Mommy wants a new shiny.

Some people have what are called ‘Champagne taste on a beer budget'.  Not sure when it started, if it was as a kid when Christmas-season warnings that “There wouldn't be much under the tree this year' always seemed ludicrous when Xmas morning rolled around, or when I was a teenager and was content with thrift store clothing and a job that afforded me just enough money to keep me in cigarettes, but I've always been more of a Beer Taste on a Beer Budget type girl.  

Population: Me.

I'm not great with having money and I'm especially not great with spending it.  When I was younger it was just a case of not having a desire for expensive things but as I got older it's become a bit of a phobia.  A lot of it stems from some very bad financial decisions during my ill-advised way-too-early marriage.  The ex-hub and I were neither of us very good with finances, probably as a result of neither of us really having any money.

We got into what seemed at the time some pretty serious debt.  There were calls from collectors and there were days when I ate melba toast and jam from the food bank for days on end.

Eventually, with some help and guidance from my parents we were able to climb out of the whole we had dug for ourselves.  This is especially fortunate because it meant that when the marriage fell apart we really had no debt to speak of.  No real property either, but that's a story for another day.

As a result, I absolutely loathe being in debt and I have a hard time making large purchases, especially ones that I cannot pay cash upfront for.  Seeing as I am looking at buying a house within the next year you know this means I'm pretty much shitting my pants at the prospect.

Today I am a happy girl, because I got my tax return back with enough of a return to pay off my remaining credit cards.  I cancelled the one with the larger credit limit and the other one will be locked away, only for emergencies.

This means I am now down to one debt, my huge mother-loving student loan.  It also means I have a little bit to play around with, although the bulk of what is left over will be going towards my down-payment.  

Mommy wants a new shiny:

Say it with me:  “Ooooooh...”

There's one of these babies in our local pawn shop for about $400 bucks.  It's a Takamine acoustic (which is probably my favorite acoustic brand) with a built-in pickup.  This isn't the exact one they have but it's pretty damn close.

My problem is the actual act of spending money.  Over the next week I will probably hem and haw and think of a million and one things I *should* spend my money on... namely the kids, because maternal guilt, you know.  They NEED things like summer clothes and I need stuff for the house and blargh blargh blargh.

I totally over-think this shit.

I can afford it.  So why do I find every reason in the book NOT to treat myself?

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I have another post up at Different Paths, Same Destination.  Go read, and while you're there, give the other ladies there some love as well.

Awash in a sea of McDonalds toys, Lego and Barbie shoes.

A few facts about me:

I live in a pretty small house (2 bedroom, roughly 800 square feet)

My kids have way too much shit.

For this reason, today I faced the grand undertaking of A) cutting them loose of some of this shit B) cleaning behind, around and under the various dressers, shelves and other nooks and crannies that was home to all their shit and C) find a way to organize and store remaining shit, so that the children are able to keep the place in some semblance of order.

I need a drink.

Oh look, here's one right here.  Lucky me.

So I can safely say that the girls bedroom is now immaculate.  The rest of my house looks as though a herd of drunk elephants ran through it.  Blindfolded.  Carrying large shoulder bags while suffering from vertigo.

It ain't pretty, let's leave it at that.  But that's tomorrow's project, along with laundry and going through their clothes.  That's right, today was just toys, books and the like.  I haven't even touched their clothes.  I have a weeks worth of dirty laundry in the hamper, yet they still can't close their drawers.  That ain't good.

As it stands I have a nice little pile in the corner of stuff to get rid of, and roughly one bag of garbage.  Getting rid of the stuff may pose a problem though.  You see, I think I may have been black-listed by Freecycle for what I thought was a perfectly innocent post.

One of the ways I'm trying to free up some space in their room is to get rid of the giant metal single-over-double bunk beds they currently have, and get a set of twin bunks.  So I posted on our local freecycle group that I was looking for a set of twin bunk beds.  I included in my ad that I might be willing to trade for the set I have currently.

Well, an hour later I got a nice little verbal spanking from the moderators:

Greetings,
Freecycle...s' only purpose is to keep usable items from going to land fill sites.

One of the rules that you agreed to when you joined Freecycle was that "bartering" was not allowed. Everything must be free.

Because of your inappropriate posting your future postings will be moderated to insure [sic] that you abide by our rules.   

Here's my posting:

My girls currently have one of those metal framed Single-Over-Double bunk beds but it takes up way too much room. I'm looking for a set of twin bunk beds so we can open up some floor space in their room.I'd be willing to trade the bunk beds I current have. The bed and the mattresses are in good condition, the frame is red.

I dunno.  Maybe it was because I forgot to add the word "also" to the "willing to trade" part.  Either way, Bite Me Freecycle.  Oh, and an extra effyoo because that should be 'ensure' not 'insure'.  So, yeah, it looks as though my posts are going to be moderated to make sure I'm not offering sexual favours or drugs or something in exchange for bunk beds.  Or bunk beds for crack of sexual favours.

This is a giant pain when you have stuff to get rid of.  After my verbal spanking, I sent a short apology stating that I would be more careful.  Pretty congenial of me if I do say so myself.  So since then I've made roughly 8-10 posts both for things I am looking for (for all ye crafty endeavours) and stuff I'm offering (namely, my kids shit) and not a single thing has shown up in the group or the mailing list.

So thanks a lot, Freecycle.

this half-assed weekend post is brought to you by a simple dude

Um yeah.. so, McDonalds??

What is going on with your Playland? You've gotten a lot of slack over the years for your contribution to childhood obesity and I applaud your attempt to do damage-control with your 'healthier' options such as your preservative-soaked apple-slices that never seem to go brown and your increasingly tiny hamburgers that you include in your happy meals (portion control, people!)

However, upon entering the McDonalds in Parry Sound this past weekend with my friend and our four small children, I was disturbed to find in the place where there would normally (I would hope) be one of those delightfully large climbers that are so great for allowing small children to burn off steam, energy and calories while allowing parents 20 minutes to oh, say, four hours of peace to eat some fries and read the paper... where was I? Yeah.. the Playland... I was shocked and dismayed to find that this Playland contained nothing more than a few video game consoles and an out-of-order air hockey table.

Imagine the children's confusion!

"What the hell, mom? How do we climb on this?"

I had to love the added irony of how the walls were adorned with various pictures of children being active and having fun, while in reality the only available options were to stand and stare mindlessly at a videogame. I guess standing can be considered activity.


The children revolt! (note happy children being active in background)


I've noticed the slow encroachment of these video consoles into newer establishments, and I sincerely hope that this isn't a harbinger of things to come. If so, I'd have to accuse you of either

A) pandering to the kiddies because "them video games are all the rage and if we put THEM in the restaurants they'll be sure to bug their parents into coming here 8 days a week!"

B) pandering to litigious, hand-wringing, 'Pleasethinkofthechildren!' types who, having read one too many email forwards about ball-pits full of urine and feces and toddlers getting stuck with broken syringes (because you know, if I were to shoot smack, my logical destination would be the ballpit at my local mickey D's), will insist that these climbers pose a very real, very evil threat to their precious little bundles of joy who at 4 and 5 years old are still riding in strollers because God forbid one of them falls and skins their knees while doing something as dangerous as walking or *gasp* running! (p.s. and you wonder why your kids are fat??)

****whoo. deep breath, Andie. ********

So please, if this is the direction you are going, McDonalds, I ask that you think twice about this, lest you truly become the evil corporate empire that many claim you to be - assuming that option A) is behind your reasoning.

If it's option B), this is better remedied by cleaning out your ball pit, and don't hire junkies. mmmkay? Thanks.

I can be kind of a jackass.

So, to follow up on my last post, it seems my understanding of the odd, question-mark shaped stuffie was flawed.

Turns out, as my six-year-old explained to me, because apparently it sometimes happens that I need things explained to me by a six-year-old, that what it is actually for is this:

Mom is on the phone. Young child has a query. But, alas, mom is still on the phone, and mom has told child numerous times that unless they are broken, bleeding or on fire, that they have to wait until mom is off the phone. Instead of tugging sleeves, and repeatedly going 'mom! mom! mommy! mom!' and so forth, child simply hangs the question mark on mom's arm as a way to indicate "Hey Ma! I gots something to ask when you're done flapping your gums!" When mom is done on the phone, she has this bizarre thing on her arm to remind her "Right. Better see what the kid wanted."

SO in that light, it's probably more practical than I may have believed it to be.

Evil. EVIL.

There is a little Mexican girl in my trunk.

Her name is Dora and she hangs out with a monkey named after footwear.

On Monday I plan to let her out. Catch is, is that afterwards I am going to hang her from the ceiling and let a half-dozen sugar-shocked midgets beat her with a large piece of dowelling until her innards spill out.

Children's birthdays are such fun.

P.S. before those of you that need it spelled out go running to the police, I am referring to a pinata, dumbass.