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Today, is a good day so far.

Today, I feel like I have magical powers that suddenly make me able to do more than feed baby, watch Price is Right, feed baby, change diaper, feed baby, cram sandwich in face, feed baby, repeat.

Today, I finally started my laundry.  I own far too many clothes, as evidenced by the THREE loads I have to do today of just my own personal belongings.  THREE!  Geez.  I should say I need to cut down, but this is after the Nesting Purge of 2010.

Today, I have successfully eaten 2 meals … hot ones even.  One of them was remarkably healthy and didn’t even taste that terrible.

Today, there are no dirty dishes in my sink.  I’ve washed everything as it was dirtied.  Even the bottles and breastpump parts (which I HATE to wash) are clean.

Today, I am the hippie incarnation of Betty Crocker.  I made whole wheat-flaxseed-dairy free dark chocolate cookies and granola that someone in my house commented smelled like horse food it had so many grains in it.

Today, I don’t feel like making dinner.  I think I used up all my go-go juice on everything else.

Today, I got really excited about the amount of breastmilk that was in the pump bottle at the end of pumping time (a time that I loathe, for the record).

Today, I was slightly nauseated with myself for being excited about the ounces of liquid that get squeezed out of my chest.  Oh, former self, what in the world would you think of me now?

Today, my adorable baby has spent some fabulous time making faces at her Daddy.

Today, I missed sitting on the couch doing nothing but holding her and yelling at the idiot on the Showcase Showdown who thinks you can get a truck, 2 vacations, and a wave runner for $20K.

Today, today, we hope for another good one tomorrow.



I am an inherently guilt-ridden person.  It isn’t for any real good reason, but I internalize expectations (whether mine or someone else’s for me) and feel terribly when I don’t meet them (even if the person they belong to doesn’t care that I fell short).  This guilty feeling is tied pretty strongly to my anxiety levels, which although manageable are kind of intense sometimes.  It’s going to snow next week?  Anxious.  I forgot to mail the electric bill early?  Anxious.  I hear sirens?  Anxious.  My desk is a little disorderly?  Anxious anxious anxious.  This Type A hyper aware craziness will likely kill me one day, probably.

4 (almost 5) short weeks into being someone’s Baby Mama and I’ve managed to feel guilty most of the time.  First it was that she wouldn’t latch appropriately.  I’ve been the World’s Loudest Mouthed Advocate of Breastfeeding and my child will. not. latch.  Initially I blamed her immature suck/swallow at birth, but shortly after that cleared up it became clear it was in fact not her abilities but my anatomy that were keeping us at odds.

Enter: Guilt.

Is there anything I can do about this anatomical abnormality?  No.  Do I still pump exclusively so she can get breast milk from a bottle instead?  Yes.  Does this abate my feeling terrible about not being able to feed her the way I intended?  Nope.

Then there was last weekend.  I left AverageBaby with her Daddy and went out with my brother to see our favorite. band. on. the. planet. who hasn’t played together in almost a year (and whom we didn’t think would play together again ever …).  She was in completely capable hands.  She was safe.  She was happy.  I was doing pretty well with this whole ‘leaving your baby for the first time ever’ deal until I got a picture via text message on my phone of AverageBaby all adorably wrapped up in a towel post-bath.

But.  But …

I’ve been there for all her baths.  I thought they were going to wait for me to get home and do it the next day.  I’m not supposed to miss these things.

Why hello there, guilt, how have you been?

Now we have the icing on the cake.  My dear sweet baby is covered in rashy bumps.  They started out looking like a regular case of ‘baby acne’ and have since morphed into an increasingly terrible looking rash.  She has other symptoms as well, and the math adds up to a likely dairy protein sensitivity.  I’m immediately going dairy-free to try to help her and I couldn’t have known any earlier than now (it’s not like they come with manuals that say, “This one is dairy intolerant.  Good luck.”).

Yet still … guilty.

Every time she cries and grunts and looks miserable, I feel terrible.  I know I didn’t do anything to her on purpose.  I know I couldn’t have known ahead of time.  I know it wasn’t intentional.  None of this stops me from feeling like the Worst Parent Of The Year because she gets that dairy protein directly from me, from the cheese and ice cream and milk chocolate I’ve been putting in my mouth for weeks.

I could melt into a puddle right here.  Or hide behind a rock.  I know there’s some degree of “Mommy Guilt” in every parenting relationship, but I probably should have considered how it would co-mingle with my already persistent need to be anxious and tense about expectations in the first place.


And none of that placating, “It’s ok.   You couldn’t help it.” crap, ok?  It doesn’t make me feel better.  I see every comment like that as an excuse for why I didn’t make the grade.  I know that’s irrational.  I’m working on it …


1. Yes, I am still pregnant.  41 weeks, 2 days to be exact.  This makes people uncomfortable for some reason.  People who are not me.  I’m largely unphased by the length of time this kid chooses to incubate.

2. The doctor’s office pisses me off.  Their blatant use of lies, privilege, and fear mongering is disgusting.  That’s the only part of being pregnant this long that I don’t like: fighting with the damn doctor’s office every 3 days.  Last week I just ignored them entirely and hid out like a fugitive.

3. I’m hungry.  Why haven’t I eaten breakfast yet?  Ah yes, because I’m lazy.  Check.

4. I really wanted to experience that ‘nesting’ feeling I hear so much about.  My OCD was shitting golden kittens in excitement about the prospect of unbridled energy devoted to cleaning and organizing like a lunatic.  No. Such. Luck.  Thanks a lot, Universe.

5. That Boy’s job wants to cut his pay by 33-66%.  Uh, yea, that much.  I’m … overjoyed.  Right.  Suffice it to say he’s already looking for something else el pronto.  Not to mention, the hours at this job suck in the worst way.

6. I’m beginning to believe this child is never coming out.  Ever.  I think this kind of irrational thinking is also what happens to serial killers when you leave them in solitary confinement too long.  The crazies just start to creep in when you aren’t looking and before you know it you’re convinced the all kinds of crazy things are up.

7. Did you know they made a pack of Starbursts that only have the red flavors in it?  Uh, yea.  I just heard.  I could dance in the streets about it.  Pink and yellow Starbursts, I have no time for your shenanigans!  Out you go!

8. I’m supposed to work next weekend (3-5 Feb) at a state tournament.  Why? Because I was supposed to have this kid already.  I’m not sure how this is going to play out in the near future.  Shit.  I need to find someone to cover for me.  Good thing I have an assistant … wait … an assistant who already told me he won’t work that weekend.  Double shit.  Uh oh, spaghettio.

9. I got this cool double layer plastic tumbler thing for Christmas from my brother.  Have you seen them?  It doesn’t condensate, had a twist on lid that looks like a fountain pop cup, and a hard plastic use-it-forever straw.  I’m kind of in love with it.  It makes me wish we had a freezer upstairs.  The trek to the basement for ice cubes is generally unappealing to me always.

10. Believe it or not, the constant check-up phone calls, emails, and facey spacey messages have begun to diminish.  I attribute this to either a: people forgetting that I’m possibly still pregnant or b: me scaring them into not bugging with my shitty snark responses over the last couple weeks.  I know B worked on my dad who is now afraid to call me for an update lest he “upset me” which I think is code for “have to listen to me bitch about how I’m not answering anymore damn questions”.  Either way: bonus for me.



“Hey, um … are we ever going to have … uh, dinner again?”

Dearest parasite that I am incubating, please stop taking every last ounce of my energy away.  Sure, use what you need to grow into a normally functioning and otherwise adorable mini-human, but me thinks you’re getting greedy and power hungry these days.  You exhaust me.  I can barely move sometimes.  There are breaks of clarity where I think, “I should clean this living room! Now!”, but within a few moments of effort I am compelled by the couch monster to return to lounging.  If I had more couch monster fighting juice stored up, I could win that battle, but you keep taking it.

Not that I don’t love you and all that mushy perfect mother to be crap.

But seriously, kid, you’re killing me here.

Your soon to be uncle told me he is going to mutiny soon if I don’t start feeding this family again.  I don’t cook dinner.  I don’t even think up things other people should cook for dinner.  I clearly don’t go to the grocery store.  Reasons?  You.

I also don’t clean things.  My desk is a disaster.  The office is trashed.  There are so many finger prints on the glass coffee table panels that CSI would have a hard time deciding who murdered who in this place.  The dust.  Ugh.  I don’t even want to talk about dust.

I want to change all of these things.  I want to be up and moving and planning and cooking and shopping and cleaning and cleaning and cleaning.  I want to.

And you don’t.


Come on, wee little fetus, make a deal with me.  I’ll lounge around most (I know, how tragic and difficult) of the time if you’ll give me the occasional break from esophagus searing heartburn, dry heaves, and the inability to keep my eyes open through an entire rerun of Deadliest Catch so I can feed your soon to be family something other than … well, whatever it is they’ve been eating … I clearly have no idea and perhaps take a Swiffer to the entertainment center.

I think that’s fair.

Pretty please?


1. We had pizza for dinner tonight.  I made my lovely family a terrific thin crust that they all thought was pretty tasty.  Thinking myself a badass, I also thought I’d try to make GLUTEN free pizza crust from scratch (because the only ‘mix’ I had on hand was my ridiculously over priced but amazing bread mix).  Yea.  About that.  So … take a box of graham crackers and subtract all forms of sweetener.  Then leave them out on the cupboard for a week to get stale.  Slather with pizza toppings and toast the snot out of them in the oven.  They will resemble dust in texture and … well, burnt dust in taste.  Yum.

2.  Some days, I fricking hate being GLUTEN free.  Knowing that I can’t cheat only makes it worse.  F this jazz.

3. I do not hate ice cream.  The local walk up ice cream place (which is far less ‘local’ than I would prefer … stupid living in the country) reopened so we headed down there after dinner tonight.  MmmmmmicecreamIloveyou.  My mother suggested we make it out summer goal to eat everyone of their 24 flavors, excluding the crap “kid ice cream” (superman, cotton candy, etc).  I think this is an admirable cause to take on … except the part where I can’t eat the ones that have cake in them.

4. I want someone to come clean my house so I don’t have to do it.  Mostly, the basement.  And by clean, I mean haul away the crap I already know no longer needs to live here.  Applications and interviews available through the comments section.  Compensation negotiable (by which I mean, largely nonexistant … unless I can pay you in crappy GF pizza).

5. I got a very sweet email today.  It kind of made my day.  The end.

6.  My desk is a disaster.  I am fearful the Department of Desk Safety may come knocking and take my lovely french colonial desk (and by lovely, I mean you can’t even tell it’s partly particle board) to live with a foster family that will love it enough to not pile unending crap on top of it.

7.  I had the shortest employment stint I’ve ever had this week.  I mentioned before that I was offered a job with the US Census.  After 2 days of training (well, one day of training and one day of them pretending we didn’t spend all day screwing off with the fingerprint pad) I was told my job was contingent on me upholding their departmental non-disclosure agreement.  The one that stands in direct conflict with the state law I swore to uphold years ago when I was granted a medic license (Fun fact: I once took 27 credit hours in one semester so I could finish my medical training at the community college while trying to finish my bachelors degree programs at the university.  Indeed, I was a crazy person.).  Yea.  Abdicate my previous responsibility (and sworn personal integrity) for some schmuck job that only lasts 4 weeks?  Not happening, US Census, so sorry.

8.  Other opportunities to fill in the income gap created by giving the Dept of Commerce the proverbial finger have already started appearing.  I couldn’t ask for them to be so speedy.  I’m just here for the ride.

9.  I dropped off my graduate school applications today.  I couldn’t mail them.  Mostly because they were due today and I finished them  yesterday … and because leaving those beauties in the mailbox instead of personally watching them arrive at the admissions office was terrifying me.  Please cross your fingers or knock on wood or cast some awesome sacrifice to your heathen deity for a speedy acceptance letter to arrive in my mailbox.  I will worry myself into a hot mess of heartburn and pacing regardless.

10. It’s still 74 degrees here, even after 10pm.  Please don’t let this be a sign of some bizarrely hot summer where I spend an entire 3 months melting profusely all over town.  We do not air condition our house.  We barely heat it, let alone cool it.  I hate that.  Well, I hate it when it’s hot.  I don’t hate it when the electric bill comes.

11.  Speaking of electric bills, we have hot water again!  The water heater died on Monday, and the replacement arrived today (3 days ahead of schedule! yes!).  I am not so stoked about the hit our savings account took to make that happen, but I am pretty elated that the new water heater uses something like 1/100th of the energy the old one did (that math is completely made up, but I swear, it’s a LOT less energy).  That Boy spent the day installing it.  If I can’t find him later, I think I’ll check the basement.  He’s more than likely sitting there staring at this new machine, drooling and mumbling, “Ooooooh, prettttty.“.

12.  Sometimes, I wish water tasted less like water.

Anything wacky going on in your neck of the woods?  Having a fabulous week?  Tell me about it in the comments.


This post is linked to Jen’s 7 Quick Take Fridays over at Conversion Diary.  You should go check it out.

I looooooooove trash talking Britt about this challenge.  This is especially true on days like today when she’s eating drive thru french fries and I had salad for two meals.  I have until Memorial Day to lose a higher percentage of body weight than she has or I’m out $50.


What the hell was I thinking?

Oh yes, that she’d spent all her time eating chicken wings and homemade bread and pasta and other assorted shit I can’t eat so that I could have a calorie advantage without having to work too hard.

No longer.

After approximately 1 million years of my nagging, she finally got herself tested for GLUTEN issues (a post you should go check out if for no other reason than she’s also giving away Le Creuset … for mentioning which I think garners me an extra entry).  And, of course, she’s all gung ho GLUTEN free.  I get these text messages about GF this and GF that and how she feels so much better blah blah blah blah blah.

This is great.  Honestly, I’m stoked she feels better.

But her not eating bread is going to cost me this frickin’ contest, me thinks.  Not eating the majority of refined carbs was my advantage.  Now she’s not eating them either.


Help me out here, friends.  Any new and brilliant ideas you can offer up to give me an advantage?  Ideas that don’t include words like run or jog or work out for 18 straight hours?

I would really hate to lose $50 to a girl that won’t eat lettuce.  Ok, I would really like to not lose $50 regardless, but the sheer number of hours of my life spent chewing on roughage that she hasn’t had to endure would just make it worse.

I’m already pop free and GLUTEN free.  What’s next, loves?


Photo: vizzual

It’s Friday night (well, not anymore, but dream with me).

Dinner is almost ready.  The boys have burgers on the grill, which is a rare treat here (things that make meat a solo main course and can’t easily be filled and cut by non-meat inherently terrify my wallet).  Everyone is helping out and cheerful and friendly (because, duh, it’s the weekend!).

We share a meal, the five of us.  We chat quietly.  We joke about a certain person not wanting to eat their salad portion (I am slowly converting them one by one …).  There is laughter.  Most of it is probably regarding some awful frat house bathroom humor.  If you were here, you might laugh too.  If you were my grandmother or That Boy’s mom, it’d be a much quieter meal (while we all tried to not say highly inappropriate-for-meal-times things).

After dinner, we clean up together.  This isn’t always the case here, but we’re getting better.  It used to be that after dinner everyone would scatter leaving a certain someone to clean the kitchen alone.  We don’t do that anymore (most of the time). Hallelujah for that.

We all move to the glassed in front porch after clean up.  There are exactly five seats, so if you’re coming over, please bring a chair.  We listen to the neighborhood’s evening cacophony of hammers and screaming children and birds.  We linger in the fresh air, enjoying time together.

After that, it’s game time.  This is not a regular occurrence in this Big House, but it should be.  We stumble our way through a round of Monopoly Deal (which we’ve heard it cool but never played) then another, then another.  As it goes, there’s much less stumbling and much more slyly stealing shit from each other and no-holds-barred strategy.  We laugh.  We eat candy.

2 hours fly by and the family game night has to end because the real game is about to begin.  The Red Wings are playing in Game 2 in Phoenix (which they go on to win, snotty ass blog predictor guy).  We watch intently.  We laugh at the hilarious old announcer man.  We cheer the Wings as the goals rack up.  If you were hanging out, we’d expect you to be rooting for the Wings as well … or not saying anything, an acceptable alternative one household member chooses to employ.  We drink Oberon.  We make popcorn.  We yell  obscenities over stupid penalties.

We really know how to party, eh?


I don’t know why I’m particularly nostalgic this morning.  We really did all those things I said we did yesterday.  It really was a good time.  So many times we’re too busy to be together, to share life.  Sometimes, though, we have a sweet chance to enjoy each others’ company.

Now that, is a finer thing.


1. I have been trying to convince myself that I had not acquired a spring head cold for a week, even through the sniffling and all around awful head cold-ness.  I am delusional, apparently.  Now I am trying to convince myself that this head cold will not be going to my chest (as is the general outcome of every single head cold I’ve ever had) so I don’t end up with pneumonia next week.  Go away, cold.

2. I am trying to be patient with That Boy and his idiosyncrasies and emotions in the aftermath of his grandmother’s (relatively) sudden death.  Being sick and being patient are not inherent friends in my world.  I’m trying, I swear.

3. This is the week of mysterious injuries.  Two nights ago, I cut my hand open in my sleep.  Well, I can only assume that’s what happened as it wasn’t cut when I went to bed and it was when I got up.  I’m not sure if I was attacked by closet gremlins, the cat, or my night stand.  Then today, I woke up with a split lip.  I’m going to blame that one on being sick and mouth-breathing my poor lips into desert like conditions, but still.  Boo.  What does tomorrow hold?  A broken leg?

4. There is nothing on TV today worth watching.  Sickie pajama wearing Em does not like this revelation.

5. Did you see the news that B-Rock (my favorite president) gets to nominate a replacement for Justice Stevens?  Yes!  The politics of this scenario were anticipated in the lead up to the last presidential election, and I’m kind of stoked that this president gets to nominate not one, but two justices.  Perhaps the Roe balance can shift from a tenuous 5-4 to a much more comfortable 6-3.  I could be stoked about that.  You may not be.  I’m ok with that.

6. Jamie Oliver might be my new best friend.  He kind of makes me feel guilty though, for the garbage we do let into our food even though we’re aware that it’s garbage.  The take out pizza we’re eating tonight is probably a sweet example (and oh so not GLUTEN free.  oops.)

7. Add to the list of stuff that pisses me off: people who blog hop during carnivals like the Ultimate Blog Party and leave comments like “I’ll follow you if you follow me. K Thanks Bye.”  Ugh.  Stop being so transparent and annoying, people.  I know everyone will do anything for traffic (except, well, my lazy ass), but come on.  Go visit the blogs that you think are interesting.  Leave a comment if you have something to say.  Discover people you didn’t know before.  That’s all cool.  Please don’t just click on every link to annoy the shit out of people with your petty never ending desperate attempts for traffic.  If you’re interesting, people will follow you.  If they don’t … who cares?  /soapbox.

8. I have the spring cleaning bug today.  While I’m sick.  I’m trying to tell my body it needs to stay very still and fight this stupid cold so I don’t get the death plague, but sitting still gives me lots of time to look around and notice clutter that needs to go or fingerprints on door frames (which I absolutely detest).  Le boo.  Someone come over and be my spring cleaning sherpa before I go crazy, ok?

9. Best part of Lent being over? Mountain Dew slushies.

10. Worst part of Lent being over? The heartburn I inevitably get from Mountain Dew slushies.  Crap.  I’m not drinking other pop, though, still, which is rockin’ cool.

What’s going on in your bullet pointed life this week?


ps, this post is linked to Jennifer at Conversion Diary for 7 Quick Takes Friday.  I’m just not cool enough to always post the darn thing on an actual Friday.  Ha.

Hi there.  I’m Em.

(if you’re a regular reader, you’re probably concerned that this is about to turn into the bloggy version of an AA meeting …)

If you’re stumbling here from The Ultimate Blog Party 2010, welcome welcome welcome!  I’d love for you to pull up a chair, grab a cup of coffee (or your favorite Irish whiskey … an an Oberon …), and hang out in my little corner of the ever growing blogosphere with me.  But … no one likes to party with a stranger, especially a creepy stranger, so let’s talk facts first.

I’m a 20something.  I started saying 20something when I could no longer say “early 20s”.  I have a whole bunch of quarter life angst about that whole aging thing, and so you’ll have to bear with the non-specifics.  I live in community with my adorable husband (a term that even after the forever we’ve been together makes me both ridiculously joyful and squeamish), my mother, my little brother and little brother’s girlfriend.  We all live in one big old farmhouse like the sandal wearing hippie I am (and they really aren’t …).

Em is not my real name, and I refer to the husband (Ah! Twice in two sentences!) as That Boy … just so you don’t get confused.  That Boy and I have been together just over 9.5 years. The looming decade anniversary makes me nervous … more nervous than 30 … maybe.  We don’t have small people yet, but we wouldn’t necessarily mind some showing up soon (That Boy would not admit to saying that outloud, I’m positive).

I work with high school kids for a living.  They entertain the snot out of me.  I wear sandals from snowmelt to snowfall.  I’m a big fan of sustainable living, recycling (because it saves money and the planet), and real food.  I’m one of those coupon clipping frugal girls, and I spend a lot of the summer pretending to be a farmer.  You should be stoked for all the inane pictures of my little green garden that are coming this summer … brace yourself.  I really like ice cream and complaining about things I don’t like on the internet.  I’m a bit of a perfectionist, and occasionally a little too lazy to do anything about it.

Average Radical started as a place for me to tell the world stories about the (sometimes bizarre, sometimes hilarious) goings on of my life, rant about what’s wrong with the world, and occasionally complain about my on again off again relationship with GLUTEN (booooo).  It’s become a sweet place for me to love on people, talk religion, share the occasional dollar stretching trick or recipe, and trash talk the infamous Britt about our ongoing head to head Battle of the Scales.

I kind of like it here.

I’m hoping you do too.  I’m giddy as a school girl when people hang out and comment, so if you’re digging what you’re reading, I’d love for you to party with me anytime.  I’m game if you are.

Now, back to that Oberon …



Did you know the UBP involved prizes?!  I totally didn’t at first.  Yea, I’m that brilliant sometimes.  Anywho, you can check out the full list of prizes on 5 Minutes for Mom.  Not that I think I’m the luckiest girl in the world, but if I were to go about picking winners, I’d love the Toshiba laptop (um, duh, who wouldn’t?!), the NIV 90 Day Bible, the Jillian Michaels Get Fit Pack (oooooh The Shred, how you scare me), or any of the retail store/Amazon gift cards.  Heck, I’d love to win just about anything (I’m not a contest winner historically), but mostly, I’m just happy to party along with the UBP’10.  Thanks again for stopping by!

Today there’s a birthday in our house.  In general, we prefer to make birthday cakes around here based on the birthday celebrant’s preferences.  Two years ago, for example, I crafted a half cake/half brownie chocolate craziness to satisfy someone’s sugared up birthday wish.  This year, however, we opted for the store bought cake you see above.

Lesson 1: Planning is the key to every budget.

Birthdays are the same day every year.  I’m known for complaining about people rushing around on holiday eves filling grocery stores with chaos and tension when the holiday they’re trying to plan for is on the calendar the same time every year.  Somehow this year I became one of those crazy calendar-impaired people (a huge no-no for this live-or-die-by-the-list OCD chick), finding myself in the middle of the afternoon without a birthday cake for tonight’s early evening celebration.  Crap.  Had I paid better attention to the week’s schedule, I would have known to plan ahead.  Everything about your frugal or budget-conscious life works like that.  If you don’t know what’s coming, you don’t know to investigate money saving options.

Lesson 2: Convenience costs mucho money.

How much does it cost to bake a cake from scratch?  How much do flour, sugar, and cocoa powder really cost?   I’ve never done the math, but I have to guess it’s not anywhere near the $14.99 I paid for that fluorescent dragon covered chocolate wonder.  Convenience is awesome, sure, but it comes at a significant premium.  Even a boxed cake mix paired with a tub of frosting would have set me back $4 on a bad day without a sale or coupons.  That means I paid at least $10.99 for the bakery to mix this cake, bake it, and slap the frosting on, a task that probably wouldn’t have set me back more than an hour (with some time inserted for cooking and cooling) … an hour I didn’t have (refer back to #1).

Lesson 3: The frugal option is (almost) always better.

Honestly, after a piece of this terribly expensive birthday cake (which I most certainly should not have eaten), I must confess it wasn’t that great.  The cake was dry, probably from being frozen by the grocery store’s main bakery for transport to the regional location.  The frosting was overly sweet and not so chocolatey.  It wasn’t the best cake I’ve ever had.  It wasn’t even the best mediocre cake.  A boxed cake would have been better.  A scratch cake would have been divine.

Sure, I can try to convince myself that the store’s bakery people are the best cake bakers of all time, but … well, they aren’t.  There are some bakeries, however, that create amazing creations I can’t even dream of replicating (like these people from my hometown … seriouly, amaaaazing cake).  In those instances, a splurge for great product isn’t a terrible idea.  When the extra cost is associated with less than stellar product, the deal just isn’t so sweet.  This idea works for just about everything.  If you love great cheese, for example, splurging on an artisan raw milk is far more fulfilling than overpaying for terrible string cheese because you forgot it was “National Eat Cheese Day”.

Lesson 4: Screwed up?  Move on.

If you’re trying to keep your money in your pocket rather than someone else’s, planning for future needs, erring on the side of avoiding ‘convenience items’ (and their costly premiums), and saving your splurges for things that are worth it should be on your to do list.  They’re usually on mine.  I slipped up this time, and boy am I reminded of why I generally try to avoid debacles like this.  My personality makes me inclined to worry about the things I’ve screwed up, but looking backward is a great way to keep missing the point of what’s in front of you.  There will be bumps in the road to keeping your expenses lower than the average bear.  Moving forward rather than lingering over them is your best plan.


Past Tense