips, and had a very flexible schedule. Dave had his work and his books, I had my crafts and hobbies, and we managed to occupy all our time.
The master plan for most of the last four years was to look into adopting a few kids once we were settled and debt-free. By our original schedule, we were set to begin that process in a year or so. But despite all the financial preparation, we were in no way psychologically prepared. That's where the dog comes in.
We committed to getting a dog, a very specific kind of dog, a small poodle or doodle suited for apartment life and the real possibility of getting kids with allergies. Dog acquired. Happiness shall follow, right?
Not so much. We were first acutely aware of our lost freedom. We couldn't go anywhere for very long and had to be back at a certain time. We had to stick to a schedule. Somebody besides me needed to be cleaned up and fed in the morning. Somebody else needed her laundry done. There was no more sleeping in. Everything was a choking hazard. There was much more unpredictable excrement and bodily fluid. Parents, does this sound familiar?
Personally, I was already swamped. I was trying to redesign the apartment and start a business, I had a long list of backorders for Christmas stockings and was working an early-morning part-time job. Cooking and housekeeping had been forgotten long ago. Now I was following a three-month-old puppy around the house, fishing her out from behind the furniture, designing makeshift barricades, and generally spending my entire waking life doubled over picking crap up off the floor, literal and otherwise.
Many times I considered - sometimes as long as a few seconds - getting rid of the puppy. She was clearly a mistake, a lapse in judgment, and we would all be better off without such an expensive distraction. But each time I realized that if I couldn't cope with a puppy now, I would stand no chance coping with toddlers later. At least I could put the puppy in her crate when I needed some space.
Now, on the other side of puppyhood and house-breaking, we've achieved a very harmonious existence. We still don't have our freedom back, but that isn't as big a deal as it used to be. Sometimes she walks off her potty pad before the poo falls where it should, and she howls and cries bloody murder from the other room whenever she detects any marital romance, but we're glad to have her.
Overall, I think we're better prepared than we were before.
Family debt report! I'm actually really excited about this one. We were able to liquidate some family inheritance that turned out to be worth more than I expected. After paying off all the credit cards (doggie expenses), there was still plenty to put toward the loan, which is a really good thing now that there are rumblings about the student interest rates rising. The last report in April was 27.2% paid. As of today, we've jumped to 49%. Party!
We are six years paid ahead by the original payment schedule, and at long last our on-hand cash almost equals our obligations. Not that we're going to empty the bank, or anything.
I finally feel like we're making some real progress. Just thinking about all the interest we're avoiding makes me happy. Someday our adoption fund won't be in the red.
Time for a family debt report. Unfortunately, it's been harder than expected to stick to our 3.5%/month plan. We always seem to fall short a few hundred $$$, but we do have a decent tax return coming which should make up some of the difference for the year so far. Part of what seems to be dragging us down is our membership fees at the Krav Maga club and the seed money for my Etsy shop. But, at long last, the warmer weather has arrived, meaning a brief respite from the energy bills, and we're also working to pare down the grocery budget.
So, here are the current numbers: 27.2% paid. I believe our last report in December was 14%.
My sister came to visit this weekend, and she brought her dog, Zoey ("Zozo"). We've been trying to parse out her lineage ever since she was adopted. We always knew she had some Beagle traits, and through a chance discovery of the Australian Kelpie dog on Pinterest we finally think we've discovered the right equation.
Zozo!
Whatever the breed, she's the sweetest, most well-mannered dog I've ever met. There's apparently supposed to be some dingo in the Kelpie dogs, but you'd never know it. I only hope we can be so lucky when we finally go dog shopping.
We didn't do nearly as well in December when it came to paying down the loan, but that was primarily because of Christmas shopping and the fact that I was investing my paychecks for the month in a fledgling home business. In the end, we only reduced our total by another 3% since the last report, for a total of 14% paid. Still, that isn't too shabby considering a regular monthly payment is 0.76%.
Part of our 2013 resolutions will be to attack this thing with all guns available. Since my job is apparently no longer seasonal, that should help. We'll see how long it lasts. In the meantime, I'll try to get my cottage jewelry business up and running to pick up the slack if they decide they can't afford me.
We just fired our first salvo of the year, which should knock off another 2.1%. The goal is still 3.5% per month.
A more encouraging view would be to consider our TOTAL family debt ever has been 48% paid. Booya.
My little sister turns 23 today, which makes me feel really old. It's not a good weekend for a visit, but we're celebrating in her honor with some of her favorite gluten-free cookies.
My confirmation patron is St. Joan of Arc, and hers is St. Thérèse. We always thought it would be neat to find a poster or banner with the two of them together for our bedroom, but we never managed it. I was, however, able to find some pictures. :)
Everyone likes to have a few famous relatives. My foray into Ancestry.com last year turned up a few more on my father's side than expected. If I hadn't done that research, I should never have recognized this handsome face when we spotted him in the Ocmulgee National Monument gift shop last week.
The gentleman pictured is my 2nd great grand-uncle, Captain Jose Rafael de la Garza of San Antonio, Texas, who died at the Battle of Mansfield, Louisiana. He wasn't mentioned at all in the actual text, despite a lengthy write up about the Tejanos. I bought a copy anyway. I'll keep it with the compilation of his war letters Texas A&M published last year.
Thinking about our imaginary rural utopia last week really put me in the mood to do something outdoors. Fortunately the weather was gorgeous last weekend while we were visiting my family in Virginia, so I went on a quest to dig out all my old archery equipment.
Since I am an admitted Tolkien nerd with a weakness for superhero movies, I may be accused of picking a trendy hobby. But in my defense, I requested a bow for my birthday at least a full year before I had even heard the name "Legolas." I spend a lot of time in the sweltering heat of our barn in Texas developing my own technique since formal lessons weren't part of the birthday package. I was just starting to contemplate shooting from horseback when we had to pack up and move to a more suburban environment. With all the distractions of the recent past, I thought I had given up archery for good. I couldn't practice at our apartment, but suddenly I realized nobody was stopping me from indulging in a little target practice at my parents' house. It took some sleuthing to find the quiver and finger-guard, and there were only two arrows left in serviceable condition, but in the end we had fun shooting at helpless balloons downrange. It had been six years since I had practiced at all, but I wasn't as rusty as I had expected to be. Even the husband, who had no archery experience outside boy scout camp, racked up a few respectable kills.
While we're on the subject, I should note that the skill seems to run in the family. My grandmother was apparently an exceptional shot. As the story goes, the man at the carnival archery booth finally offered her as many free arrows as she wanted so long as she left his balloons alone. I can hit every target if you just give me long enough. However, my baby brother (12 years old now) is currently the undisputed archery king of the family. I don't know if he has defended his title lately, but this video was taken when he was 7. Un-freaking-believable.
Pictures of the new decor to follow, just the "afters" because I forgot to take "befores." Regardless of whether the pregnancy works out or not, I love our new blue walls.
Since I am an admitted Tolkien nerd with a weakness for superhero movies, I may be accused of picking a trendy hobby. But in my defense, I requested a bow for my birthday at least a full year before I had even heard the name "Legolas." I spend a lot of time in the sweltering heat of our barn in Texas developing my own technique since formal lessons weren't part of the birthday package. I was just starting to contemplate shooting from horseback when we had to pack up and move to a more suburban environment. With all the distractions of the recent past, I thought I had given up archery for good. I couldn't practice at our apartment, but suddenly I realized nobody was stopping me from indulging in a little target practice at my parents' house. It took some sleuthing to find the quiver and finger-guard, and there were only two arrows left in serviceable condition, but in the end we had fun shooting at helpless balloons downrange. It had been six years since I had practiced at all, but I wasn't as rusty as I had expected to be. Even the husband, who had no archery experience outside boy scout camp, racked up a few respectable kills.