The Redheaded Lefty

Come on over!

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 14:46:00 +0000

All, I've moved. Thanks for tracking me down via email. Please find me here! And update your feedreaders, too, why dontcha. Still working on getting everything situated.

Taking it private.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Tue, 27 Oct 2009 16:10:00 +0000

Dear all:

The time has come

for me to close down shop

here

at The Redheaded Lefty.

It's been more than five years.

Lots of friends

lots of good times,

many memories.

I'm going to start up again

somewhere else

where I can maintain

some level

of anonymity.

This afternoon,

I will be making this blog private.

You can email me if you'd like the password.

Also, I'll let you know

when I have another blog up and running.

Thanks for all of your well wishes and thoughts

and comments

over the years.

Kisses and hugs.

Ashley

What the world needs fewer of.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 00:13:00 +0000

Courts that sentence a woman to lashes for being involved in a show where a man talked about having pre-marital sex.

Downstay-ers now, MOM.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Sun, 25 Oct 2009 17:19:00 +0000

A lot of mornings, I wake up early and check the clock to see how much more time I have to sleep. The how much doesn't really matter, it's more that there is some time. And that I am not awakened by the "Mommy!" cry. Glory, glory, hallelujah.

Today was one of those days, though I didn't sleep very well last night (had to get up to go to the bathroom, which, of course, I refused to do and then my body kept setting off the go to the bathroom alarm, which may be largely psychosomatic, I'm not sure). B got up at 4:50 AM to take Jeff (our visitor!) to the airport to fly back to California. I awakened briefly when he crawled back into bed at 6 AM.

When I heard her feet in the hallway, I prayed to the sweet lord that she would want to snuggle for a little while before we got up for breakfast. Every morning it's:

"Mommy, I want to go DOWNSTAY-ERS."

She wasn't having any of my snuggles, getupmom, now, so we made our way in the dark to the refrigerator and her beloved yogurt tubes.

And then I had a brilliant plan.

Let's watch Clifford! While we snuggle on the couch! Under a blanket! How cozy!

She loved that idea.

So that's what we did for an hour. Well, what she did. I slept in until 8. And I got to spoon her little warm, happy body (and they really are always warmer!) and it was wonderful.

I was pregnant. Was.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 23:13:00 +0000

Have you had any cramping?"

That's what the nurse asked me when I called to report I'd had some suspicious bleeding and a positive pregnancy test.

"Well, nurse," I started. "Since you asked that, I feel a pain in my right side. And let me be totally honest here, nurse. Since you asked that, I can't remember whether or not I had cramps before the question but now I am overcome with crampy pain and it's like it has always been here."

And that's how it usually goes, right? Because when you find out you're pregnant and then you're bleeding too much, consulting Dr. Google late into the night, you really aren't sure anymore what's yes and what's no. It's all maybe.

"Some bleeding is normal, so long as you aren't cramping. Let's monitor your HCG levels in the next few days. They should double."

Oh.

And so I found myself with so much cluelessness and anxiety, an entire doctorless weekend before me. I was in a total fog. B would ask, "What's for dinner?," and my first thought would be we'll probably never have dinner for four. TM would ask me to pick her up and I'd think lifting her weight is going to hurt my chances of maintaining this pregnancy.

All weekend, folks, I wondered what was happening. When TM and I met up with a friend (Leslie!) and her daughter at the playground, she told me her friend had just had an ectopic pregnancy---landed her in the ER.

GULP.

So I started researching that and added it to my Growing List of Things That Could Be Wrong With This Pregnancy.

There was also the fact that I had called family to tell them I was pregnant, this before the concern about the bleeding had set in. Now I was thinking I was going to have to make follow-up calls. I started thinking of what I would say to help relieve their discomfort.

Sorry, I'd say. It was never viable. Yes, I was pregnant. I was about ___ weeks along, but the baby wasn't growing and, yes, I'm okay. We can try again soon and don't worry! They say there is a ___% of our having a healthy pregnancy down the road.

I told a friend I mourned the loss of my history of uncomplicated pregnancies.

Monday morning the doctor's office opened at nine. I called about 3 seconds after that, you know, to give them some time to settle in, and told them the news.

There's bleeding.
It may be ectopic.
Certainly no bleeding is ever good.
It is somewhat clotty.
Not big clots, but small.
RED.
Constant.
More than enough to fill a pad.
Maybe some cramps, though they may be psychosomatic.
I'm freaking out.
FREAKING OUT.
I have to either come in or go to the ER.
Can't take anymore.
Have a family here!
They depend on me to not be in a fog.
I need relief!

So, there was an opening that afternoon. I went. And after three ultrasounds, lots of them internal (goodbye, modesty), me saying, "I'm sorry, there's a lot of blood," and not really caring, they determined I did indeed have an ectopic pregnancy.

And it required I be admitted to the hospital for a dose of Methotrexate (a chemotherapy drug), which would end the pregnancy and protect my fallopian tubes from rupturing. They can be very dangerous, these ectopic pregnancies. And I'm fortunate to have not lost a tube or suffered internal bleeding.

B brought W because I was worried that she was worried I was in the hospital. And there was a also a very annoying woman next to me in my room who was ridiculously loud and begging for painkillers and I thought I'd just kill her and put me out of my misery if I couldn't be distracted, so.

Here I am, okay. This has been a bit of a relief, if I'm going to speak honestly here. I was terribly concerned about the health of the tiny fetus and what harm was being done. The bleeding was just not right and I knew that. No side effects, yet, other than the bubble somewhere in the dark recesses which is preparing to worry about any and all future pregnancies. But it's way back there now, so I'm doing alrighty.

My FIL has taken on doing some research of his own and, blesshisheart, has reported back that it is more common than we thought and that there's a better than we'd hoped chance of bringing another baby into this world. I can't tell you how my heart smiles when I think of him doing a google search on Maine dial-up.

I'm happy because I have my family, my girl here:

Thanks for all of your emails! I 'preciate it oh so very much.

Be back soon.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Sun, 18 Oct 2009 02:26:00 +0000

Hi all.

Be back soon.

YESSSSSS.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 03:19:00 +0000

Do you ever feel like that?

I just went out for a delicious dinner with B and Ladd.

Grace (and Tom) stayed with TM and loved her.

I just booked a rental car for $150, which is half of what they were quoting yesterday.

I leave for Maine in two days.

I shopped today and love my new outfits.

One of my shirts looks like this:

When I found out Ladd was going back to Ecuador (to Catalina) without something special, I tried to pawn it off on him.

That's something I do. I buy ridiculous blouses that I love and then try to give them away. A hostile act? Prolly.

"It's gorgeous," I said.

To which he replied, "If I take clothes back to her, it has to be something I love."

To which I replied, "If you don't love this, then what? I mean, what?"

I need boots.

That makes me happy.

YESSSSSS.

Fall!

Not quite time, but still.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 20:17:00 +0000

I have a drawing.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 02:02:00 +0000

I have this picture

in my house

high and prominent

often

the first thing people see.

It's a nude.

A lady.

From behind---

done in reddish-brown pencil.

It used to be my grandmother's.

She drew it

just like she drew all of us.

It's her drawing

and it used to hang in her house

and I love it.

When she died

I knew it'd be the first thing

I claimed.

One of many things

that would've otherwise

disappeared.

Sometimes

people make jokes

like people do about nudes.

Oh, she's hot.

But really?

My grandmother did that.

And I framed it

because she (the lady in the drawing)

and my grandmother---

and maybe your grandmother, too---

are inspirational to me.

What we can be.

Beyond limits.

And even if that drawing

was of a lady in jean shorts and a tank top

I'd still display it

up high,

right in front.

That's just what I'd do.

six ay em.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Wed, 30 Sep 2009 12:47:00 +0000

six in the morning.

poor b, he has to get up!

sad.

well, it's back to sleep for me.

yawn.

streetttcch.

wait.

he's not moving.

huh.

wait.

i have to get up.

that alarm clock was for me.

ugh.

for me.

i have to get up.

it's cold.

i'm warm under here.

i hate today's outfit.

do i shower?

yawn.

stretch.

good morning to me.

in the car.

it's still dark!

this is a crime.

the day should not start before the sun.

I think that.

driving.

other cars out.

all of these people got up early just like me.

do they have that tired feeling in their chests?

will it go away today?

probably with a good lunch.

why does this section of the highway smell like mothballs?

surely other people notice that.

b did.

and then what do they think?

is there a place you can go to find out why the highway smells like mothballs?

note to self: google later.

to work.

coffee first.

Apple picking with friends.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Tue, 29 Sep 2009 01:12:00 +0000

Operation Can We Do It? Three weeks in.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 13:08:00 +0000

I've told a couple of people IRL that we've taken on budgeting our family consumption. I won't mention dollar numbers here (mostly because I'm afraid you'd say You spend how much on food? and then I'd have to remind you why we've undertaken this budgeting operation). I've gotten mixed reactions, actually. Some people say, in response to last month's spending, That's all? That's not so bad. Others, For a family of three? Good LORD.

We are more than halfway through our first month of Operation Can We Do It? and it looks like we're going to make it. If we don't, it's because B's friend, Ladd, is coming into town for an entire week. And I am not one to discourage good times with friends, sobeit.

I mentioned before that we decided to cut August's food/beverage budget in half, meaning that our family of three would spend the month of September paying a lot more attention to what we were buying/consuming.

Awareness has been the most important piece of this entire activity.

Living within means hasn't been hard, though we have had macaroni and cheese and peas (that's all) for dinner two nights in a row and I'd like to publicly complain about that here. I've eaten leftovers on more than one occasion. We haven't had to fight any serious desires to go out to eat, though, because we've been more excited about making it to the finish line with out budget intact. We've only dined out once and it was for cheap(ish) barbecue at a biker bar in Illinois.

The budgeting or, rather, the game of budgeting, has lured us in. We're proud of ourselves and a lot more into how we spend money (unnecessarily). This has had broader implications, too, of course, and we've taken to spending more judiciously on other things. To make up for other expenditures.

Things that are costly for us as a family are travel and surprise expenses. For example, we're going to Maine in two weeks for a concert memorial in honor of B's mom. Flights and a rental car will cost over a thousand dollars. Also, B is deaf(ish) in one ear. A battery of tests have been run, none of which point to anything but general not-being-able-to-hearedness. His doctor has strongly recommended a certain kind of hearing aid, one that cost us (shocker!) $2000. Insurance covers only $600, so $1400 will come out of pocket. Gulp. There goes this month.

We've said our (however temporary) goodbyes to drunken goat cheese and Hop Rod. TM's down to two yogurt tubes a day---and okay with that. We're not doing the dessert thing (and our scale is thanking us). So boring you could cry, right? At least it comes with a little side of satisfaction (We can do it!) We're shopping and eating less and feeling a little more in control.

Lucy's the boss, listen to Lucy!

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Wed, 23 Sep 2009 14:09:00 +0000

I'd rather be Sally or Frieda, the one with the naturally curly hair.

I came in from outside one day to find the other two laughing on the couch, watching this.

"What is it?," I asked.

"Mommy, that's you!!!," she said, having been brainwashed by her evil father.

So my family thinks this is pretty much Ashley at her finest. Can't you see the sheer joy on Lucy's face when she's leading the show?

Sigh.

It's true. I admit defeat.

Mind's-a-racin'

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 19:41:00 +0000

In a fit of obsessional clarity, I decided to start taking an antidepressant again. Until this pregnancy thing happens, you know. I have put it off for some time because I want to be free and clear for another baby bean and well, I still want that. In the meantime, however, how about some peace?

Thing is, I haven't slept in three nights. This medication is not new to me. I have never had this reaction. I am so getting old.

Last night, I left B in bed and headed for the couch.

"Don't go," he said. "Your tossing and turning won't bother me, promise."

But it bothers me! It bothers me that it may keep him up. Turning over 30 times in one hour has to be disruptive, right? I mean, that gives me anxiety. Keeps me up. It also bothers me that Mister sleeps next to me on my pillow and breathes his shrimp breath on me.

I was a prisoner of insomnia yet again last night. I tried counting backwards from 100 to 0, tried relaxing body parts. I promised myself I wouldn't look at the clock and then did. Countless numbers of times. This is starting to take on the features of my first year as a new parent, when I'd see the sun go down and start getting all twitchy because I knew it'd be dark and everyone in my side of the world except for me would be sleeping.

Sometime around 3 am, I got off the couch and decided a Krispy Kreme donut would feel good. After a few bites, I heard Mister clamor down the steps---he always hears the fridge. He joined me back on the couch, where he promptly fell into a peaceful, dreamful sleep. He even snored, the asshole. And there I was, wide awake.

This continued until just after 4 am, when I went back upstairs to our bedroom. I figured a change of scene would do me good (same reasoning for the couch). I fell asleep about 5:15 and was up at 6:45, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to take on a new day.

Without the meds.

(Have called in for a smaller dosage).

Inspired at Home

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Mon, 21 Sep 2009 00:46:00 +0000

We've been perched at our window to the backyard for the last two days, waiting for a sign that the birds have received the message that we're open for business. We've put food out, now where are they?, we wondered.

B, defeated, declared that, "We live in a dead zone."

"I read in my book that if we want birds to come we'd better keep Mister inside. Just saying," I said to B.

We underestimated the power of good marketing:

and

We've had three birds today that we know of. Why are the males the beautiful ones? So unfair. While the garden is a work in progress, I'm feeling so good about it I thought I'd share a picture. We've tried to go native in every way we can so that we can establish these puppies and then watch them take care of themselves.

After we napped today, we did some picking up around the house. B folded laundry. I walked upstairs to see this on our bed:

Love.

Conversations on computer keyboards, marital variety.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Sun, 20 Sep 2009 15:28:00 +0000

Scene: Saturday night, and we're both on our computers. Trying to play each other in online Cribbage.

Me: What are you doing? I'm waiting.

Him: My computer froze. This thing sucks.

Me: Yeah, your computer is terrible. When's your new one coming?

Him: Dunno.

Me: You should ask.

Him: Hey, didn't the Escape button used to actually do something?

Me: Yeah, back in the early nineties. But now it's all about Ctrl + Alt + Delete.

Him: Heh. Yeah.

I Love That Lady, Part Two

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Sun, 20 Sep 2009 02:25:00 +0000

See Part One here.

The first day of my recent visit with my grandmother went well, though I hesitated in reporting it that way to my family.

“She’s, uh, just really glad to have me here, I think. There’s been some confusion, but overall we’ve just enjoyed our time together. I’m new, though, so…”

I had expected anger and utter chaos. Instead, and I think this is important to note, I was embarrassed when she asked the guy at the movie store, “Isn’t this job just so boring?” It was a tact issue, then.

That next morning, when were on our way home from the cemetery, she asked me to take her by the house where she had lived when my mom and her brothers were younger. I was totally freaked out by the dog situation back at the cemetery and I had no idea what had caused it. Was it low blood sugar? Was she very tired? I am about as nostalgic as they come, though, so I readily agreed to pull a quickie drive-by on our way home (for lunch).

So we did.

And when were directly in front of that pretty house, she demanded I pull over so that she could see what they’d done to the house. Since they’d left, circa 1965. As in, she wanted to knock on the front door and ask for a historical tour of the last 45 years. I get that, because I’d love to do that, too. But not right then, like that, with her.

After what had happened at the cemetery, I was done managing the absurd. I wanted to get home to the safety and comfort of our solitude, where it wouldn’t really matter if she was upset with me because we could work it out ourselves without the judgment from or humiliation of others. This is a person I love oh so dearly.

So I kept going, didn’t stop, even as her demands escalated. It was like negotiating dessert with a three year old.

She started screaming at me, “TURN RIGHT NOW! HERE, GODDAMIT! TURN HERE!” She was hitting me while I was driving, totally out of control. I refused to turn and attempted to diffuse her frustration by repeating, over and over, “I love you and I’m sorry I’ve upset you. I need to use the restroom and have to get home. We need to get your ID today, anyway, and you haven’t had lunch. I love you, I love you.”

That didn’t work and soon thereafter, she opened the car door---while were were moving---and tried to jump out. Literally, open door and leg out of the car. I had a tight grip on her arm and she was furiously swatting at me and yelling to let her go.

I pulled the car over where there was no shoulder, cars honking, and told her, “I love you and if you don’t put on your seatbelt and stop opening the car door while we’re moving, I’m calling 911 and you’re going to the hospital. You’re putting both of us at risk.”

She got out of the car and said, “ROLL DOWN YOUR WINDOW! I will NOT be getting back in until you apologize and take me back to that house. THIS INSTANT!”

She was so upset, so upset. She was shaking and crying---for a split second, I didn’t think I’d be able to convince her to get back in the car. But like a three year old, her attention span is rather short. I apologized enough while she settled down, and two hours later we were on the couch watching a Dustin Hoffman movie.

Last Chance Harvey. Have you seen it? My grandmother convinced herself that Dustin Hoffman was deaf in the movie. Here and there, she’d ask me to pause so that she could make a comment like, “Do you have any idea how many Americans have seen this movie and how important it is?” I couldn’t decide if her reaction to the film was some ancient holdover from the way she felt about Hoffman in Rainman, but Dustin Hoffman was definitely not deaf in this movie. And there was no telling her otherwise.

Up next, Part Three.

Welcome to the world, baby Mattius!

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Sat, 19 Sep 2009 01:22:00 +0000

Gia brought this precious little guy (who looks so much like his daddy!) into the world this morning. Congratulations, V/S family! Can't wait to meet this little firecracker. In Claire's words:

"Mattias Anthony ----- was born this morning at 7:30 a.m. EST, 7 lbs and 3 oz., 19 1/4 inches long. He's soooooooooooo cute. Mattius is pronounced Matt-eee-us and is Swedish for Matthew. Gia said she was talking to my mom before they had the baby and she said, "we're thinking about the name Matthew" and my mom goes, "OH, I LOVE da name Match-ooo" (she couldn't pronounce it with her accent) and my sister thought, "well clearly that's out, because I'm not listening to her call my son match-ooo for the next 25 years."

And what a story. Love you, Margareta!

I Love That Lady, Part One

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Thu, 17 Sep 2009 02:40:00 +0000

Two days ago, my grandmother and I decided to head out for Starbucks coffees (she bought!) and the cemetery where my grandfather was buried last year (he died unexpectedly of a cerebral hemmorhage). September 14th is/was their anniversary, so this would have been their 63rd year together. Can you even imagine that? We took a small plant, orange, because orange felt, to her, a good color for such a long marriage. I totally get that kind of thinking.

We stayed for some time, because buried there are many other family members (all of my grandparents except for her, all of my great-grandparents, and my dad, too). We wanted to visit everyone and stayed for a while before deciding we’d spend our morning doing the entire Savannah cemetery tour (at least the ones that were important to us and, frankly, the best ones).

***I love cemeteries, always have, which I credit to my love of people's personal details. There's a lot to be learned from graveyard, and my dad and his family are buried in a place of pristine beauty.

We ended up (on purpose) at an old cemetery on the west side of Savannah, driving around in circles to find the plot she was sure she could find, the plot from another side of my dad's family, not hers. She was not pleased that I wasn’t, in her words, listening to her. Despite the fact that I knew she did not know where this particular plot was, there is no place for argument these days. I humored her for a bit and then convinced her it would be fun to stop by the office to see “old pictures.” She refused to come inside with me, and when I came out she was holding a small white dog (on a leash), saying to its owner,

“This is Charlie and he was my dog first. He was my dog first, all those years ago, and I love him. Another one of our dogs blinded him---not on purpose---but when you’re 83, you’ve seen it all, haven’t you (chuckle, chuckle, everyone else nervous as hell)?

I’ve known this dog, I have, for longer than you. If I had my wit’s about me, I’d take him home with me. Take him home with me to give Sam a friend. He’d love that, wouldn’t he, Ash?”

At that point, we’d gone about 24 hours with minor bouts of confusion and disorientation. She hadn’t yet done anything so completely beyond. I really struggled to come up with an appropriate solution---I didn't want to embarass her or risk her getting upset, but I wanted the dog's owner to know that my grandmother meant no harm.

I had a hard time taking the dog away from her (“He’s cute, isn’t he?, I said, “Can I hold him, too?). Afterwards, she insisted upon going into the cemetery’s offices and sharing her 83 years of world domination with the guy seated behind the desk (a dear, dear man).

“You know, my family was buried here long before you were here,” she told him, in the same aggressive/humorous tone she used to claim Charlie as her own dog. "I’ve known this cemetery my whole life, and those before me knew it, too. And when I come back to visit here, you’re going to remember me, aren’t you?”

I love her so much, warts and all. And BOY HOWDY are there warts. I'm going to tell you what happened next tomorrow, something that includes her punching me and trying to jump out of a moving car.

Glad to be home, glad to hug my family.

Goodnight.

Quite possibly the best invention ever.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 11:52:00 +0000

I am at least 10,000 feet up in the air right now because I heard the little *ding!* and I'm on the internet, in-flight. It's somewhere between six and seven in the morning and I'm a total zombie.

Hallelujah!

Somewhere between January (when I last flew alone) and now (after the Air France crash this summer), I've developed a highly irrational fear of flying. When I described it to B, I could see little wheels turning in his head, planning his immediate escape (as in, please not now, please, I just want to do my crossword).

Him: "It seems like a switch has been flipped, sweetie. I mean, this is a little nuts, ummkay?"

Me: "But the wings don't move, they don't flap, and what's the backup plan, really, huh?"

Him: [!!!]

It isn't that I won't get on the plane or that I need to be medicated, it's just that it's one of those situations when one has absolutely zero control. I feel better when I talk about it. So listen up!

I've wondered at least 13.7 times since waking up at 3:45 AM just what the hell is wrong with me and why I would ever, in a million years, book a last minute flight to Savannah to spend time with my extremely agitated grandmother who, just yesterday, called me before dawn and said,

"Did you book a flight here? Why? I love you, you know that, but I don't really want to see you. I want to see TM. If she's not coming, cancel the flight and let me know what it cost you. I'll send you a check."

So there's that. But I'm quite certain my aunt and uncle, having anticipated my arrival, were on their way out the door. In their words,

"We're more than slightly frayed. Just don't say anything to upset her---if she's safe, let it go."

Pretty sure they're more than happy to be leaving.

Our summer visit to Savannah was traumatic. My grandmother ended up in the hospital and we left early---I made the decision to get out of there as quickly as possible. This is a time of closure for me. My grandmother will likely have to move out of her home (for her safety and care) and her home has always been the hub of our family get-togethers.

I think that rather than making the exhausting trip to Savannah for Thanksgiving this year my little family may rent a remote cabin and grill fish or something over a long weekend.

Relax.

But for now, I'm headed into a warzone---self-talk is detach, detach, detach. Two days of this and I'm back to my life.

If you have any good advice for being with/entertaining a person with Alzheimer's, I'm all ears.

Yay in-flight wireless!

Where was I?

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Sat, 12 Sep 2009 01:22:00 +0000

Oh, right.

Avoiding this place.

I don't have the desire to be creative, here, folks. It's not that I am not reading other blogs, I'm just not really feeling the whole being on the computer thing. A knuckle on my right hand hurts and I'm convinced I have some sort of early onset arthritis.

Or something.

So, I've been gardening and working. Working my new job, too, as a clinical resident in psychotherapy (toot toot). Loving that---I really am.

Stress levels are high as I've just found out that my grandmother, the one who's had all the problems since my grandfather died suddenly last summer, has Alzheimer's. I'm conflicted because I want to go right now to be with her but prices for flights are so high.

I'll probably go anyway, just because this is one of those times when it shouldn't matter what you pay for a flight.

My mom and her brothers are thinking they will encourage her to consider assisted living, as in outside of her home. As in the home I've known my whole life.

Big sighs, but my garden is looking mighty fine. And I plan to make some garden purchases tomorrow because they don't fall into the whole Operation CWDI? budget. Su-weet.

Hope you're healthy and happy.

***updated***

Leaving Sunday.

Operation Can We Do It?

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 16:49:00 +0000

Operation, CWDI? began today, with a smirk and a nod. Can we do it? It is the budgetification of our food and drink expenditures, and it starts with this:

The reason for such a plan is simple: We are boggled by our monthly spending.

So, each one of the adults in this house---he and I---are to take money from the envelope (a pre-planned amount, and half of last month's expenditures) and record what we're spending. This goes for all things food and drink.

"What about those skinny lattes you're buying every morning?," he asked me last night when we were discussing the game plan.

"Those? Oh, yeaaahhhh. Well, done!", I replied, though I must be totally honest and tell you that I went to bed with more than a touch of fear that the self-deprivation would leave me feeling, well, very deprived.

It didn't, I'm happy to report, and I'm 6 hours into a black tea and honey morning---feeling smart about bypassing Starbucks.

Though we haven't discussed it, I think the idea is that if we run out of cash monies, we get to have a conversation about how fast we ran out of money and be reminded of our need for budget bootcamp. But if we don't, we get to fly to Maine next month and, perhaps, treat ourselves to a nice dinner out and multiple pats on the back.

There are going to be speedbumps. After all, he loves going to the grocery store and I think that leftovers are depressing. I do love to save money, though, because there's something about it that makes me feel like I am frugal and fabulous. I'm guessing that if we make it to October 8 with our budget plan intact, we're going to feel very proud and a little more in control.

Wish us luck! And next month: Target?

Weekend Wonderful

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Sun, 06 Sep 2009 14:47:00 +0000

Our weekends are full of togetherness. Most often literal togetherness, which consists of piles of humans, in family form, either napping, watching Cars, or eating yogurt. Lately we've also taken on gardening and granola. Some of our latest:

No more toddler toothpaste for this lady.

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 22:12:00 +0000

We stood in the aisle at Target today trying to decide between 17 different toothpaste varieties, three of which were training toothpaste, sans fluoride.

Is she ready for fluoride yet?, I thought to myself. Just what does that stuff do to you when you swallow it? Is it like bleach? Thoughts of what I knew about toothpaste flooded my mommy mind, as so many things so often do. Pea-sized amount, use it to prevent tooth decay, don't swallow, make sure you get the molars in the back.

I bought some toothpaste which has instructions for 2 and ups. The princess kind, which she wanted (and why?). I thought that since TM is 3, I had been appropriately cautious in waiting a year. And for the sake of mentioning, so many of my parenting decisions have been made this way.

Graduating to big girl toothpaste is, you should know, no small feat. In this house and with this child, the idea of spitting toothpaste has always been one expressed best in humor. As in, it's OK to spit this time.

Really?

Yes, go 'head.

OKKKKKKK. Here I goooooooooo. Are you watching, mommmmmm?

An activity to laugh about.

But the realities of chemicals and the things that people I don't know approve of to save lives and money are daunting. We're taking it slowly.

Here's our first try:

Where were we last night?

noreply@blogger.com (Ashley) — Fri, 04 Sep 2009 15:38:00 +0000

Click here to see how we got to spend our evening with a stalled car, princesses, popcorn, and toy soldiers. Lovely!