Just Like The Number

Brother & Sister

This summer has been the summer of togetherness.  As in we are all together all the freakin' time and by 4 o'clock some days we are on the verge of killing each other.  Especially Elena and Eli.  That's why pictures like this do my heart good.  They are proof that, for fleeting moments, they really do love each other.

They are proof that they are capable of touching each other in ways that don't result in screeching or bruises.

They are proof that they are brother and sister.

What Financial Peace Means to Us, and How We Got There.

This past week Mike wrapped up the second Financial Peace University class he's had the privilege of leading.  As I was sitting there in the last class, listening to everyone comment on what the classes had taught them, I had a chance to reflect on where we are and how very far we've come in regard to personal finance.

Mike and I were married right out of college.  We moved to Nashville right away so that I could complete a one-year internship at Vanderbilt  I needed to complete my degree.  He didn't have any kind of job lined up, and I was looking at another 6+ months before I would be bringing any income into the picture.  Thankfully it didn't take Mike long to find something, and when that first real paycheck was deposited into our bank account we felt like we were all grown up.  And being all grown up meant that it was time to accumulate some stuff. 

We lived in a small apartment in a nice part of Nashville.  Cha-ching. When my car refused to pass the Tennessee emissions standards we traded it in for a brand new Honda Civic.  Cha-ching.  When Mike's car lease that his parents had set up for him was up, we bought a brand new Honda Accord.  Cha-ching.  I finished my degree and started working full-time.  We bought more stuff.  We moved into a bigger apartment. 

Three years into our marriage,  between student loans, credit cards and car payments we found ourselves over $100,000 in debt.  It was around this time that we first heard of Dave Ramsey and Financial Peace University.  It sounded like crazy talk (debt free living? saving 15% of your income? paying off your mortgage or paying cash for a house?), but we knew that finding a way to live on less than we made would change our lives for the better.  We were tired of working so hard, but never having any extra.  We were tired of arguing about the money and where it went.  We couldn't imagine living the rest of our lives in that manner.

It took us a long time to fully embrace the sacrifices you have to make to go from living beyond your means to attacking our debt with full-on intensity.  Old habits die hard, and we are a stubborn couple.  But as I reflected on what it took to get us where we are today, I was filled with admiration for Mike and the sacrifices he's made to change our family forever:

He gave up his brand new Accord and bought an '88 Accord.  And from that point on, except for a brief period when Sunbelt gave him a pickup truck, he's driven old, crappy cars.  When the Accord was totaled (he hit a deer in our neighborhood in Nashville and the side-view mirror fell off - that's how crappy that car was.  No side-view mirror = total loss), he bought an '81 diesel Mercedes.  When we moved to Indy, he used to park it on the street instead of our driveway because it would leak oil.  I once had a friend pick me up for a girls' night out and she said, "I bet you hate it that your neighbor parks his piece of junk right there in front of your house all the time."  I didn't have the heart to tell her it was our piece of junk, paid for in cash.  And now that the truck has been taken away?  We're a one-car family. 

When Mike lost his job shortly after Elena was born, he didn't spend weeks looking for a job that would look good on his resume or provide an improvement in status or income.  Three nights after he lost that job he drove himself down to the Steak-n-Shake around the corner and applied to be a server.  He worked there for 6 months, eventually becoming a manger, before he found a job at Sunbelt.  He worked nights and weekends.  He came home bone-tired and reeking of grease.  He was a college graduate waiting tables at Steak-n-Shake, and he never once complained.  He's always worked hard, no matter what he was doing, to do his best and provide for his family.

As a family, we've made other choices to bring us closer to living debt free.  We pay cash for cars, even if it means we drive old cars.  I've been driving a '96 Honda Odyssey for 5 years now.  It has nearly 200,000 miles on it and we've never had a major problem with it.  We've purchased homes that were well below the price range a lender would qualify us for.  If we can't pay cash for it, we don't buy it.  We've kept budgets where every dollar has a place on paper.  When the money is out in one category, you stop spending or take it from a different category.

I'm not going to lie and tell you it was big fun and that it all felt worth it while we were in the midst of trying to scrimp every nickel to pay down our debt.  It pretty much sucked.  Everyone was having more fun than us, and more often than not, sitting down together to piece together the next month's budget involved a lot of yelling and tears and whining.

It was all worth it, though, in June of 2006 when we became debt-free except for our home.  It was worth it when we could sit down and do the budget or talk about a big expense coming up and not end up fighting, because we had learned how to communicate about money together as a team.  It was worth it when an opportunity came up to help a young couple who wanted to adopt, but couldn't afford the legal fees.  It was worth it when Mike came home last December without a job, and we weren't scared - because we were prepared.  It's worth it now, when Mike and I are both doing exactly what we want to be doing right now.  He's giving his dream of being a professional poker player a shot, and I get to stay home with my kids during this most amazing time of their lives.

I write this for a couple of reasons.  For one, I'm so proud of Mike for leading our family down this path.  He annoyed me for so long with "Dave says this, Dave says that," and I'm so thankful for it.  Dave is annoying at times, but he's usually right.  I'm also proud that Mike has chosen to give his time in teaching Financial Peace University so that other families can live freely as well.  In the fall he'll be teaching another 13 -week session for the Fishers Police Department. 

I also write this because there are many of you who probably don't know our story.  When you look around, it can seem like everyone else always has their act together.  I think it's helpful to know that people make mistakes, that their lives can be messy, but that things can always get better. 

I also think it's helpful to know that fixing messy things, like a crap-load of debt, can take a long time.  There were no giant promotions, no big inheritances.  Just patience and commitment.

If you're debt-free, or on your way, as well, I'd love it if you would share a bit of your story in the comments.  If not, I encourage you to check out Dave Ramsey's books or consider signing up for Financial Peace University. 

Taking One For the (Swim) Team

For the first time in the three years that we've lived here, we've shunned the monstrosity that has become the YMCA swimming pool and joined a swim club right around the corner from our house.  I'm not sure what we were thinking all those other summers.  The Summer Break Swim Club is da bomb.  For one, we can ride our bikes there versus packing the car up and driving to the Y.  I can take both kids there by myself and not panic about losing Elena in a crowd of swimmers.  Also, they sell push pops.  You'd think that would be more than enough reasons to sing the praises of the pool, but there's more. 

They have an actual swim team.  Of course we signed Elena up.  We have a couple of meets under our belt now, and we still get the biggest kick out of watching Elena swim.

The first rule of order is writing stuff in sharpie all over your body.  Of course there's the important stuff, like your name, your events, and what lane you're in.  No meet would be complete without using scare tactics on your opponent, hence the phrase "Eat My Bubbles" on Elena's back.  War paint is optional.  Doesn't she looked focused?  Two minutes later she was in line at the snack shack, trying to score a ring pop before the big race.  We'll have to work on that focus thing.

Also, she might want to work on her form.  Pretty sure I didn't see this move last summer at Beijing.

Then again, none of the swimmers in Beijing needed assistants to get them from one end of the pool to the other.  Maybe we have some time before we need to worry about those nit-picky details.

I think she came in 3rd or 4th here.  The team we were competing against had some hardcore 6-year-olds.  They can have their first place ribbons, though.  My girl got a ring pop.

The Luckiest

Dear Elena,

As you are well aware, you turned seven yesterday.  In case you happened to forget your birthday was approaching, we stretched the celebration out over a week.  There was a party with friends from school, a party with aunts and cousins, and then there was your actual birthday.  We spent the day doing things you wanted to do, which meant pool, macaroni and cheese, a parade, pizza, and fireworks.  If there's anything I teach you  in this life, it is this:  MILK YOUR BIRTHDAY FOR ALL IT IS WORTH. 

Sometimes I have to shake my head really hard and rub my eyes to believe that the baby you once were is now an actual kid.  I go in to your room to wake you up in the morning and I swear you have grown overnight. This new smile of yours, the one with missing teeth, is one that I haven't gotten used to yet. Don't get me wrong, it's a beautiful smile, but it's so far removed from your chubby baby smile and only paces away from braces and lipstick.  Lord help me.

Sometimes I have to think really hard to remember what life was like before June 28, 2002, when the midwife placed you on my bare chest and I got my first good look at you.  It always makes me think of this line from a Ben Folds song:

And where was I before the day
That I first saw your lovely face?
Now I see it everyday
And I know

That I am
I am, I am
The luckiest

It might seem as if I am too nostalgic for all things baby when it comes to you.  That somehow I preferred you as a baby or a precocious toddler.  That is so far from the truth.  I will always remember those days fondly, but you know what?  I think seven is pretty cool. 

I think it's cool that you're starting to have your own interests and obsessions that have nothing to do with me or your dad.  I think it's cool that we can pick some really amazing stories together, stories I've never known, and even though you could read them on your own you still want to snuggle up with me and let me read them to you.  I think it's cool that we can hop in the car and go anywhere together, without having to think about snacks and sippy cups and diapers and naps.  I think it's cool that you are choosing your own friends now, and that your are developing relationships that you will remember forever. 

I think it's cool that you still think your dad and I are the coolest people around.  I know those days are numbered.  I see glimpses of it every now and then: an exasperated sigh here, a roll of the eyes there.  They say girls are growing up faster than ever.  I don't know about that.  Is anyone ever ready for their baby girl to grow up? 

For now I'll just enjoy you as you are.  No longer a little kid, but not yet a pre-teen.  No longer a child who needs mom or dad every minute of the day, but a young lady who still needs her hand held every once in a while.

 

Just remember this, though. Whether you are seven, or seventeen, or twenty-seven: you will always be our baby girl, and we will always be honored to hold your hand.

Happy Birthday, sweet girl.

Love,

Momma

Feminine

Once upon a time I got an e-mail forward in which pictures were attached of a naked boy covered head to toe in maxi pads.  It was funny, I laughed, and yet deep down I believed the pictures were a hoax.  Somebody set that poor kid up. 

And then I left my son unattended for a few minutes while I attended to some *ahem* personal business . . .

Poor kid thought they were stickers.  I promise you, I buy my children real, actual toys . . . and stickers.  But who can resist a pile of Kotex Light Days pantiliners just hanging around, waiting to be unwrapped and applied wherever your little heart desires?

And now I will proceed to do very manly things, such as sawing my workbench, whilst sporting some very feminine products upon my polo shirt.

And so this leads me to a very hotly debated topic here in the Six household.  Are feminine products in and of themselves revolting?  I purposely left Eli's "stickers" in place until Mike got home because I knew it would get his knickers all in a knot.  He can't stand dealing with anything that relates to a monthly cycle.  When we first got married, I thought it was just one of his many oddities, but the longer I live, the more I realize most men have issues with feminine products.

I was once shopping in Kroger in Nashville late in the evening.  I was perusing the paper towel/napkin aisle when a hapless fellow wandered near my cart.  He had a very long list, and he looked confused.

"Excuse me," he said, "Can you help me with something?"

"Sure," I replied.  I'm nothing if not helpful.

"My wife just had a baby, and she sent me to pick up some things.  I've gotten just about everything, but there's this one thing I can't seem to find.  Do you know where I can find sanitary napkins?"

Poor guy.  He thought he was actually trying to find an actual napkin of the face-wiping sort.

I told him where he might find them.  He turned 10 shades of red and scurried away, cursing the mother of his newborn child under his breath.

A couple of months ago I twittered this:  Eli must have gotten into my tampons again.  There are bite marks on all of them.

It was met with much disgust from my male friends. Why is this?  As I said in reply, it's not as if feminine products are pre-tested before they leave the factory.  I've yet to see a guy recoil in disgust at the thought of touching a pack of condoms.  Don't they all end up in or around the same place?

I told Mike we would settle this argument once and for all, so it's up to you guys to tell it like is. 

Picture of our son plastered with pads: funny or gross?  And if you have your own "feminine" story to share, please do!

The Rabbits That Ate My Garden

 

Right about this time last year, I was blogging about our garden, and happily posting pictures of carrots and cucumbers.  A friend of mine asked me why I haven't blogged about the garden this year yet.

It's because of the rabbits.

I started the gardening season with high hopes.  Last year was such a rousing success!  We had no clue what we were doing, and things grew!  Things we could actually eat!  Next thing I know, friends are coming to me for advice, as if I have the slightest inkling as to what I was doing.  I believe the term would be beginner's luck?

Our next-door neighbor, who really inspired us to build our own raised bed, moved last fall.  A new guy moved in, who isn't so inclined to spend his free time in the yard.  Mike and I wondered, would he mind if we used his now-empty raised bed?  He did not mind one bit, and visions of all the things we could grow in that extra space danced before us like a farmer's market musical review.  There would be rows and rows of corn!  Because we live in Indiana, and that's what good Hoosiers grow!  There would be watermelons and peppers and peas!  And of course our old friends, the green beans, tomatoes, lettuce and carrots would return.  We bought seeds and ordered plants. 

And then we waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.  We waited for it to stop raining.  We waited for frost to disappear in the mornings.  It took freakin' forever and I got impatient.  I put seeds in the ground too soon, when it was still too cold and too wet.  We got lazy.  We neglected to put up chicken wire under the guise that "it would get in the way of the children really experiencing the garden." Really, we were just too lazy to deal with it.  And so impatience and laziness bit us in the arse, hard.

The corn and the watermelon barely sprouted.  Those that did?  Eaten by rabbits. God love 'em, those peas kept trying.  Every time they had a glimmer of looking like they might turn into something edible . . . rabbits.  The lettuce fared okay.  All those years of referring to salad as "rabbit food?"  Apparently they don't like it as much as I thought they did.  Either that, or they were too full of corn and watermelon and peas.  I tried to fix the barren patches by throwing packets of sunflower seeds around, but guess what?  They love that, too.  I might as well be throwing out mixed nuts to a bunch of drunks.  Nom, nom, nom!  This lady rocks!

I walked out my front door early in the morning for a run and there were five rabbits in my yard.  I'm pretty sure they all stood up and put their paws together for the most awesome feast I've been providing.

Smarter people would have gotten up off their rear ends and stapled $2 worth of chicken wire around their gardens weeks ago.  Instead we choose to shake our fists at the little buggers, call them nasty names (but never in front of the children!), and use $10 worth of Tabasco sauce and red pepper flakes in a worthless attempt to foil their daily buffet.  Instead they just ate more and thanked us for providing condiments.

For what it's worth, we still have a decent crop coming in.  My tomato plants are doing awesome.  Yes, rabbits don't fancy tomatoes.  Unfortunately, neither does anyone other than myself in the Six household.  If all of them continue to grow, I will have approximately 20 cucumbers ready at the same time.  The rabbits continue to gnaw back one variety of green bean I planted.  The other variety is doing fine.  The green peppers look promising as well.

And as if the rabbits and the rain and the cold weren't enough to do the poor garden in, look closely at the photo above.  Eli is crying because Elena won't share the hoe.  The hoe they use to "help" me weed, which invariably means they will hack an actual plant to pieces.  Turns out that chicken wire would have been helpful in regards to the children as well.

At Least I Don't Have To Call Him Moops

I wish this post had more exciting news, but Mike's second try at a World Series of Poker bracelet didn't go as well as he had hoped. 

This was the tweet I woke up to Saturday morning:

And its over...asah4sjc vs Chip Jetts aa34 on 2s7stx flop, turn 6 river 5. #wsop27. Thanks friends for your support

I'm sure you poker-types know exactly what that mumbo-jumbo means.  I might not know the lingo, but I know "it's over," and I know I have an extremely disappointed husband.

We both thank you for all your fun comments and good luck wishes.  My readers rock.

On Having A Boy

A couple of weeks ago I found myself in a garage sale paradise.  The sale belonged to a woman who spent more money in the last few years at Gymboree than I've probably spent on clothes for myself in my entire lifetime.  Seriously.  It looked like a Gymboree store had thrown up on her driveway.  Even better, the majority of the clothes were in Elena's size.

As much as I could go on and on about garage sales and my love of Gymboree, that's not at all what this is about.  It's about boys.

As I was paying for my mountain of clothes, I made a comment about how even though I had scored some serious deals, I wish she had boys stuff, too.  She looked at me in total seriousness, and with disdain for all things testosterone dripping from her voice she said:

"Yes, but that would mean I would have a boy."

I'm a calm, peaceful, and in most cases, non-judgmental person.  It took every fiber of my being not to lean across that flimsy card table and smack that woman.

If you had asked me when I was pregnant the second time around what sex I was hoping the baby would be, I would have honestly told you I didn't care.  I would have also told you that I would be more at ease with a girl.  I knew girls.  I knew how to change a girl's diaper.  I knew that they weren't all sugar and spice and everything nice and I liked that.  I knew that my girl could be prissy and dressed up in glitter and tulle one day, and the very next day be dressed in smelly hockey gear and dreaming of the day she could check someone into the boards.

I didn't know boys.  I mean, I know my husband and all, but most days he's still a mystery to me.  The thought of having a little boy in our home that was all about crashing!banging!destroying! scared me a little.  The thought of  having a little boy in the house that was the exact opposite of that (i.e. a mini me) scared me, too.  Do men have this same feeling at the thought of fathering little girls? 

But still, with all my apprehension about boys, I was never vehemently against having one.  This lady gave the me feeling she would have sent him back, in hopes of getting an exchange for something that fit into those cute Gymboree frocks.

I never asked for my boy, but I give thanks for him every day.  Yes, he is every bit the boy that this woman (and myself) was a bit unsure of.  He is snakes and snails and puppy dog tails.  He sees the tiniest of bugs and squats down low, demanding that you take notice as well.  He sees the tiniest of planes high up in the sky, points and shouts, demanding that you care about such things.

He hears train whistles and sirens and stops dead in his tracks.  We have books about tools.  We have even more books about trucks.  I read stories about garbage trucks, school buses and backhoe loaders.  For pete's sake, I can know distinguish between a skid steer, an excavator, and a backhoe.  I drive across town and pay $5 so my son can touch a fire truck.

 

But here is what that woman couldn't possible have known.  Just like with girls, you get some of those expected behaviors that come with each gender.  Then you get the other part of them, the part of their personality that is their essence, that has nothing to do with gender.  It's not boy, it's not girl, it's your baby.  And it's awesome.

All that boy stuff that she was so happy to be without?  Yeah, it's there.  It's dirtier.  The clothes aren't nearly as cute.  But there's also this:

 

Who wouldn't want a little slice of that?

World Series of Poker Bracelet or Bust

By the time you read this, my husband will have left me.

For Sin City.  Las Vegas.  For a "bidness" trip?  More specifically, for a tournament that is part of the World Series of Poker.  On Friday, June 12th, he'll be competing in the Pot-Limit Omaha 8 or Better Event.  Do I have even the slightest clue what that means?  No.  But I do know that I wish him all the luck that is possible to wish on one human being.

I hope he has fun. 

 I hope he doesn't go out first. 

I really hope he isn't the Bubble Boy.  That honor goes to the person who finishes one spot shy of making any money in a tournament.  I've warned him that if that does happen, he will forever be known to me as "Moops."  (For you non-Seinfeld fanatics, here's an explanation of the classic Bubble Boy episode from whence this nickname was derived.)

I really, really hope he wins.

I bought him those sweet sunglasses for his birthday (Happy Birthday, baby!).  I thought they would help him look like the professional poker player that he is.  Pair those with a hoodie and a poker face?  MADE FOR TV, BABY.  MADE FOR TV.  Or at least a little picture love in Card Player Magazine.  We all have our dreams, don't we?

If you're the type who's interested in poker, or if you're just curious about how Mike is doing in the tournament, he's promised me that he will provide updates on Twitter.  You can find him there as predator006.

In the meantime, would you do me a favor?  Send my favorite poker player some love and good luck wishes in the comments.  He'd love it, he could used the mojo, and let's face it:  I really don't want to spend the rest of my life calling him Moops.

Silhouettes

I am just so proud of these silhouettes I made!  I got the idea via NieNie Dialogues (you can see how she displayed them in her home here).  Even though it took me 6 months from start to finish, it really is super easy.  Unless you have a problem with long, drawn-out projects like me, in which it will be super easy but very slow.  Basically I just took some profile pictures of everyone, printed them out and taped them onto black card stock.  I cut along the outline of our profiles with an X-Acto knife and then mounted them on white mats.  I plan to update them once a year.  I love how they capture the essence of each of us in simple black and white.  More importantly, I love how they make our home just a tad more Our Home.