I’m going to have to go all mommy-blogger on you and brag on my kid today.  I guess the old adage is true: you can take the mom blogger off the internet, but you can’t take the blogger out of the mom.  Or something like that.

We’re wrapping up the end of Elena’s first year in public school.  For the previous 6 years, she’s been in a private Montessori setting.  We loved everything about Montessori, but last year we knew it was time to make the transition to public school.  She’s a outgoing kid, we live in a great school distract, and private school tuition isn’t cheap.  We did everything we thought we could to make the move as seamless as possible.  We gave her ample time to get used to the idea (an entire school year).  We asked her teachers to help prepare her for life after Montessori (which they went above and beyond to accomplish).  We toured her new school and made a few connections before the school year started (God bless the secretary, for being so kind and getting her daughter and Elena together over the summer).  And then the first day arrived and we sucked in all the nerves and worry and held our breath for a really long time.

It turns out we (okay, me) stressed and turned blue for no reason.  Elena had an amazing year.  Her grades started off excellent and finished out of this world.  We never had a single issue with relationships or behavior (a big concern for parents who worry their Montessori kids won’t adapt to the more restrictive public school environment).  She never once missed the bus.  But most importantly, she loved her new school.  Her teacher, Mrs. Jarrett, was everything Elena needed: patient, consistent, unflappable, and fun.  We couldn’t have scripted a more successful transition for Elena if we’d have tried.

Last Friday I opened a letter from the intermediate school she’ll attend in the fall.  They have six variations of gifted programs a child might test into, and guess who tested into the highest possible program?  Yup, our kid.  Two-year advanced math, one-year advanced language arts and science.  I told you I needed to brag.

I look at this kid and I just have to shake my head.  How did we manage to make this creature that is such a fun, quirky mix of both Mike and I?  The math stuff, the competitiveness, the pluck, the social butterfly?  All Mike.

The artist, the lover of words, the nurturer?  So me.

She is bits and pieces of us mixed with her own unique self, and we couldn’t be prouder as parents.

So forgive me for being that mom for a bit.  Sometimes you have to tell the whole world how awesome you think your kids are, so that one day they might go out and conquer it.

Related posts:

1. Moving On From Montessori
2. Taking My Talents To South Beach … Or At Least As Far Away From Elena’s Math Homework As Possible

Before I was a beer girl, I was a wine girl.  While most people get their first tastes of wine via the gateway Beringer White Zinfandel, I was lucky enough to meet my first wines at Oliver Winery in Bloomington, Indiana.  Over the years my tastes (and regions) have expanded, but I’ve always enjoyed Indiana wines.  I’ve admired the gorgeous artwork on an Oliver label (as well as the deliciousness inside).  Summer isn’t summer for me without their classic sangria.  For several years we used Whyte Horse Winery to pour at our Montessori School’s annual Wine Tasting & Silent Auction, and I was always elated to see the pleasant surprise on people’s faces when they tasted their wines for the first time and realized the goodness in our own backyard.

On Saturday, June 2nd you have the chance to get to know these wonderful wineries and more at the 13th annual Vintage Indiana, a festival of food, wine and fun.  Twenty-six of Indiana’s 63 wineries will be pouring over 200 samples of local wine.  Other highlights of Vintage Indiana, held at Military Park in Indianapolis, include:

Food

You can’t fully enjoy great wine without food (not in my world, anyway).  Throughout the day the Food & Wine Pavilion will host various lineups where they cook and pour while you eat and enjoy – an arrangement I’m always game for.  I’m especially interested in “Beat the Dinnertime Clock,” with suggestions on how to get a meal on the table before the kids melt down, along with perfect wine pairings so I don’t melt down.  There will also be lots of local food vendors, including my unofficial winner of The Best Fish Taco in Indiana: Taco Lassi.

Music

A great lineup, including one of my American Idol favorites, Casey James.

KidZone

Just because it’s a wine festival doesn’t mean you have to leave the kids at home.  The festival features a special area for kids sponsored by Indy’s Child, with lots of interactive fun. Best of all, kids  5 and under are free and kids 6 and older are only $5.

Adult tickets are $22 in advance, or $25 at the gate.  This ticket allows you to sample all wines at the event, as well as purchase wine by the glass or bottle.  Have a designated driver in your group?  Their tickets are only $10 and allows them unlimited soft drinks as well as the ability to purchase wine by the bottle to take home.  Advance tickets are available online at Vintage Indiana, at Marsh, or at participating vendors.

OR … how about 2 free tickets?  Thanks to the generosity of Indiana’s Family of Farmers, I have 2 adult tickets to give away to one lucky winner.  Here’s how to enter:

1. Leave a comment telling me the one Indiana wine you’d recommend to a friend (required).
2. For an additional entry, tweet or post on Facebook about this giveaway, leaving a comment saying that you did so.

The contest will run through 11:59 p.m. ET Friday, May 25th.  Winner will be notified via email and have 24 hours to respond before another winner is chosen.  Winner will receive 2 adult tickets to Vintage Indiana, valued at $44.  Additional contests are being held on the following blogs if you’d like to increase your chances of winning:

• GotchaBaby,
• Redefining Perfect,
• Mom for Less
• Evoked by Light

Thanks and good luck!

Disclosure:  As an Indiana Family of Farmer’s Ambassador, I was compensated for this giveaway.  All opinions are my own.

Related posts:

1. Unwritten Travels Giveaway Winner
2. From Facebook Fan of the Indiana Pacers to Fan In Real Life
3. Geek Dad’s Guide to Weekend Fun: Review & Giveaway

Yesterday Mike and I celebrated 15 years of marriage.  Fifteen years.  I won’t profess that our marriage is anywhere near perfect, but when your vows have outlasted a few presidential administrations you start to feel like you might have some authority on the subject.  I recently came across Lydia Netzer’s post “15 Ways to Stay Married 15 Years.” I was inspired by it and thought I might add  15 more.

1. Find your own best friend

The other day my friend Erik Deckers posted on Facebook, “Whenever people post “12 years ago today, I married my best friend,” I have to resist the urge to respond, “does your wife know?” Mike isn’t my best friend, I’m not his and we’re more than cool with that.  Asking your spouse to be your partner, lover, roommate, co-chair and your bestie is just too much for one person to handle.  And if, God forbid, anything ever happens in your marriage, it’s going to be really awkward crying and sharing a pint of ice cream with your ex-spouse/best friend.

2.  Find couple friends

As much as you need friends of your own, you also need couple friends.  This is harder than it looks – finding 2 other people who a) like each other b) like both of you c) you both like and d) like the same things you both like can be damn near impossible.  We’re so adament about finding other cool couples to hang out with we’ve even gone on a couples’ blind date (it worked out very well, fyi).  Besides being fun and giving you much-needed fellowship with other people, hanging out with other couples is a great way to give yourselves perspective on what other real marriages are like – the ups, downs, and in-betweens.

3.  Find things you enjoy doing together

Even though he always beats me, I love playing games with Mike. We have shows we only watch together and we can always talk about sports.  God willing, you’ll end up together for a very long time and one day find yourself with no kids around and few obligations.  Build the relationship and the companionship now so that when that time comes you know and enjoy the company of each other.

4. Embrace each other’s quirky hobbies and try to understand them

Mike loves poker and I love the internet.  I don’t know when to hold ‘em or fold ‘em, he still uses “twitter” as a verb.  But we try to understand each other and we make an effort to take some interest in what the other person loves.

5. Learn the other’s love language

For the first few years of our marriage Mike and I couldn’t figure out why our gifts and nice gestures to each other kept falling short.  We were disappointing each other without a clue as to why.  Then we discovered Love Languages and realized that we were doing for each other what we desperately wanted for ourselves.  Mike’s love languages are quality time and physical touch.  Mine are receiving gifts and acts of service.  So he’s showering me with time and affection when what I really want is for him to do stuff with the kids and bring me a People magazine.  He’s getting cards and golf lessons from me when what he really wants is for me to hang out with him and give him a decent back rub.  Find out what your partner’s love language is and give them what they really want.

6. Get away on your own at least once a year

This was the best advice I ever got when I was pregnant with Elena.  It came from the pathologist I worked for who’d been happily married with kids for over 30 years.  Some years we’ve been able to get away big (hello 7-day Carribbean cruise!), other years it’s been an overnight in Columbus.  We’re blessed to have my parents who are always willing to take the kids so we can reconnect.  If you don’t have family around, make a deal with another couple to swap kids for a weekend … or just pay them really well.  The return on investment for your marriage will be worth every penny.

7. Learn to talk about money

Money is the number one thing couples fight about, no matter how much or how little you have.  We all come into marriage with our own ideas and hangups about money.  Your choices are to spend your marriage arguing, dig your head in the sand, or figure it out together.  Don’t give up – it took us several years of tense and downright ugly conversations to get to a place where we feel like we’re on the same team.  It is SO worth it, though.  Learn it together, then teach your children in hopes that they’ll start their marriages out with one less thing to drag them down.

8. Learn to talk about sex

Guess what the second most inflammatory subject is for couples?!  In my limited research on marriage (specifically, asking a handful of friends), there’s always one person who wants more sex than the other.  It seems like all the planets have to align just so for both of us to be in the same groove sexually.  This is still a hard one for me (womp womp), as I have a difficult time talking about sex and all the complicated feelings that go along with it.  Ignoring it doesn’t make it any better, though.

9. A pissing contest only leaves you with a lot of piss

Cut it out.  You both have things you have to do during your daily life, especially with young kids, that suck.  Time is limited, money’s tight, sleep eludes you.  Pissing and moaning about who has it harder only leaves you with bad feelings and a lot of piss to wade through.  Empathize when you can, vent to your own friends when you have to, and move on.

10.  Shut out the distractions

Make sure you spend part of each day actually paying attention to each other.  Twitter and Facebook will live without you, memories still exist if they haven’t been Instagramed.  Nothing says I could care less than checking your phone or eyeing the laptop during a conversation.

11. Don’t get stuck in the past

As the years go by, you’re both going to change.  Parts get jigglier, interests change, you both grow up a little.  It’s easy to get stuck reminiscing about how good things were when you first got married, and why not?  You were younger, sex was new and you probably got a lot more sleep.  Instead of wishing yourselves back, be glad you got to spend those days with the one you love.  Focus instead on what’s awesome about now, like not having to eat Totino’s pizzas every day and being on the verge of having kids old enough to mow the lawn for you.

12. Compromise is not a dirty word

The best couples do it.  This season of marriage, when you have kids and work and various obligations, leaves little time for extras.  You can’t have it all.  There aren’t enough hours in the day to please your kids, your spouse, your boss, yourself and maintain a home.  Sometimes it’s not my turn to go out with the girls.  Sometimes Mike’s job trumps family time.  Sometimes he stays home while I hang out at the beach.  It’s not fair all the time, just make sure you’re being fair to each other most of the time.

13. Remember the little things

I loved it when Mike surprised me with a trip away to see The Boss.  But I love it just as much when he changes the oil for me, or offers to pick up Eli from school.  He’s so good at the little things and I’m vowing to be better, because it’s the day in, day out random acts of kindness that show your spouse how much you really care.

14. Let your partner be good at something

Call me June Cleaver, but dividing the work 50/50 is bullshit.  Stuff has to get done and usually one partner is better at it.  Mike is the spreadsheet guru and has bill-paying down to a science.  Is it sexist to say he’s better at money?  Maybe, but he is and why should I micromanage and mess up the system just so we can be equals?  I happen to be better in the kitchen.  I enjoy cooking, meal planning and shopping, and he lets me do it my way.  Take pride in what you and your partner are good at and don’t be afraid to brag on them in front of  others. Stop worrying about if you’re both pulling equal weight and focus on doing the things you’re good at.

15. Forgive

You don’t get to 15 years and more without royally screwing up sometimes.  And by forgiveness, I mean really letting it go, not saying you forgive and then bringing up the transgression every time the gloves come out.  We’ve both messed up in little ways and a handful of very, very big ways.  The only reason we’re still here together is because of the healing power of grace and forgiveness.

Now it’s time to turn the tables.  What’s the one piece of advice you could give us that will help us get to 25 years?

Related posts:

1. Fifty Years and Counting
2. The Love Dare: Kindness
3. Eleven Years Ago Today

Ahhhh, so relaxing …

I really only have a few small requests for Mother’s Day: I want to sleep in, I want to read the Sunday paper and drink my coffee in peace, I want to be lazy, and I don’t want to cook.  I’m cheap and easy to please!  And even though Mike shakes his head and is open to debate about how “low maintenance” I think I am on Mother’s Day, he always, always comes through.  This past Sunday was yet again a wonderful Mother’s Day for me.

Elena may have learned a thing or two from watching her dad plan an elaborate surprise for me a few weeks ago, as she decided to come up with her own surprise.  She was so excited for me to see what was up her sleeve that I happily broke away from coffee and paper-reading time so that she could reveal her surprise.

Turns out she’d spent a good part of the time I was snoozing away in the morning to prepare a very personal “spa” experience for me.  She’d set up the entire bathroom with different potions and concoctions to pamper me with.  I started off with a nice exfoliating facial scrub.  This was followed by a strawberry mask for my face and a buttermilk soak for my fingers.  We then moved to the tub for a salt scrub for my body and a lemon rinse for my hair.

The strawberries are great darling, now how about you whip up something for your dear mother’s crow’s feet?

Things were pretty relaxing until the strawberry mask.  I swear I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard.  It was such a mess – the strawberries were cold and slimy and dripping everywhere.  They tickled my nose and I sneezed so hard I sprayed strawberries everywhere.  At one point Eli looked at me lying on the bed, coated in mashed-up fruit and with my fingers stuck in a bowl of buttermilk on my chest, and said, “You look like Jesus all covered in blood.”  At another point the whole family was involved in my salt scrub – me getting scrubbed by Elena, Eli joining me in the tub, and Mike just enjoying the spectacle.

One day the kids will be mortified to hear this story –  Elena rubbing me down with salt, Eli in the tub with his mother.  That in and of itself will be enough to give me joyous Mother’s Day memories for years, but you know what was so awesome about it (besides the photos)?  It was the perfect mix of what I love Mother’s Day to be: laughing, enjoying my family, and feeling cared for.

Hope you had a wonderful day celebrating the mothers in your life.  And if you ever want a truly unique spa experience, I know just the girl for you.

Related posts:

1. Strawberry Time!
2. Weekend Links – The Strawberry Edition
3. The Best Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies Ever. The End.

Confession:  I have very few junk-food downfalls.  Chips don’t interest me much.  I have chocolate bars stashed in the pantry that are over a year old.  Ice cream, unless it’s homemade or of the Jeni’s variety, doesn’t call my name.  There are only three things that elicit a dangerous siren song for my stomach:  Cheetohs (crunchy, not puffy – those are gross), Almond Joys and Pop-Tarts.

If there are Pop-Tarts in the vicinity, I’m going to eat them.  I like mine frosted, not toasted.  I eat the unfrosted end first (one end always seems frosted to the edge), then the middle, and finally the sides.  They are my favorite hangover remedy (2 Pop-Tarts, a Diet Coke and a handful of ibuprofen, along with a solemn promise to never drink again).  I once launched into an epic fight with a boyfriend that nearly did us in – it began with his refusal to share the last Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop-Tart and ended with tearful accusations like, “You don’t really even love me, do you?”  The boyfriend is long gone, the Pop-Tart love still burns on.

Elena loves them just as much as I do, although she prefers the more disgusting progressive flavors, such as S’mores and Cookies & Cream, to my boring Strawberry.  All along I’ve been saying no to her grocery store requests for toaster pastries, telling her it’s all the high-fructose corn syrup and hydrogenated oils that are the problem, when in all actuality it’s the fact that her mother can’t resist all the high-fructose corn syrup and hydrogenated oils wrapped up in that pretty little foil package.

When I offered to make a recipe or two from my recent book review of Make the Bread, Buy the Butter, Pop-Tarts were by far the most requested recipe (along with Fig Newtons – apparently we all have a little problem in the snack aisle).  I was totally down with this.  After all, I’m a big believer in one of Michael Pollan’s Food Rules: “Eat all the junk food you want as long as you cook it yourself.”  The idea being that if you have to go to the trouble of making potato chips and the sort from scratch, as opposed to ripping open a bag and sticking your head inside, you’ll eat much less junk food.

Damn you Michael Pollan, for being right.  Homemade Pop-Tarts are delicious.  The crust is light and flaky like pie.  The insides are perfect – sweet but not cloying.  Mine even had frosting and sprinkles.  BUT. But.  They’re really not Pop-Tarts.  They’re more like pretty little hand pies.  What makes a Pop-Tart so alluring is the odd combination of too-sweet filling and sawdust crust.  That, and the fact that they are out of the bag and in my mouth in ten seconds with only a few minimal crumbs to sweep away.  The homemade version, while delicious, is a hours-long process that left me with a crusty countertop and a sink full of dishes.  Both kids took a few bites, willing the freshly baked pastry to morph into an honest-to-goodness Pop-Tart, before they gave up.

I’m sorry, folks, but this time the chemists and food scientists win.  If you want a rustic little hand pie, by all means make this recipe.  If you want an honest-to-goodness Pop-Tart?  Buy it.  Just don’t make a habit of it or try to talk me out of mine.  Neither scenario will end well.

Homemade Pop-Tarts

As featured in Make the Bread, Buy the Butter

Makes 10-12 Pop-Tarts

Ingredients

• 2 cups plus 2 tablespoons all-purpose flour, plus more for rolling
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 1 tablespoon granulated sugar
• 1/2 pound (2 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into bits
• 1/4 cup cold milk
• 1 egg
• 2/3 cup jam, any flavor
• Sugar, for sprinkling (optional)

For the Icing

• 1/2 cup confectioners’ sugar
• 1-2 tablespoons milk
• 1/8 teaspoon vanilla extract

Directions

1. Whisk the flour, salt and sugar in a large bowl.  Add the butter and, using your fingertips or a pastry whisk, blend until the mixture resembles coarse meal.  Add the milk and mix until clumpy.  Form into a ball, then shape into a disk.  Wrap tightly with plastic wrap and chill for a minimum of 1 hour.
2. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.  Line two baking sheets with parchment paper or lightly grease.  Beat the egg in a small bowl.
3. On a floured work surface, roll out the dough as thin as you can.  Cut the dough into rectangles 2 1/2 by 4 inches.  Re-roll and cut scraps.
4. Brush the perimeter of half of the dough rectangles with some egg.  Spoon 2 teaspoons of jam into the  middle of each egg-brushed rectangle, leaving a 1/4-inch margin on all sides.  Place an un-egged dough rectangle on top of each jam-spread rectangle.  Seal the edges tightly by pressing with the tines of a fork.  Prick the tops of the pastries to release steam.  If you are not going to frost the pastries later, sprinkle the tops generously with sugar.  Place the tarts on the baking sheets.
5. Bake for 30 minutes, until golden.  Let cool completely on a rack.
6. If frosting the tarts, in a small bowl, mix the confectioners’ sugar with the milk and vanilla to make a thick, smooth, spreadable frosting.  Frost the tarts.  These are best eaten immediately, though you can store them at room temperature for up to five days in a cookie tin.  You can toast these if you like, but use a toaster oven or a regular oven, unless you want to clean frosting and chunks of pie crust out of your regular toaster.

Related posts:

1. The Best Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies Ever. The End.
2. Icebox Key Lime Pie At Last!
3. Ice Cream Brownie Cake

• It’s not a weapon, it’s a webbin. As in, “Mom, where are all my ninja webbins?”
• In a very Freudian boy-slip, any and all instructions that come with toys or games are called destructions.
• So I might have a bit of a potty mouth.  I try to save the really big bombs for adult time, but every once in awhile a “dammit” slips.  No worries, though, since Eli repeats it as damage. He says it with just the right intonation and exasperation as the real cuss word, though.  “DAMAGE!” I dropped an M&M and now I can’t find it.”

Almost as cute are the almost-but-not-quite phrases.  Perhaps you’d like to play a nice game of tics, tacs and toes with the boy?

But what really gets me are the moments when he says something totally out of left field.  Elena came home after running an errand with Mike the other day and this was their conversation:

Elena: Guess what Daddy and I saw? Ducklings!!

Eli: Oh yeah?  Guess what I saw … a hipster!*

Or this one, from a few months ago, when he was just beginning his obsession with ghosts and zombies.  He was asking me a myriad of questions about zombies.  Trying to find a way to nip this conversation in the bud I said:

Me: You know zombies aren’t real, right buddy?

Eli: You mean they’re pretend?  Like God and Jesus?

Obviously we need more church and less zombies in our life.  But definitely not less Eli-isms.  They never fail to make my day.

* Eli doesn’t actually know what a hipster is.  When asked, he said it was an animal with furry ears and a very long tail.  Which kind of makes sense, since you can trap a hipster if you like.

No related posts.

A few months ago, I was honored and flattered to be featured in my friend Heather’s Babble post about bloggers who are debt-free and how they did it.  I think it’s always inspiring and fascinating to hear how other people battled debt and found financial freedom.  Thanks to that post, I was approached by Jon White about participating in his Debt Free Living podcast.  Jon and I spent nearly an hour talking about how Mike and I came into our debt and how we went about paying off $100,000 in six years.  The podcast ended up being about 30 minutes long.  If you’d like to hear an in-depth account of how we became debt-free, have a listen.

One of the biggest factors in dropping our debt was a decision we made to never have another car payment again.  In the beginning, that meant selling our nice, shiny new car.  We’d purchased a brand new Honda Accord when the car Mike’s parents had leased for us was up.  That’s what you do, right?  We both loved that car … it was sharp, it had that new car smell, we seemed so grown-up.  Now, if you’d looked at our finances you’d realize that we weren’t making the most grown up decisions, no matter how we looked on the outside.  We realized that if we wanted to live our dream of owning a home, having a family with me as a stay-at-home parent, and function without financial stress, something had to go.  It was the car.

Mike sold the ’98 Accord and paid cash for an ’88 Accord.  It was not sharp, it did not have that new car smell (although it did have another kind of smell), and it felt like the kind of car you get “gifted” in high school.  But … it was paid for, and we were able to use the money that wasn’t going to a car payment to begin tackling our other debt.  It was just one step in the process, but it was a huge one.  It was like drawing a line in the sand saying we would never be slave to the lender again.

When it was time for me to change cars in 2004, we paid cash for a ’96 Honda Odyssey.  Using insurance money from the car I totalled (whoops) plus our savings, we got a great car.  How great?  I’ve been driving it ever since.

In the last two years, we’ve known that the time was coming to replace the van.  It had over 200,000 miles and it was starting to show its age.  With that in mind, we’ve been socking money away in a savings account.  Last month we finally reached a point where we realized that driving the van even as far as Nashville wasn’t the best idea.  It was time for something “new”.  We ended up buying a 2005 Honda Pilot with just over 100,000 miles.  We all love the car – compared to the van it seems brand-spankin’ new!  And best of all?  Still no car payment.

I can’t help but get frustrated when people tell me that paying cash is great for me, but it would never work for them.  You don’t have to go through your adult life assuming that a car payment is just one of those things you have to have.  These are the most common arguments I’ve heard, and why I think they’re a myth our debt-riddled society has created:

1.  I need a dependable car. A used car doesn’t automatically equal undependable.  I drove the Odyssey for over 7 years and never once found myself stranded with car problems.  Do your research (Consumer Reports has great surveys on which used cars are the most dependable), keep it properly maintained, and a used car can be every bit (if not more) dependable than a brand new car.  For added assurance, purchase AAA membership – it’s way cheaper than a car payment and you’ll never find yourself stranded.

2.  It’s expensive to maintain an older car. Again, do your research and buy a car that gets good ratings for upkeep.  In the last 13 years we’ve owned 4 used cars (2 Hondas, a Mercedes and a BMW).  None of them required extensive maintenance to keep them running.  Yes, you will have to put some work into them.  But which makes more sense? $500 a month in someone else’s pocket or the occasional trip to the mechanic?  Put the money you don’t spend on a car payment in a savings account for any repairs … and if you don’t need it do something fun with it instead.

3.  I need a car that reflects my status. Our real estate agent told us this once – she couldn’t possibly haul clients around in a clunker.  Well, yes, I probably would think twice about getting in your Pontiac 6000 (sorry, Mike!).  But what’s the difference between a brand new car and a 2- or 3-year-old car?  Not much, other than your big ol’ car payment.  I will think more highly of you if I know you haven’t financed every last piece of your status.

4.  I can’t afford to pay cash for a car – financing is too good of a deal to pass up, anyways. It’s paying cash for that first car that’s tough.  I totally get it – it’s a hard cycle to break out of.  The dealers make it so much easier to trade your old car in and get something nice.  But they’re not financing cars because they care about you – they’re doing it because they’re making money off of you.  If you’re a few years out of needing a car, start saving as much as you can now.  Even $50 or $100 a month will make a difference in time when combined with the money you can make selling your old car.  If you have a more immediate need, consider making this car your “gateway” car to financial freedom.  Buy what you can afford that will get you where you need to go.  Drive something less than perfect for a year or two until you can save up enough to buy what you want.  It’s not forever, I promise.  Like Dave Ramsey says, “Live like no one else so that one day you can live like no one else.”

5.  I can’t get all the bells and whistles I want in a used car. Is a built-in DVD player, satellite radio and a GPS really worth going into debt for?  Buy what you can afford and use the money you save to purchase those things on your own.  My used car?  It’s paid for AND it has butt warmers.  I win.

The bottom line is, if we can do it, you can do it.  Take a chance and say goodbye to that car payment.  If you miss it, you can always get a new one!  I have a feeling you won’t miss that payment one bit, though.

Related posts:

1. What Financial Peace Means to Us, and How We Got There.
2. Back In The Saddle Again: Getting Back Into The Habit Of Budgeting
3. Remembering to Act My Wage.

I have a soft spot in my heart for sandpipers.  I watched this little guy (or little girl? How does one tell?  I spent the better part of a semester in college determining the sex of roly-poly bugs – a story for another time – but the sex of the sandpiper eludes me.) do his thing on the beach for quite a while.  I love how they run along the shore, avoiding the waves.  I like to make sound effects when I watch them.  It’s weird, I know.  I’m an odd bird myself, I guess.

It wasn’t until I heaved myself off my beach chair to take some photos that I realized this particular sandpiper was missing a foot.  Watching him more closely, I could tell that he wasn’t the speediest sandpiper I’ve ever seen.  He had a little gimp.  I liked him even more.  I have a little gimp, too, and I’m not the speediest bird either.

The chance to observe sandpipers in the surf came courtesy of my annual Girls’ Trip.  This is the sixth year I’ve met up with my original playgroup friends.  We used to all live within walking distance of each other, now we are scattered across different states.  Our kids, which brought us together when we were all still changing diapers, don’t really know each other anymore.  It’s okay, though.  They have their own friends to make now.  We, however, are forever friends.

Mike’s commented many times that I have a lot of friends.  And it’s true – between high school and college, stints in Nashville and Indy, through the blog and school and moms’ groups – I know a lot of people and make friends pretty easily.  I’m easy-going and amicable.  I’m always up for getting out and meeting somebody.  If I want to do something, there’s almost always someone I can call.

But these girls, along with a few other close friends, they are my rock.  Like the sandpiper, they see my gimp and the broken parts and they love me all the more.  I need them like the sandpiper needs the water and the tasty little ocean treats.  We only see each other once a year.  We’re not big e-mailers or letter-writers or phone-callers.  But that year goes by and we find each other again and it’s like 3 days, not 365, have passed.

Some years, the 365 days in between have been pretty crappy.  Jobs are lost, finances are tight, spouses are bickering, kids are fraying every last nerve, parents are ill.  And then it’s three days in April.  We’re together once more.  The sun and the warmth of our friendship gets into to all those dark places and we’re good again.

Thanks girls, for being the best friends this odd-bird-gimpy-girl could have.  Until next year …

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1. Treats

Last Thursday was shaping up to be a pretty nondescript day.  Eli stays home on Thursdays, so we’re usually in our pajamas long past a reasonable hour.  We get dressed, go to swim lessons, do some laundry and that usually sums up our day.  Besides the usual, I planned to get some homemade Pop Tarts made so I could finally blog about them, and I knew I needed to get dinner prepped as I had to work at 6.

Last night I dreamed I held you in my arms

The music was never-ending

We danced as the evening sky faded to black

One step up and two steps back.

Mike woke me up that morning and the first words out of my mouth were, “You’re wearing that to work?”  In my sleepy haze I noticed he was wearing a Nashville Predators t-shirt, which is definitely not work attire.

“I’m not going to work today.  I need you to get up and take a shower.”  Now I’m awake.  This isn’t normal – not Mike randomly staying home, not me taking a shower before 7:15 a.m. on a Thursday.  And because he knows me so well, he quickly followed up with, “Don’t ask any questions.”

You can’t start a fire

Worrying about your little world falling apart

This gun’s for hire

Even if we’re just dancing in the dark

I had an inkling that he might be scheming something.  Our 15th anniversary is coming up in May.  He’d been overly interested in the calendar lately, and I spied him pulling my parents aside on Easter for a longish conversation.  Still, this randomness on a Thursday caught me off guard.

Baby, once I thought I knew

Everything I needed to know about you

Your sweet whisper, your tender touch

I didn’t really know that much.

He proceeded to get Eli off to school, leaving me with instructions to pack an overnight bag for myself, a bag for the kids, and to stay off any and all social media.  Elena watched me like a hawk – she was in on the surprise and wasn’t going to let me sneak any peeks.  By 9 a.m. we were on the road, to where I hadn’t a clue.

Left the house this morning

Bells ringing, filled the air

Wearin’ the cross of my calling

On wheels of fire I come rollin’ down here

We headed north on I-69, thereby ruling out the usual quick getaways: Chicago, Louisville, Cincinnati, Columbus.  Five hours later we rolled into Rochester, Michigan and paid a visit to the Rochester Mills Beer Company.  I still had no idea why we were in Michigan.  Finally, Mike couldn’t keep it in any more.  He handed me an envelope containing these:

I’m not a die-hard Bruce Springsteen fan.  There are songs life-long fans would be ashamed that I didn’t know every word to.  But for years now I’ve said that I’d love to see The Boss in concert.  It was on my imaginary bucket list.  Words that I’d said in passing, “Someday I’d love to … maybe one day … if he ever comes to Indy … wouldn’t it be awesome?” My amazing husband took my wishes and what ifs and made them a reality.  This is incredible on so many levels, but what really stands out for me is that he’s not a Bruce fan (let me clarify: he wasn’t a Bruce fan).  My rock star husband pulled off an enormous surprise, rearranged school schedules, swim lessons, arranged child care, got me off from work and drove 10 hours in 2 days to take me to a concert he doesn’t really even care for.  If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.

Hard times, baby well they come to us all

Sure as the tickin’ of the clock on the wall

Sure as the turnin’ of the night into day.

Your smile girl, brings the mornin’ light to me eyes

Lifts away the blues when I rise

I hope that you’re comin’ to stay.

It was beyond amazing.  Bruce played non-stop for 3 1/2 hours, running around like a mad man, each song sounding better than the last.  He’s 62 going on 22.  This?  Is over 3 hours in.  I was ready to pass out.  The Boss is still going strong.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=cBHZ0h2-dbU

It was epic, and I just wanted to cry from happiness.  For lyrics and music that have moved me during so many phases of my life.  For checking something off my life list that I wasn’t sure would ever happen.

May I feel your arms around me

May I feel your blood mix with mine

A dream of life comes to me

Like catfish dancin’ on the end of my line

And for Mike, who I’ve known and loved for nearly 18 years, but who can still surprise me like no other.  He’s The Boss of my heart.

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1. Mike & Emily’s Barn Wedding

Taking shelter from the rain at the Cincinnati Nature Center

We put so much emphasis on childhood “firsts” and milestones.  We fill a book during baby’s first year with every “first” we can think of:  first outing, first time sleeping though the night (Hurrah! Enjoy it!  You still won’t get a decent’s night sleep for at least 2 years!), first foods, first steps, first trip to the ER (No? That’s just us?).

As our children age from babies into toddlers, preschoolers and beyond, we still hang on to these milestones and document them meticulously.

For some parents, these milestones are celebrations.  Whether big or small, each one seems to get us closer to the life we knew before babies.  You know, the one where you slept at least 6 hours in a row, peed by yourself, had the clarity to sit down and read a few pages without forgetting what you just read, only cut your own meat.  For other parents, the passing of these phases seems to elicit strong emotions.  They’re sad to see the kids get bigger, more independent.  Perhaps baby fever even sets in, with hopes that another baby will give them a few more years of fuzzy, sweet heads to sniff and total dependence.

Me? I’m partial to the celebration camp.

This past week was Spring Break.  We opted to stay at home (staycation, if you’re looking to glam it up).  After all, we have janky knees and broken kidneys to pay for, as well as the possibility of a family trip to the happiest place on earth later this year.  We spent most of the time around home, but on Wednesday we drove to Cincinnati for the day.  The plan was to visit the Nature Playscape at the Cincinnati Art Center, but mostly it was an excuse for me to go to IKEA.

On the two-hour drive home, I spent time thinking about how we’ve passed yet another milestone.  We are no longer at the age and stage where a day or two away requires military-style planning and packing.  On the morning of our trip I threw a few snacks, a change of clothes and a small tote bag with books in the car.  We rolled out the door with less fuss than it takes to leave for school on any given morning.  The drive was mellow.

The kids are mostly easy and flexible these days.  We got caught in a torrential downpour at the Playscape that left us drenched, muddy and cold.  Not long ago, this would’ve been a recipe for disaster.  I would’ve had to carry a crying, filthy toddler back to the car while managing my camera and a diaper bag, all the while coaxing a stubborn kid to stop complaining and hurry it up.  At least another 20 exhausting minutes would’ve been spent peeling wet clothes off bodies and helping little arms into sleeves.  They’d be exhausted from the long day, quick to melt down at empty bellies and cold feet.

Instead we laughed it off and made do.  With minimal help, they got themselves into clean clothes.  I requested one last stop at the mother-of-all-grocery-stores, Jungle Jim’s, and they shrugged their shoulders. Whatever, Mom. We got home late – nearly 10 p.m. – and they put themselves to bed and slept in the next morning.

We are in the Golden Age of parenting and I fully realize and cherish this.  We are out of the exhausting trenches of baby- and toddler-hood but still blissfully removed from the angst-y teen years ahead of us.  Yes, I celebrate these milestones.  I’m not completely immune to the emotions that come with closing the door on having babies.  There are times when I’m sad that I don’t remember what it felt like to hold Elena as a baby.  There are days when I wish I could spend an afternoon with an infant snuggled on my chest.

But … there will always be somebody else’s baby to hold for a bit.  There will always be other toddlers to amuse with silly games, giving their frazzled mothers a much-needed break.  My children will only be this age once.  I will enjoy it, cherish it, not wish them older or pine for their younger selves.

I loved the young family we were.  I’m looking forward to seeing them grow into young adults.  But more than anything, I’m perfectly content right where we are today.

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