My Strange Extreme Coupon Hoarding Obsession Intervention

My part-time job, which I see as my contribution the family's finances is to collect coupons to save more money on our household needs, and sell stuff on eBay for people where I take a small commission. The extra cash is my stash to spend on current obssessions which at this moment are the CrossFit gym membership, improved mom-uniform styles, and the less and less frequent pedicure.

I teach a savings workshop on preparedness and couponing and the mantra is "nothing extreme" and you can save $100's on your weekly grocery trips "in just a few hours a week". This claim is true and my stockpile is ample, however it is not on display in my living areas to show off when company arrives. My web consignment biz could always use a few more clients, but I need to be careful what I wish for. Baby Trace's room theme has already gone from cuddly Safari to cluttered Sanford & Son, and the stacks of canned goods are starting to overflow into the piles of good boxes you should keep for shipping things. Posting, managing and shipping the items for auction which have ranged from 20" dubs to wedding gowns, is tedious. That's why I'm doing it, because you don't want to. I do all the work and you just get paid!

So here's where the intervention comes in, and you've heard this a million times before but, how do you balance it all? I want to be crock-potting and keeping the house clean, while couponing and cashing in on the consignment, while keeping the kids engaged, nurtured and cared for. Oh and I almost forgot, I'm supposed to be a kind and caring wife to my hard-working hubs!

This is what I've come up with and forgive me for it is still in the scribbled on a cocktail napkin stage. I have got to structure my day with the same precise scheduling as a day at my child's preschool. The day starts with circle time and a story; that's going to be my time with Him. P.E. is my time at CrossFit. Media time! Check email and tweet, post, and dish out a few "likes". There's clean up time, and time for creative writing, and hooray for snack time and free play! You get the idea.

I'm excited about where this could lead. At worst, I've just added another chart and wipe off board in my home to continually update, but the way I see it I'm not going to stress about everything all at once all the time. I'll walk by the laundry pile with a sense of peace knowing its not "washday Wednesday". Clearly, there will be several kinks to work out here and I trust that having a boy go commando in an emergency should not do too much damage. On second thought, I'd better begin to stockpile boxer briefs as soon as possible!

Take the Undie and Run!

Today I was enjoying a blissful shopping trip through the mall with only one child--little man #3, so it was as carefree as it gets for me. We got a balloon from Nordstrom's, enjoyed the club music in the dressing room of Macy's, and went into that famous underthings store for my free lace hipster.

I intended to spend more time in the unmentionables mega-store, but Trace decided he had enough and the balloon burst so to speak on our browsing. After some squirming, squawking and the ever popular back arching in the stroller got to be too much I decided to unleash the child from his chains and held him while we stood in line to check out. The wait was kind of long; all this for a free set of drawers? You took all that time to find the correct size, style and color according to the postcard so you're committed at that point to see the transaction through.

Finally it's our turn. An angry voice calls out, "Excuse me, I've been waiting here a long time!" Oh really? I wasn't paying much attention to you since there are three sets of lines leading to three registers within a maze of lip gloss and perfume displays and we're on opposite ends of the room. I'm not quick to draw so it took me awhile to react, and as the cashier started to help me I just turned and said, "Yeah, I've been waiting a long time too" although I did not mean it as a challenge. But the dual was on and she fires back something about how rude of me and she was here before me. Then I told her I've got a screaming kid and I'm just trying to get out quickly. I realized right after I said that it probably made no sense and the look on her face proved it because now that I'm holding angel baby he's laughing and making friends with all the patrons. On the way out she said something about having three kids under five. Well, lady I've got you beat! You'd think that if anyone would understand, she should that it's not easy to shop with the kiddos and if you happen to be out without the rug rats, give us Moms toting ours a break!

I had so many well-versed comebacks come to mind on my way to the car, and it's too bad none of them came out in the moment. I'm not quick on the draw and that's my flaw, or is it? And why am I still bothered by the mean bra-buying lady? You don't know these people, and what kind of day, week, year, or life they have had, so I guess I'll just feel sorry for her. Thank goodness for the internet vent session because I'm getting over it now. Much love,

Bootcamp and the Bob

I'm about three weeks into the five week bootcamp at Hard Exercise Works, and I believe I am making new friends and stronger muscles. I had myself measured at the beginning so at the end of the five weeks we shall see if I lost any inches. I should be honest and say that I have not adjusted my diet and the daily consumption of baked goods continues; however with the gluttony comes less guilt, because "I be workin' on my fitness!"

The variety of workouts is great and every day is different, but I still have a lot to learn about burpees, cleans, thrusts, and oh yeah an update on the jump-roping... I don't look like a spastic muppet anymore! Since I am nearing the five weeks I have started to ponder my fitness future. What was the point of doing the bootcamp if I wasn't going to continue a regimen of some sort? I don't think I can handle another failed gym membership nor do I have the discipline to "homeschool" myself on DVDs and jogs around the neighborhood. This dilemma is still out for debate. A discussion perhaps, that could take place at the new donut shop in town that just opened?

As for my hair, this weekend I got a $75 haircut to try to salvage what's left from the $16 haircut, and I have to say this stylist had a challenge ahead of her and cut like a champ. I still don't like my hair, but I can at least deal with it while it grows out. Perhaps this should serve as motivation for my diet. Good nutrition for healthy growing locks! Stay tuned...

Tress Stress. I'm Such a Mess...

So, last week I got a really bad haircut. Oh man I hope she never reads this blog. But for what it's worth, I am trying not to place direct blame on the stylist. The cuttery she works at is humble, the prices are cheap and come to think of it I've never actually studied her own style to see if we are working within the same decade. Chalk it up to poor communication and inflated expectations on my part.

This isn't the first time I've had a hair mishap, but it's definitely up there as far as self-loathing and invites to the pity-party goes. Did I tell you that I really hate my hair right now?!

Allow me to sidebar and tell about the time a few years ago I decided a brunette could become a blonde because the box they sell at the store tells you it's nice and easy! Brown hair becomes pinkish orange, and Ms. Rainbow Brite here sports a baseball cap until I can get an emergency appointment at the salon. In the meantime I had to drop off some paperwork at the courthouse and it's busy as usual. The grumpy guard points to my head as I tried to make my way past the metal detectors. "What? Me? Yeah, I like the Hard Rock Hotel in Las Vegas, you been there?" is what I'm thinking. He thinks my hat is pretty cool. "YOU," he says pointing again, taking his stance and clearly not impressed with my travels, "Take OFF the hat!" Now we've got a real scuttlebutt here and it's made the needle fall off the record and everybody is looking at me. I tried to beg and plead, shake my head, but no, wait you don't understand...

How does it end? I chose humiliation over handcuffs, and still to date with no arrest history here I am facing a hair-do dilemma again.

Why does my world revolve around this bad haircut right now. I'm so grateful it's been raining for three days to justify a wet head and the bad hair. Or, that clerk looked at me funny, must be the hair. I'm depressed, I want cookie dough ice cream, must be the hair. You get the idea.  I don't want flowers, chocolates or filet mignon this Valentines; please just book me an appointment with the best stylist in town!

Boot Camp Day 1:

Level of Difficulty: 7
Level of Embarassment: 11

Ahhh, the first day of anything. What should I wear? Where do I park? Will someone show me where the copier is, the bathroom, and sit with me at lunch?

My outfit, a bit dated. Black running shorts from Target, old gray FBI t-shirt and sneaks that reached their peaks many moons ago. Parking was a breeze. The people were nice. I followed the herd to find the jump ropes and a nice girl showed me where the "weighted PVC pipe" was since the real bar with weights thingy was totally out of my league!

So no one laughed or snickered when I could barely lift the kettle bell much less swing it around, or that my squats were pitiful and I surprisingly couldn't even jump rope! I kept doing this jive skip-pity do dah muppet dance and as hard as I tried today my moves looked nothing like what should be played to the "Eye of the Tiger".

At 6:40 a.m. everyone put the jump ropes back (yeah, I knew right where to go!) and went their separate ways, so I wasn't left out of any plans to go get a protein shake somewhere up the road. The only plans I know of now is for me to return tomorrow and the next 5 weeks and pray by the end I can jump rope with both feet on the same rhythm.

Only "Talk Shows" on in the Bedroom

So, a person I admire very much spoke about how their bedroom is designed with two club chairs, a nice rug and lamp in one corner, and he made a point to say that they have no TV in there because this is where he and his wife sit and talk in the evenings. I remember thinking no way I would want to do this because well, I don't know why just because and please don't bring this insanity up again!

Only a few weeks later did the 50-inch-screen-TV in our bedroom break, forcing an under the covers DVR marathon hiatus. Maybe it was all the busy nights typical in December that made breaking the boob tube before bed habit so effortless. I really didn't miss it.

We did get the TV fixed within a month but in that time we started watching one show in the evenings in the living room with our bowl of ice cream and blanket; same fun, different room. After watching one show it would still be pretty early so then I could get my PJ's on and hubs and I could sit and talk about our days, our plans for tomorrow, or maybe get a chapter in on our current reads.

Having an uninterrupted conversation is pretty much impossible during the waking hours of our children so these days I've really come to enjoy all the talk shows on in our bedroom. The TV's love tank is a little low however, and worried it might end up on Craig's List!

Waitress! There's a Fly in my Soup...

I've been out of the restaurant biz for several years now, but I guess you never really get your head out of the game. Scenarios of waiting tables are still in my top three dream sequences, beating out the much more pleasant dreams of hanging backstage with a certain bandana-wearing rocker or the popular but unpleasant free-falling dream.

It's always the same theme in these bad tipping flashbacks. I'm in the weeds, I've been quadruple-sat with parties of 8, and some chick never gets her french fries. It is like I'm lost in a maze and I can't make it back to the kitchen or call for help. Not that anyone would help because even in reality your coworkers just laugh and point at you from the server station when you're overwhelmed and can't catch up.

Maybe I just cared too much. I wish I could have been more like (insert name of server who took cig breaks every ten minutes only to leave their entire section of diners waving their arms, shouting, grabbing anyone who walks by for a diet coke refill or the check). I think I'll try to get inside the control panel and the next time some chick in my dreams gives me lip about her order of fries, I'll hand her my apron and kindly say, "I don't give a flying fig about your fries cuz I DON'T WORK HERE ANYMORE!!"

Give Bald A Chance

I was talking with two of my girlfriends about where we met the majority of our dates and of course the number one answer is through work. Working in a popular night spot in your twenties you would think increases your visibility, and therefore your chances to meet a nice lad, but no that is not the case. Those kinds of stories we can tell on a different day.

My point today is that I was thinking about the story of my friend who worked in a restaurant and this nice guy with a great smile would come in to talk to her. Eventually he mustered the courage to ask her out and she said yes. She opens the door when he picks her up and whoa...he's bald! Not like The Rock kind of bald, but old man bald. Apparently he was always wearing a baseball hat and this was his first time sans dome coverage! It was such a let down that she barely got through the evening and his flowers and perfect gentleman behavior were lost on her.

So here's my question, what if he had just worn the hat on the first date? She may have really fallen for him on that night, with all the good vibes from the evening solidifying those expectations she had set by their previous pleasant encounters. Once you are smitten, the cat comes out of the bag, well I mean the hat comes off the head and maybe you're already locked in and seeing a future. That guy could have been the one!

On to my own trip down "what-if" lane...To the guy that wore argyle socks and ordered white wine, It's too bad I didn't give you a chance, but really I just think you were gay and didn't know it yet. But to the guy who wore really ugly sandals, I am sorry! I think we could have just thrown out the offending Jesus cruisers once we were a couple.

Ever thought about your own alternate realities?