Are Marigolds Edible?

It occurred to me late last night that there is no budget category for my gardens.  I actually awoke from a deep sleep in horror.

What about the magnolias and mulch?  The hostas and hoses?  The pansies and potting soil?

I woke up Beau-Hunkly so we could face this new money issue head on.

"It's 2:00am.  This discussion can wait," he said as he turned back over.

Oh no it cannot!  We need to deal with this crisis immediately.  But he kept sleeping.

By 6:15am, I am on my third cup and PJ is knee deep in my new spreadsheet.

"First I stop getting pedicures" I explain.  "And that will save $60 on the hair and nail budget."

He reminds me there was never money budgeted for nail salons.

"Okay. So then no haircuts for you and the boys until August," I reply.  "Good compromise."

He looks perplexed.

"I think you can eat marigolds in salad," I tell him.  "So that will save us a ton on the grocery bill."

He shakes his head no.

"By taking our household trash to work every morning, you don't need to buy yellow trash bags from the city. That saves $12 from the trash budget," I try.

"I am not commuting to Boston with our trash," he states. 

I get a great brainstorm.  "Would Glenn drive you to work everyday?  That would save a ton in tolls!" I say.

"He lives 20 miles away in the wrong direction, Caroline.  Glenn and I are not carpooling."

This is not going well.  "Do you need another cup of coffee," I sweetly offer. 

He sighs.

"I thought the idea of this budget was to cut spending and still enjoy our lives," he states.  "Go spend some money on flowers."  He stands up.  "I'm going fishing."

If he commuted with our trash, there'd be money leftover for new fishing lures...

Credit Card Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

 

How many credit cards do you own?

Target offers a 5% discount.  Jordan's furniture is 90 days same as cash.  Old Navy passes out $10 coupons for every $100 you spend.  Special discounts at Macy's, free shipping with Amazon, Kohls Cash, airline miles with MasterCard, discount car washes at Mobile.  We once bought a car on a credit card to get the Discover Card cash back bonus.

Beau-Hunkly and I have skirted the well known dangers of credit cards for years and cashed on in all sorts of deals. 

Keep in mind, we have never had an issue.  We do not carry a balance and have never paid a late fee.  Our FICO score is through the roof.  We just feel so wanted.  And accepted.  Not denied.

Did you know that credit cards were not invented until the 1950s?  Baby Boomers are the first generation to use plastic, yet the credit card industry is one of the most profitable of the 20th century.

As part of our new family budget, we decided to get rid of all credit cards.  Every.  Single. One.  

I spent an entire week of lunch hours calling creditors to close our accounts.  It was pretty sad for all of us.  I took the breakup harder than I thought. 

"We've been together for 23 years." I whispered to MasterCard.  "You were my first."

"Thank you, generous friend," I told Kohls.  "Even when I lost my coupon, you gave me another chance."

"You have to believe me when I tell you I am not switching to Walmart," I pleaded with Target. "I am not cheating on you."

"Maybe I do need some space," I agreed with Home Depot.  "I am glad you still want to be friends."

Old Navy and I reminisced about the fun times we had last Christmas.

Macys offered to take me back, no questions asked, if I changed my mind.

Mobile sent me two free car washes, like a sad farewell gift.

MasterCard vowed to keep my airline miles active, like old love letters wrapped in ribbon.

Thank you, credit card friends and lovers.  Thank you.

It's been a few months now.  I miss them.  I still remember the colorful rainbow in my overstuffed wallet, the cashier's smile when I loyally handed over my department store card, the milestone of finally reaching gold card status.  


The excitement of getting a bill in the mail?

Eight Hotel Soaps Make a Bar

Beau-Hunkly reports to Westover Air Force Base one weekend every month.

He used to hang out at the Airman's club with his military buddies, enjoy off-base fine dining in Chicopee, and shop the PX for wardrobe updates.  To be honest, he might have been having fun, but it was kind of expensive.

When the Fortin Budget Bill of 2014 was enacted, it took a few months for him to adjust his spending, but Beau-Hunkly has finally straightened up and is flying right.

He steals the travel-size toiletries from his hotel room.

The first month he came home with his mini treasures, I was under-whelmed.

He dumped 2 ounce containers and small bars of soap from a plastic bag onto the kitchen table and then stepped back with hands spread wide.

"Tah Dah!" he exclaimed.  "Soap, lotion, and mouthwash, oh my."

I made him put them back in the plastic bag.  Later, I hid them in the back of my closet.  I was perplexed.

This went on for three months, until the bag was getting pretty full.

Then one morning, I ran out of hand lotion.  20 minutes later my hands were soft as a baby's bottom.  (Thank you large bag of travel-size pilfered toiletries.)

Next, I ran out of hair conditioner.  (Thank you large bag of travel-size pilfered toiletries.)

When we ran out of liquid hand soap last week, I shoved a bunch of minisoap into the container, added water, and told the kids that the luxury of soap from a pump was back.  (Thank you large bag of travel-size pilfered toiletries.)

This morning at 5:00 am, Beau-Hunkly was transferring small bottles of body wash into the empty container.  It gave him great joy.

He goes back to base next weekend so we can restock the plastic bag.  We're running a little low on the products we use most, but we do have a surplus of shower caps and shoe polish kits if anyone is interested.

The Cost of Being a Fortin

If we didn't have teenagers, Beau-Hunkly and I would not be on a budget.  We would be climbing Mt. Fuji instead of stay-cations, driving convertibles instead of minivans, and experiencing culinary marvels instead of stocking the house with ramen noodles.

Oh the sacrifices.

Currently, date night consists of attending Dave Ramsey's  Financial Peace University on Sunday.  We sometimes split a soda from the machine to really make it special.

A few weeks ago, the topic in FPU class was about kids and money.  Lessons learned as kids resonate into adulthood.  For this reason, Dave thinks all kids should be on a commission based allowances to learn the monetary value of work.

Beau-Hunkly and I quickly figured out this was going to cost us some cash.

Our kids have never had an allowance and we certainly do not pay hourly wages for folding laundry, taking out the trash, walking the dog, and washing the dishes.

We call their chores The Cost of Being a Fortin.

In return, we hand out money as needed and call it The Cost of Having Children.

At Dave's advice, we made some changes.

We started transferring $8 a week into both their checking accounts with the following rules:

1. No more Gatorade money on game day.

2. No more linking our checking account to their iTunes account.

3. No more pilferring Mom's quarters from the change jar.

4. The Cost of Being a Fortin rules still apply.

Friday is payday and the Sons know it.  "It's automatically transferred," I keep reminding them.

"I love Payday," Son I responds.  He still checks his balance online to keep me honest.

Son II has changed from spender to saver.  He has projected out his balance through age 21 at a steady grow of $416/year.

Of course, it takes them no time to leverage the only monumental flaw in our system.  Special projects.  They are now taking advantage of us.

"The deck could really use a new coat of stain," Son II comments.  "That really doesn't fall under The Cost of Being a Fortin or our allowance."  He looks me square in the eye.  "We'll do the job for $75."

"I'll wash the dog for $2," son II suggests.  I quickly agree because she still reeks like vinegar.

Knowing there is cash available has launched much creativity.

"You guys work to hard to come home and mow the grass," the Sons venture.  "We'll do it for $12 a week."

They offer to clean out out garbage cans, pick up sticks, and wash cars.  And everything has it's price.

Somewhere hidden in their rooms are spreadsheets calculating the benefits of fleecing us for every dime we earn.  

Capitalists!

Nonetheless, I think we will continue on the current plan.  Continue until one of them figures out we pay 10 cents on the dollar.  Then, the Sons are going to form a union and probably go on strike.

Adventures in Vinegar

I work with a guy that makes his own cleaning chemicals.  From scratch.  And cheap.  He buys spray bottles wholesale.  He stores great big vats of vinegar in his garage.  He thinks his creations are an art form.

Bob cleans for a living, so he is able to apply his creative output to the stains, spills, odors and splatters of the apartment community I manage.  The hallways and common spaces of Riverside Village are his test kitchen and there is plenty of opportunity.

He reminds me of The Mad Professor when he talks about how much money he is saving the property with his natural cleaning supplies and how good they work, so I thought I would give it a try.

My experiment started with window cleaner.  Cleaning windows hasn't been my thing in over four years, but it seemed like a good place to start.  It's spring, after all, and all the good housewives wash their windows.

I mixed and measured and transferred the liquid into a spray bottle.  Spilling half of it on the floor was not intentional, but my hardwood was glowing by the time I got it all cleaned up.

I headed for the first window, but quickly realized that since paper towels haven't been in the budget for at least 5 weeks, cleaning the windows was going to be difficult.  The non streak formula only works if you wipe the glass clean after application.

As I headed back to my kitchen laboratory, I began to realize how bad vinegar smells.

Son II was making a sandwich.  "It reeks, Mom." He said between mouthfuls.  " I can't eat in here." He took his plate to the living room.

He was right, the kitchen smelled like a pickle factory.

"I will persevere!" I shouted after him.

I started in on the homemade grout cleaner - vinegar, baking soda and a splash of lemon juice.  Bob told me the secret is to let it sit for 15 minutes, so after I applied it to the bathroom floor, I returned to my kitchen.

"Gawd, Mom," Son II told me.  He was back in the kitchen eating peanut butter out of the jar.  With his finger.  "When are you going to stop?  It smells disgusting."  

"I won't stop until it's clean," I tell him.  He smiles from behind the gallon of milk he is chugging.

I mixed up a shower head cleaner compound while trying to breath through my mouth.  Was I getting a headache from vinegar fumes?

I stirred and shook, and then I read the final direction.  "Pour liquid into plastic bag and attach to shower head with a rubber band."

By the time I got that sucker tied up to the shower head, the mixture was all over my shirt and hair.  In my haste to wash the vinegar out of my eye, I stepped in the grout cleaner so my socks were now soaked with vinegar.   Smelled awful, even with a splash of lemon.

I decided it was about time to launder my pickle factory clothes and call it a day.  I remembered Bob telling me that adding vinegar to the washing machine is a natural freshening agent.  Good.  Call that final experiment #4.

Freshly showered and smelling much better, I sat down on the coach next to our beloved dog.  She gave me a big wet sloppy kiss.  From the smell of it, she has been drinking vinegar from some spill I didn't get cleaned up.

Two Quarters for the Price of One at Aldi's

Beau-Hunkly and I are now routine grocery shopping buddies.  Things are getting too comfortable for him.  Its time to shake things up a bit.  We are going to Aldi's.

We hop in the Prius.  "To save gas on our errand," he tells me.  Well trained, I think.

If we want to do Aldi's supermarket right, we are going to need a quarter.  He doesn't have a penny on him.  Well trained.  We dig around in the glovebox and find $0.38.

If you have never been to Aldi's, the quarter is essential.  It's necessary as a security deposit if you want to use one of their carriages.  BH is perplexed by this.

"We are being nickeled and dimed to death already," he says.  "Next they are going to charge us for grocery bags."

Got it covered, I tell him as I swing our reusable shopping bags over my shoulder.

We enter the store.  It's a plain box store with white paint and gray tiles.  It's clean and well-lit.  There is no Muzak piped in through speakers and no one handing you a sales flyer. There are no shelves, just a bunch of wire racks like you buy at Home Depot.  The food is conveniently left in the cardboard shipping boxes with big holes cut in the front for easy access.

"What the heck," he whispers under his breath.  "It's a little, ah, basic in here."

We start picking off items from our grocery list.  The same rules apply, but now he is repeating them back to me. 

"Not on the list," he says to me as he pushes the cart past the generic Cheez-it's display/packing box.

We finish I record time, and manage to heap the whole cart for $182.00.  This might seem like a lot but we used to spend $300 a week at the grocery store, so this is great news.  We start packing up our groceries, because at Aldi no cute bagger to load our food into grocery bags.

BH keeps suggesting that we try to get all the groceries back into one cart.  It's the Engineer in him.  "Stop making a scene," I hiss.  "We need His and Her carts."  I grab my half full cart and book it for the exit, hoping he will follow. 

After loading our stash into the Prius, we met at the carriage holding area.  As I slip my cart onto the lock, I retrieve the return deposit quarter.  He smiles as he does the same with his return deposit quarter.  

The Fortins turn a profit.

My two cents: try a discount grocery store - one cart in and two carts out.

You Reap What They Sow: Lessons from Sims Freeplay

My Sims Freeplay alter ego is an over spender.

Sims Freeplay is an online simulation game.  You add imaginary people into an imaginary town and then create imaginary lives, families, jobs, and hobbies for them.  You can also buy imaginary things for them by earning imaginary money doing imaginary things.

The creators probably envisioned a happy community where everyone is advancing their careers, upgrading their houses, and becoming better people.

In my town, things work a little different.

Queen Mother rules the roost.  And she is an overspender.

She lives in an extravagant house filled with expensive toys and decorations.  She has a swimming pool and a dishwasher and a $10,000 king size bed.  She has a Mercedes, a hat collection and a jacuzzi tub.

How does she pay for this extravagant lifestyle?  Indentured Sims, of course.

When Queen Mother creates a new Sim character, the games automatically gives the new character a house with basic necessities.

Queen mother sells this stuff for her own personal gain.  She auctions off the bed, the fridge, the toilet, and even the walls.  Queen Mother then moves the now homeless Sim into the communal bunkhouse in her backyard.

She names them so she can tell them apart.  Nate One, Zack One, Nate Two, Zack Two, Nate Three, Zack Three.

I sometimes online-invite my real children to visit my Sim Town.  It makes them upset.

"Mom!  You have twelve Nates gardening and you are watching movies on the big screen TV," real Nate tells me.  He is appalled.  "We all need showers and food or we are going to pass out."

The Nates can eat and sleep when they are done harvesting potatoes for $248 in Sims cash apiece.  Queen Mother needs a bigger slide for the swimming pool.

"You demolished all my houses! I can't have kids unless I have a place to put a crib," real Zack tells me.

"The Zacks aren't real paternal," I tell him.  "And if they keep kicking over the garbage cans, I am going to have them plant tomatoes overnight."

Queen Mother enjoys buying things and without the Zacks and the Nates working, she would have to curb her frivolous ways.  She doesn't want to stop buying until she has the biggest house in town, a perfect wardrobe, 3 cars parked in the driveway, and a jet airplane on the landing pad.

My real kids know their real mother would do anything for them.  Anything.  But it has got me thinking that it's almost time to start the tomatoe plants seedlings.

My two cents:  Stop trying to keep up with the Queen Mothers of the World.  Plant a garden instead.