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By Emma, on May 2nd, 2012 When my husband first mentioned the beer fast back in March, I was less than supportive. In my mind, surviving on beer alone for thirty days screamed of idiocy, and let’s just say that I voiced my concerns. How would he be able to work? Could he possibly be a good dad? Wouldn’t he get ridiculously crabby? After a few tense conversations, I realized that he was serious—Josh planned to forgo solids for the entire month of April, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. So I had two options: A) spend the month fighting, or B) get on board. I chose option B.
Where did he get such a crazy idea? Apparently an Iowa man survived on beer for 46 days in 2011 as an homage to 17th century German monks who drank doppelbock while fasting for Lent. My husband—a homebrewer who is more enthusiastic about beer than anyone I know—decided that this was a challenge he needed to take on. He set his sights on the month of April and chose the porter variety as his beer theme.
During the first few days, it was hard not to ask him, “How are you feeling?” every 15 minutes. Starvation is not my thing. I eat three square meals a day and pack little baggies of snacks to make it through my work day. About ten days in, I couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m desperate to feed you!” I shouted. He just laughed, but it was difficult to look at him without squirming. The hunger seemed contagious, and I found myself compensating for his calorie deficit by baking chocolate chip cookies, making a huge pot of meatballs, and whipping up a batch of homemade frozen custard.
How did Josh distract himself from his empty stomach? He did a little woodworking, a lot of gardening, and a whole lot of eating vicariously. Every time I walked into the family room, his eyes were glued to the Food Network. “What the hell are you doing to yourself?” I’d ask incredulously. “This is sick and wrong. Watch anything else!”
Somehow, he survived the month of April just fine, though weighing in 20.1 pounds lighter. Yes, it’s possible to drink four or five beers a day and still lose your beer belly. Oh, the irony.
I asked Josh what he learned about himself during this experience, and while he didn’t have a concrete answer, I’m sure that the challenge had some psychic benefits. And our marriage? I’m happy to report that it made it through the Great Beer Fast of 2012 unscathed. Josh was a little checked out emotionally toward the end of the fast, and I really missed our family dinner time, but he did a great job of staying engaged and upbeat.
While I still think a month-long beer fast is a terrible idea, I am proud of Josh. The fast was ludicrous—yes—but also seriously impressive. What can I say? My husband is a badass.
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I Want to Know
- Have you ever done a fast? What was it like?
- If you had to survive on only one beverage for a month, what would you choose?
- Do you think I’m married to a crazy man?
Find me on twitter @emmasota, look up emmasota on Facebook, and visit me at my other blog, Divorced Before 30.
By Emma, on April 25th, 2012 Today was a PTO day for me, and I love being out and about on a weekday with the kids. The three of us had a jam-packed day that included the donut shop, the mall play area, the library, and the park (I spent less than three bucks total). There was a lot of laughing, running, chasing, cuddling, and unfortunately, a bit of whining, crying, and pinching, too. Needless to see, we were all wiped out by dinner time, and Linus had a meltdown right after caking his entire body with puree of teething biscuit.
After the baby went to bed, I tidied up the living room, where Josh and Linnea were watching a SpongeBob video. There were Candyland pieces here, tiny scraps of paper there, and four pairs of tiny shoes strewn about the room. I counted three cups of the sippy variety, a few dozen mismatched playing cards, and a stray piece of wood that turned out to be the guts of one of the cheap roller shades (which I glued back together with Elmer’s).
As I buzzed in and out of the room depositing dirty laundry and hair accessories in their rightful homes, Josh noticed the most astounding thing. Linnea had passed out in the wingback chair—a full hour before we usually start her bedtime routine. An hour. This is a child who usually fights bedtime with every cute, sneaky trick in the book, and there she was, out like a light. “What?” I thought. “No bedtime snack, no milk, no books, no tooth-brushing, no custom-ordered Goldilocks story?” I scooped her up, plopped her in her bed, and placed the blanket, “Polka-dot,” atop her little bod.
Suddenly, I had an unexpected hour on my hands. So what did I do? A load of laundry, a cup of tea, a blog post, and if all goes according to plan, a bath. I’m thinking that some bubbles and a good shave are in order, as it’s been warm enough in Minnesota lately for bare legs—hurrah!—and I’m not the kind of gal who’s meticulously shorn all winter long. Call me lazy. And then—then I’m going to curl up with Bossypants and possibly my spouse.
Finding yourself with an unexpected hour is like finding a ten dollar bill in the pocket of a jacket you haven’t worn in months. Bingo!
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I Want to Know
- What would you do with an unexpected free hour today?
- When was the last time you passed out watching TV?
- Do you intentionally leave cash in outerwear so you can discover it down the road?
Find me on twitter @emmasota, look up emmasota on Facebook, and visit me at my other blog, Divorced Before 30.
By Emma, on April 19th, 2012 Did you know that good is usually good enough? Not everything requires an A+ effort. This was news to me during my first year of motherhood. When I learned this invaluable mantra, however, it brought much peace and simplicity to my life. Good is good enough. I love it, and yet some of the peak moments of my life have involved accomplishments where more effort, accuracy, or verve were required—situations where I pushed myself to the limit and scored some kind of win, even if only against myself. As leadership author Jim Collins writes, “Good is the enemy of great.”
So, how do you know when good is good enough and when it’s the enemy of great? It’s a matter of knowing your priorities. This week, I stumbled upon a simple process that has helped me focus on what matters most.
First, let me sing the praises of “good is good enough.” Adopt it, and you can avoid obsessing about details that don’t matter. For instance, if you’ve got a jam-packed weekend with errands to run, a volunteer event to attend, and a family birthday dinner to host, something’s got to give. Now, you may fancy yourself a real gourmet—and there’s a time and place for that—but what if you simply picked up a cake at the supermarket and ordered in pizza? What if you just barely managed to vacuum before the guests arrived?
Do you think your family would have less fun? Would they think you were lazy?
Of course not. Good is good enough. If you start thinking this way, you’ll see that there are many times where this is an appropriate response.
I learned this mantra in a Personal Renewal Group for Moms that I started attending when Linnea was eight months old. With my 9-to-5 job and my new role as a mom, I felt overwhelmed and inadequate. It felt like I wasn’t doing anything well. Sure—nobody can do everything well, but to me, it was important to carve out at least one area where I felt truly successful. I needed to decide what mattered the most and then focus on that. I ended up writing my memoir, and even if it never gets published, I will always be proud of the effort that I put in.
Recently, I discovered a book that helps families prioritize their lives by asking and answering three big questions. I won’t go into details, but I found one gem that will stick with me. One of the questions is, “What is your top priority—rallying cry—right now?” What is most important to you over the next two to six months?
For a long time, my rallying cry was the book. After talking to Josh about it last night, we agreed on one for our family. Naturally, it has to do with money. But I don’t want to spend so much energy avoiding spending money that we forget to live, you know? So our rallying cry for this spring and summer is frugal family fun. We’re going to focus on having fun as a family and watching our budget closely. By the end of the summer, I hope that we can say that we did a great job at playing and at saving money. With this new focus, I may not get as much writing done, and I may just barely get the highchair cleaned up before bedtime (I’m looking at bananas smashed all over the tray as I type). For now, those things are going to be “good is good enough.”
I learned a few other things this week. For one, impulse control is tricky. I decided that I need a new pair of shoes, and while I found a pair that I loved right away online, I made myself get more creative. Friday night, Linnea and I hit a consignment shop, then Goodwill, and finally, Marshall’s. Sadly, I did not find the perfect shoes. However, Linnea had a ball trying on fluorescent pink pumps and other hideous footwear at the Goodwill. We had fun. And I actually found several cute pairs of shoes that I didn’t buy because they weren’t exactly what I needed. I came home and cyber-stalked the perfect shoes some more, crafting a plausible justification in my mind. But I waited. The next day, I dragged the kids to DSW, where I found the perfect pair for half the cost. If all the shopping had been stressful and frantic, maybe the money saved wouldn’t have been worth it, but it was fun.
For several days, I’d been craving a hot fudge sundae. Tonight, I desperately wanted to drive to the Dairy Queen and get one (I honestly saw the proximity of our house to the DQ as a selling point). No big deal, right? It’s fine to indulge in a three or four-buck treat once in a while. But if you do it often—plus grab a treat for the rest of your family—it adds up. It’s the latte syndrome that wrecks so many people’s budgets. Somehow, I convinced myself that a reasonable substitution would be some homemade chocolate chip cookies, so I whipped up a batch. Did I save any money tonight? Not really. But I changed my mindset, and I know it will make a difference over time. Plus, what’s not to love about warm chocolate chip cookies?
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I Want to Know
- Do you have a personal or family rallying cry right now?
- How do you avoid the latte effect (or don’t you)?
- What’s your biggest weakness when it comes to impulse control?
Find me on twitter @emmasota, look up emmasota on Facebook, and visit me at my other blog, Divorced Before 30.
Disclosure: I work for the publisher of the book I mentioned! I discovered the book randomly and shared it here simply because I found it useful.
By Emma, on April 12th, 2012 I’ve learned that it’s entirely possible to manage a modern household without paper towels. Would I prefer to use something disposable to wipe down the potty? Yes, I would, and I may grant myself a modest paper towel allowance for just that purpose. But for now, I’m appreciating the all-or-nothing mindset, as it’s making me realize just how often I reach for the convenient white roll.
I truly appreciate all of your tips and recommendations on how to save money. I haven’t had time to dig into the resources yet, but I’ve made a few more decisions already. I’ve instated a strict must-be-on-the-list policy at the grocery store and was very pleased with my receipt last weekend. In general, I’m trying to give up convenience foods (as much as is reasonable for a family with two full-time jobs and two young children).
Aside from the grocery store, I’m trying to avoid in-person shopping whenever possible. I’ve set up subscriptions for household items on Amazon. I save an extra 15% with its Subscribe & Save program, plus free shipping with Prime. For months, I’ve been purchasing specialty grocery items like Sunbutter this way. I just discovered the Amazon Mom program, where I’ll also save 20% on diapers. Yes, please! Strangely enough, the prices are substantially cheaper than what I’ve been paying at Diapers.com (big fan of their customer service), which is owned by Amazon.
The other big change is that Josh and I have signed up for mint.com (free!), and I think it will make a huge difference. In the past, it’s been hard to track our budget accurately because we pay for things with multiple debit cards and credit cards. Now that we’ve tied all of our accounts to mint, we can see every transaction in one chronological stream. This is great since we generally use a debit card but have to put larger purchases (hello, auto repair and emergency vet services) on our credit cards. Plus, we only need one login and password to see our financial snapshot on one screen.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last two and a half years, it’s that sharing my greatest insecurities, failures, conundrums, and embarrassments on the internet is counterintuitively rewarding. While I’m not planning to turn this into a personal finance blog, I will definitely keep you posted on our progress. I may just need to call on you for support when all seems hopeless and I’m ready to run off to the Caribbean (or maybe just the Mall of America) with the last Visa standing.
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I Want to Know
- Do you use any personal finance software that you like? Do you happen to have experience with mint.com?
- How much of your shopping is done online these days? Do you have any tips on saving more money?
- Do you do a good job of keeping your clothing budget modest? I often feel like I have nothing to wear, and I’m generally pretty disciplined about not buying clothes (and shoes), but a gal has to do a little shopping from time to time. Right?
Find me on twitter @emmasota, look up emmasota on Facebook, and visit me at my other blog, Divorced Before 30.
By Emma, on April 2nd, 2012 Okay, I admit it—I’m a total dork. I make my husband go on purposeful dates to do things like relationship homework and family goal setting. Yesterday, we were released from parental duties for a couple hours by Grampa Pete to do just that. It was mid-afternoon—a sunny Sunday and the first day of April—and we drove out of our way to a South Minneapolis bar the likes of which we frequented in the pre-familial era.
Josh and I camped at a table near the window and eyed the beer list. “Could it really be?” I thought. “Do we really have the next 90 minutes to do nothing but have a drink and oh, plan the rest of our lives?” I’d been desperate for such a date for weeks. Lately, I’ve been feeling really unsure of where to channel my energy. My goal for the winter was to lay off the goal setting—to let things percolate for a season—but honestly, I can only do that for so long before anxiety sets in. And while Josh and I each have ambitious long-term goals (start a brewery and write books, for example), we really haven’t set many as a couple.
It didn’t take much discussion before we realized the plain truth: most if not all of our goals depend on first digging our way out of debt. I won’t go into details, but imagine an absurd amount of debt for one young family to have (credit cards, student loans, car loan, you name it). Now double that amount, and you’re probably in the ballpark. It doesn’t matter how we got here; what matters is that we get out. So often, it feels fruitless, and I let myself pretend like the little choices—the minor expenditures—don’t matter. Well, they do.
Halfway through a tall wheat beer, I was inspired. “Honey,” I declared, “I’m going to make saving money a sport!” And I was serious. I had hoped to walk away from the bar with some exciting goals. Pinching pennies was not exactly what I had in mind.
I don’t have a grand moving-saving scheme mapped out yet, but to start, I’m trying to challenge my assumptions about what I really need. As a symbol of my wastefulness and my intention to change, I am offering up the holy paper towel to the gods of frugality. It—great sopper of spills that it is—will be difficult to give up, but last night, I organized my rags, sponges, towels, and cloth napkins, and hell if the house has gone to the dogs yet. I think I can do this. I, who very recently used dozens of paper towels just to clean one bathroom, can suddenly decide to stop. And if I can do that, what else can I do?
Giving up paper towels clearly isn’t going to solve our financial woes. But what if I no longer need to run to Target or Costco to get more Bounty megapacks? What if I skip those trips altogether—the ones that inevitably end with me and a shopping cart full of crayons, hair accessories, and just a few more bins to organize the endless array of crap we already have in our house? What if?
I am currently the grateful owner of one half of a roll of paper towels, which I will hoard for a disgusting emergency of the headless rabbit variety. Otherwise, I’m going cold turkey. If saving money is a sport, consider me in training.
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I Want to Know
- Are you a paper towel addict like me? Any interest in joining my challenge?
- What are your favorite ways to save a little money here and there?
Find me on twitter @emmasota, look up emmasota on Facebook, and visit me at my other blog, Divorced Before 30.
By Emma, on March 26th, 2012 Last week, we had to have our forty-year-old water meter replaced. The appointment was for 5 p.m., and being the busy working parents that we are, Josh and I had neglected to clean out the water closet beforehand as instructed. So at 4:50, I toted my two kids to the basement and set them up with some toys while I dragged musty cardboard boxes and homebrewing supplies out of the closet, discovering several shudder-worthy spiders along the way.
My tired eyes lit up when I discovered a lost box of mementos in the corner of the closet. It contained my childhood photo album and scrapbooks, but unfortunately, I could see that the box had been damaged by a burst pipe several winters back. I lugged the soggy box upstairs, and once the baby was down for the night, I carefully went through its contents. Thankfully, all of my irreplaceable treasures were salvageable.
Among my photographs, newspaper clippings, and greeting cards were several old books that had succumbed to mold. Before tossing the books, I shook each one gently, and sure enough, one last treasure slipped onto the floor. It was a very old postcard—dated September 11, 1911—addressed to one Miss Della Doak of Vernon, Texas. Apparently, no street address was required at that time. It was a casual note from her cousin in Milan, Missouri—perhaps the 1911 equivalent of the occasional text messages I exchange with my cousin in California. Here’s what it said:
Dear Cousin,
We are well as usual and hope you are the same. It has been raining today. Grover is in Okla. City now. I don’t know how long he will stay there. Write soon.
Alice Doak
Milan, Missouri
This is all I know. They were female cousins living in small towns more than one hundred years ago. Della was a “Miss,” and thus presumably unmarried. Alice was somehow connected to a Grover, though whether he was her suitor, husband, brother, or friend is unclear. Were these cousins high-spirited young ladies who rode fast horses and dreamed of leaving their small towns? Or well-behaved churchgoers with neatly pressed dresses and practical footwear?
The possibilities are endless, and since finding this postcard almost a week ago, I’ve been daydreaming about what their lives were like in 1911. I suspect that a descendant of Della and Alice might like to receive this postcard in the mail, so let’s see if we can make that happen, shall we?
If you are reading this (yes, you), please do two things: 1) share the URL for this post via Facebook and/or twitter, and 2) leave a comment below.
Let’s see how quickly we can find some Doaks! I want to hear more about Della and Alice. Go.
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I Want to Know
- Your name
- Your city/state
- How you found this post
Find me on twitter @emmasota, look up emmasota on Facebook, and visit me at my other blog, Divorced Before 30.
By Emma, on March 18th, 2012 When my brothers and I were young, my parents had to take us to the ER so often that they started to worry that people would think they were abusing us. We were just really good at doing stupid things, like riding a banana-seat bike with multiple children hanging from it. Barefoot, of course.
Now that I’m a parent, I have similar fears. Currently, I’m worried that people will think that Linnea is being raised by wolves. Since she turned three, she’s been acting what I call “impossible” much of the time. At her well-child visit last week, she refused to be weighed, measured, or spoken to. She not so politely declined to let the doctor look in her mouth. No amount of sweet-talking, demanding, begging, or bribing could change her mind. Even the doctor tried to tempt her with a packet of fruit snacks that I had packed.
As the doctor went over a list of developmental milestones, I laughed. Speaking in three-word phrases? No problem. This girl has been dishing all kinds of sass this week. Thank god she also gets plenty of sweetness in there in between comments like “No, mommy. You’re making me very upset.” In fact, today she said, “I’m going to help feed Baby. I’m a big sister!” And she actually did help feed the baby.
Yesterday, I really pushed my luck by taking her to get her birthday portrait taken. She woke up in a grumpy mood, and this was underscored by her hysterical reaction when the baby ripped the Band-Aid off her knee, so I knew it was a risky move. I told her that I’d take her to the donut shop afterward if she was good and hoped for the best. Delayed gratification is not really her thing yet, and while I really could’ve gone for a jelly donut, it was not to be.
During the photo session, she barely cracked a smile. It was basically a repeat performance of the doctor’s office, with me looking like a fool, begging my child to comply, while she seemed rather unimpressed by me in general. She looked at me calmly but made no attempt to acquiesce. I knew the session was over when she unintentionally but quite forcefully head-butted me.
Bedtime has been interesting as well. Up until now, having the kids share a room has gone quite smoothly. However, since Linnea turned three, she’s decided that it’s acceptable to make a complete racket in her bed. Maybe even a ruckus. On average, she’s disturbed the baby’s slumber about twice each evening. Every time, I get more and more angry, but again—no amount of pleading makes a difference.
Tonight, I tried a new tactic. New body language. “Wanna get out of bed and run around like a monkey?” my expression seemed to say. “Big deal.” I slouched down in a living room chair, typing away, while she continued to scramble from her bed to show me something or another. Usually, I would carry her back to bed with a few firm (or exasperated) words, but tonight I was nonchalant and downright positive. “Wow,” I said, “You’re going to be a really good girl and go hop right back in bed, aren’t you?” And strangely enough, she did.
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I Want to Know
- Do you have any experience dealing with three-year-old children?
- If you’re a parent, do you ever fear that doctors, photographers, or complete strangers will think you’re entirely incompetent?
Visit me at my other blog, Divorced Before 30, where I’m taking guest-post submissions. Find me on twitter @emmasota. And, if you haven’t already, please visit emmasota on Facebook and click “Like!”
By Emma, on March 11th, 2012 I’ve been feeling a little unsettled these days. Two months ago, I shared my intention for the winter season: to let things percolate. I’m usually so eager to dive into the next thing, to set the next goal, but this time, the goal was not to have a goal. Honestly, I’m starting to lose my mind.
Oh, I’ve been doing my homework—drinking lots of herbal tea and such—trying to be patient as I eye the pieces of life’s puzzle from an unsatisfying distance. But the truth is that I’m not much of a percolator, and I’m afraid that all of this sipping and seeping is driving me to a miserable existence marked by an increased consumption of simple carbohydrates.
The last thing I wanted tonight was a salad, and yet I had to have one. One more day without leafy greens, and I might have turned into a bowl of cereal. It was imperative that I build a bed of lettuce and spinach, slice a tomato, and fork my way through the vitamin-laden plate between baby-chasing intervals. “I feel like a goalie,” I said to Josh between bites. “Except there are about fourteen goals.” This is life with a crawler.
I felt a bit better about myself after the salad, but heck if that stopped me from polishing off some cake afterward. My soul may need salad, but my body wants frosting. Clearly, it’s time to start looking toward spring. Percolation may have served its purpose this winter, but I am ready to for something stronger.
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I Want to Know
Does your soul need a salad? Do you have any idea what the hell that means?
Are you antsy to spring forward? Maybe in life in general?
Visit me at my other blog, Divorced Before 30, where I’m taking guest-post submissions. Find me on twitter @emmasota. And, if you haven’t already, please visit emmasota on Facebook and click “Like!”
By Emma, on March 4th, 2012 Two years ago, a woman in my mom’s group confessed that it felt like all she ever did was say “no.” She felt terrible about it, and from where I sat as mother to a sweet, obedient one-year-girl, I didn’t understand the problem. “Just say ‘no’ less often,” I thought. “Positive Parenting 101.”
Anyone who has ever raised a preschooler is chuckling to themselves right now, and for good reason. It’s 6 a.m., and Linnea, who will turn 3 this week, just asked for some marshmallows. This is not an unimaginable request. After all, I wake up hungry and craving sugar, too, but there are certain things that shouldn’t be consumed before 8 a.m. Sushi, Hot Tamales, and anything nacho cheese-flavored come to mind.
Needless to say, I’ve been saying “no” lately. When Linnea suggested that I take a nap with her while I let Jackie and Juna (the dogs) take care of the baby, I came up with a new approach. “That would be [insert positive adjective here: great, super, stupendous, fun, awesome, fantastic], but…[insert perfectly logical explanation here].”
This tactic works well for those “Mom, can I…?” questions, but there are plenty of other occasions in which I find myself tempted to say “no”—for instance, when she is using markers on any number of household surfaces or dialing up the most recent contact on my cell phone (usually the faithful employees of our favorite pizza joint, who no doubt field their fair share of weird calls).
If you don’t want your house to run like it’s inhabited by monkeys, then boundaries are imperative, and I know there’s a time to pull out the word “no.” I think it’s appropriate—maybe even necessary—when a child is about to hurt herself or when you’re about lose your mind. But in between those times, I am trying to be more creative.
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I Want to Know
- What else shouldn’t be consumed before 8 a.m.?
- Do you have any creative ways that you say “no” to your kids?
Find me on twitter @emmasota. And, if you haven’t already, please visit emmasota on Facebook and click “Like!”
By Emma, on February 26th, 2012 As I was reading bedtime books to Linnea tonight—a favorite part of her rather elaborate nightly routine—I was struck right between the eyes by the clock of life. On the inside covers of A Gift-Bear for the King were illegible letters of the alphabet, squiggly hearts, and stick figures that lack bodies. Linnea saw the drawings and shouted, “I did that, Mommy!” In truth, I did that. More than thirty years ago (gulp).
Lately, it seems as though I am constantly stunned by the passage of time. “What?” I think, “It’s going to be March next week?” Or, “Seriously? I’m going to be 35?” Recently, my mother-in-law brought over a $25 savings bond that someone had bought for Josh in 1977, presumably for his first birthday. Now it sits perched by our front door in its patriotic envelope—navy blue with fireworks and the words “A Share in America”—waiting to be taken to the bank or wherever you redeem such things.
Parenthood certainly punctuates the warp-speed nature of life. Going over my mental to-do list today, I realized that not only does Linus need to have his nine-month well child visit, but I also need to schedule a three-year appointment for Linnea. Her birthday is in a couple weeks, and it’s hard to imagine that three years have already passed since that slushy grey day when I met the delightful nymph who regularly looks at me and says in earnest, “You’re my favorite mommy.”
Whether I like it or not, time is slipping through my fingers, and I constantly ask myself whether I’m doing what I can. Am I crawling around on the rug enough with the kids? Am I being the best version of me I can be? Am I remembering to lock eyes with my love every day? No matter how quickly the days and months succeed one another, there are always moments to relish. The key is to recognize their beauty in real time, to breathe slowly and let the sounds and images of the people I love fill my chest to its brim.
If I can remember to stop and do this regularly, the passage of time becomes less alarming, for I am doing it—I am really living.
*****
I Want to Know
- Do you obsess about the passage of time like I do?
- How do you remind yourself to be present in the moment?
If you enjoy reading memoirs, you should pop over to my other blog, Divorced Before 30, to enter for a chance to win a copy of Deborah Feldman’s new bestseller, Unorthodox.
Find me on twitter @emmasota. And, if you haven’t already, please visit emmasota on Facebook and click “Like!”
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