revenge of the money pit

I'm not bothered by the "usual" problems of divorce. I'm not lonely, have a perfectly adequate social life, don't have any more money worries than I did when I was married, and manage the kids single about as well as I did before.


What's going to kill me is the house.


Thanksgiving Day I developed a leak under my kitchen sink. As my mother always says, if you're going to have plumbing problems, it'll be the day you have a bunch of people about to troop in to eat. It's tricky to put a holiday meal on the table when every time you run water in your kitchen sink it drips underneath.



Then yesterday I crawled out of bed at zero dark thirty to go to work, and climbed into the shower half asleep. Yowzah. I wasn't asleep for long. There was about four inches of ice cold water from my shower the day before, just standing there, refusing to drain. I was in such a state of denial that I convinced myself that the drain doo-dad was down, and not allowing any water out. I raised it up carefully after my shower and crossed my fingers. When I got home last night the water hadn't budged. Strike One.


So today I took everything out from underneath the kitchen sink (duct tape in hand), only to find that where the water is coming from is from a corroded out part of the either the faucet or the sink itself - way beyond my puny little fix-it skills. And falling in such a way that I can't even put anything underneath it to catch the drips. Strike Two.


Then I went upstairs with the plumbing snake I got from the FX to see about the tub. I even put on my Superwoman shirt that I got as a nursing school graduation present - just to get my mojo going. While I struggled and cursed and snaked, my phone rang five times and Sasquatch came bolting out of his room to tell me that he thought he saw something scurry across his floor. Since his room looks like the New York City Dump, I wasn't surprised. I'd been telling him that all the mice had suspiciously disappeared from the rest of the house and that if I were a mouse, I'd be moving into his room with my beach umbrella and some elastic waist pants. Then, keeping an eye out for fat rodents, I got back to my snaking. Unsuccessfully. Strike Three.


I refuse to call a plumber on a holiday weekend, so we can't use the kitchen sink or the upstairs tub. The upstairs toilet is fine, but the downstairs toilet is a prima donna. The upstairs sink doesn't work - the handles are jacked up. The downstairs shower is, how do I put this nicely, a piece of shit handheld with the water pressure of a squirt gun...but it'll have to do. I showered in it today after the gym, and except for having to wash just one part of my body at a time, it was workable. Barely, but beggars can't be choosers. I have two toilets, two tubs and two sinks - and between them they equal one working bathroom.


When I think of all the times in my life I made myself crazy wanting to own a house, I have to laugh. What I wouldn't give to be able to call a landlord and have them fork over the cash to get things moving again. And now I get to worry all day tomorrow about exactly how much cash we're talking that's going to come out of my tight little fist.


I have to do laundry tomorrow. I can hardly wait to see what the washer has in store for me.

a sigh of relief

Thanksgiving came a day early at chez RC, delivered by the mail lady.


My gas bill - the first since all of my weatherproofing efforts - came. I kid you not, my hands were shaking when I opened it.


Last year, the bill for the first month of heat - a month we were never warm - was right around $400.


This year, the bill for the first month of heat - cold outside, but oh so toasty inside - was...


$104.51.


I have a whole new appreciation for saran wrap.

takin' care of business

With all due apologies to those of you on the West Coast who are in typically sweltering October weather, I've got issues.


Autumn issues.


Cold weather issues.


Financial issues.


And here's why. Last winter, in my big, drafty 1887 Victorian house, I got a $400 heating bill one month. I wailed, I moaned, I gnashed my teeth - I paid it. What else can you do? The next month, after watching the thermostat with an eagle eye, I got a $700 heating bill - which I couldn't pay. I'm still making installment payments. There's something that needs to be said about that period of time. We were never warm downstairs once. Not for a single minute. (And I don't count being wrapped in a fleece blanket over three layers of clothes in front of a roaring fire, either). A lot of the things that I wanted to do to make sure this never happened again fell through the cracks in the chaos that was my summer. None of the weatherproofing, new windows, yadda yadda yadda.


But now I have to get on it. So the front door just got measured for a storm door, which will hopefully mean that the wind tunnel on the stairs disappears. I'm going to Home Depot and buying the gross looking but very effective plastic saran wrap stuff to cover all of the windows in my front three rooms. (It was on the windows when we bought the house but I tore it down immediately. Something about it being ugly. At this point, I'd put avocado green shag carpeting on my walls if I could avoid an $1100 heating bill). I'm going to buy ceiling fans for upstairs to force the heat back downstairs and help us lose that tropical feeling in our bedrooms in February. And our friend who is my home maintenance guru is going to set aside some time to come and deal with all of this for me. He's not cheap, but he's worth every penny.


I don't even want to add up the cost of an odd size storm door, three (or more) ceiling fans, a boatload of saran wrap and the labor to install all of the above. (Except the saran wrap. The kids and I are doing that this weekend. Then, when we jack it up, I'll go buy more and pay to have it done properly). I'm not itching to give Home Depot my weekly check, but this way at least I'll have something to show for my money. If I give it to the gas company - again- I'll have nothing.


All in all, it's not a huge price to pay for being warm for once from October to March. And for the satisfaction of knowing that I'm taking care of unpleasant business. The gas company can pick on someone else this year.

clean up on aisle two

What in the world is going on with the cost of food?


I get the whole economy going to hell bit. Real estate, gasoline, airplane fares, the dollar abroad - all in the toilet. I understand that I'm living in a house I probably can't afford because I can't sell it. I drive as little as possible, and since I can't afford to travel further than downtown, the last two are (sadly) moot. But food? Food hits me right where I live.


Have you ever fed three growing boys? It takes a stinking lot of food, let me tell you. In the course of the last few months, I've watched my food bills skyrocket, no matter how careful I am. And I am careful. I really am.


I cook virtually everything from scratch.


Two of us don't eat meat.


We eat a lot of beans, grains and pasta.


I'm finally at the point where I can honestly say we don't buy any soda, which I feel I deserve some sort of award for. I'll take the Fifth on how much Diet Pepsi I drink for free at work.


And I shop the sales. I'll go to three different stores to buy what they have on special. The chest freezer I "splurged" on this spring is my ace in the hole. Man, do I love that freezer. I kiss it regularly as I walk through my garage. I buy big when things are on sale, and then go shopping in my own freezer.


But, in spite of all of this, my food bill is up by 25%. We aren't doing anything different. I still plan menus for the week based on the sales. I still make sure I eat before I go to the store, because me in a supermarket hungry is a recipe for disaster. I still turn my back on most junky or processed foods, although since my kids all take their lunches to school, there are some sugar filled snack cakes in my cart. I think I buy what most people buy. That's what scares me.





I went to two stores today. One, (a store that I flat out can't afford), had a fabulous sale on something I use a lot, and is frozen to boot. And a bunch of coupons for stuff I can always use, like ketchup and baby carrots. The other is my regular haunt, the place I buy the majority of my weekly groceries. But in spite of being really careful and almost no impulse buying (alright, two impulse purchases. One - some artichokes on sale. My kids love artichokes. And two - red bell peppers. One of my top five foods ever. I eat them like apples), I still spent almost $200 on food. For one week. For four people. And with virtually all of the meat coming out of my already stocked freezer. (In my defense, I did buy the ingredients to make a bunch of our favorite casserole for the freezer, but still...)


Surely I'm not the only one frustrated by this?

worry blogs

Anyone who has been reading this blog for any length of time knows that I'm a worrier. World class, even. My grandmother, who had no room to talk, said that I was so bad that I'd worry even when there was nothing obvious to worry about, in the fleeting chance that I was missing something. I'd like to think that as I've gotten older, I've gotten better, but it's something I fight daily. It's a hell of a way to live, and I try as hard as I can to not let it get me down.


But today it's kind of getting to me. And rather than go to sleep and toss and turn, I thought I'd use this post as a kind of world wide web worry beads. You know, take each piece out, examine it...and hopefully let it rest. At least until there's something concrete to worry about.


Bead One: Gumby has been complaining about his stomach for weeks. As much as I honestly chalk it up to anxiety, I took him into the doctors today for a check-up. He, of course, ordered lab work to be done Thursday, in addition to trying him on a med to see if it helps. For someone who personally draws labs all day long, you'd think I wouldn't be so freaked out about this, but when it's my kids I just can't hang. I'm always amazed at people who stay calm and collected when something is going on with their kids, because, let me tell you...that's not me. Well, to their face I'm calm, but I'm like a big bowl of mush inside.

And because of the Labor Day holiday and the fact that this doctor has to send all of his labs out, it will be Tuesday before we get the results. If I was at work I'd have the results on my computer screen fifteen minutes after I drew the blood. I don't like it much when people come in because they're too impatient to wait to see their own primary doctor...but I sure do understand it.


Bead Two: Ninety minutes after I take Gumby for the blood test (across town), I have to be back in almost exactly the same spot to take Isaiah (The most perfect dog in the universe) to the vet to have the lump on his foot looked at. I had my hair cut even more today and when I was there my friend the hairdresser was telling me that her dog was just diagnosed with a seemingly harmless lump on his head, and it turned out to be cancer and there's nothing they can do. Our vet, who is normally scrupulously on top of things, has her own hands full with a pregnancy that went horribly wrong last month. Her twins died shortly after they were born, and she is understandably distracted. I love this woman, but I honestly think she should take a little time for herself, a little time to not have to be "on". So I'm worried both that something is wrong and also that if there is it might be missed. No matter what they tell me tomorrow - I'm going to worry.


Bead Three: I'm finally (for the first time since the separation) starting to worry about money. It's not that I'm short - yet - it's just that I feel like an ATM lately. One kid playing violin. Ka-ching. One kid playing baritone. Ka-ching. One kid taking photography. Ka-ching. Drama classes, soccer, choir, bus passes, lunch cards, fixing broken windows, heartguard for the dogs, a toilet that has water running constantly, the prospect of a cold (and expensive winter), the fear of large vet bills, and so on and so on. I'm being so careful about spending - and so quick to pick up overtime - that I should be okay. The child support payment is always on time - and a nice sum (soon to go up when the divorce is actually final). My ex is always willing to split kid fees, even on top of the child support. But still...


Bead Four: Closely related to Bead One. Sasquatch was about the same age as Gumby when he had a very bad year in terms of anxiety, misdiagnosed Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and just generalized psychological angst. I dragged the kid from one psychiatrist to another for a full year, and it was truly awful. I almost had to drop out of nursing school with eight weeks left to go. It was that bad. At the same age I had the same kind of OCD-like behavior - and it was really bad for about a year. I worry so much about Gumby along this same vein. He's just started Junior High, he is the closest of the three kids to his dad, his hormones are kicking in, he's starting to do little tiny OCD things...and he plays his cards very close to his chest. I don't want him to have to go through this. I know it's out of my hands, but I don't have to like it.


Okay. That feels a little better. I'm glad I got that out. I need to not borrow trouble and just wait and see what tomorrow brings. Maybe it will be good things instead of the awful things running through my head.


Maybe I will sleep tonight after all.

school of shock

As I've run from one store to the other today, I've had a lot of time to think about one indisputable fact.


Back to school shopping is not what it used to be.


I remember going shopping as a kid and buying a few clothes, some notebooks and a new lunch box. Anal even then, I would spend the next few days arranging my binder just so, and trying on outfit after outfit to decide what to wear the first day. (I even remember my very favorite back to school piece of clothing ever. It was a pair of blue and white checked ultra wide leg hip hugging bell bottoms. With my Roseanne Rosannadanna hair and braces with rubber bands, I was no Marcia Brady. I wasn't even Jan. In truth, I looked more like Mr. Brady after he got that really bad perm).


What did we buy today? Well, we did buy notebooks and paper and pencils and pens. We bought clothes. We also bought flash drives and cell phones and rewritable discs and some other piece of computer thingie that Sasquatch convinced me he needed and then realized as soon as we got home that he had bought the wrong (size? speed? format? Who knows? Who cares?)


The cell phones are a story all on their own. Gumby and Surfer Dude will need cell phones this year since they will be a little more independent. I've learned my lesson with Verizon and just went to Target to buy the Virgin Mobile pay as you go phones. Simple enough to buy. Can't say the same for setting them up. It took me five minutes just to get the packaging off. Their phones are more for me than them, honestly. If I'm at work and they're out and about I want to know the who, what, when, where and why of it.


After we bought theirs, we went to Verizon to activate Sasquatch's third phone in recent months. The last one (thank you again, Amy, and I'm so sorry) is buried somewhere in the sand at Zuma, never to be found again. (How did he explain this to his father? "We lost it". We who??) I have to hand it to Verizon. That's quite a racket they've got going there. If you don't buy the replacement insurance within fifteen days of your new contract (stupid, stupid, stupid me), you have to buy a new phone if you lose or destroy yours. They hold you to your contract whether you have a physical phone or not. So you can have nice fellow bloggers send you old ones out of the goodness of their hearts, or - this time - your mother can take pity on the kid (hers, not mine) and upgrade her own plan even though she doesn't need to. Total cost to her - $50. Total cost to me to switch his plan over to her phone - $20. Total cost to Sasquatch? Too horrible to even blog about.


After my credit card had been extinguished and all the electronics had been safely put into backpacks (still good from last year, thank god), I felt an overwhelming need to return Back to School shopping to the way it used to be.


You should see my new hobo bag purse. It would look right at home on Marsha Brady.