Tell me stuff doesn’t eventually catch up to me. So emotionally whacked out over such a long period of time, I slept until 7:30 this morning, jumping up in alarm, afraid I’d missed something, knowing we had a busy morning ahead of us, yelling for everyone to get up, dressed, eat breakfast, and let’s fly. I never sleep in, never, ever.
Why would anyone spend $25.95 for a book when one can wait, hunt, and likely find it later at a yard sale for a buck? And I love me some books. I spent 25 cents today for Michael Connelly’s Crime Beat today, twenty-five cents. Hot diggity dog, it doesn’t take much to put a smile on my face.
Thunderstorms ruined soccer practices today, but not before the kids were dressed and on the fields. Rain stressed folks out who were having yard sales, one lady told Mayra, “Honey, just please take all these clothes, I don’t wanna have to drag them back in the house.” Prom dresses, blouses, sweatshirts and dress pants – all in their tiny, petite sizes.
Did we score or what? Plus my friend, Barbie, gave Tabby, Nando and Jack a ton of superb clothes yesterday. Their closets are bulging, actually everyone here has a great many clothes, and we have practically nothing ever spent from our nearly nonexistent clothes budget.
Blessed is what we are.
These home game football outings are gonna be expensive, I’m getting the All-Sports passes for my high school kids since we live so near the school that I can easily take them up there for unlimited sports events. I’m not much of a football fan, Sabrina only cheers third quarter, but Mayra’s boyfriend, Dillan, is a senior and played the whole game, so I watched him out there. I was pretty impressed, even more so later when a deputy told me what a great guy Dillan is overall.
Yeah, I think so too, plus I got to meet his mother yesterday.
Forever grateful to live in a county that’s safe, where my kids can walk around and socialize at the games, everyone all met back at the van right afterwards, really? After all these years? Life is settling down?
A teenage son in tears by the time we got home though, as his girlfriend-du-jour was walking and talking with a reknowned bad boy. “Mom, you don’t know how bad I wanted to beat him up,” he sobbed to me.
Now how would that have helped? Always logical, sometimes my advice is wildly unappreciated around here. I commended him for the obvious, for not fighting, “Son, get a grip, let her go. Why should you care so much?
He looked at me with that ‘no wonder you’re single’ look.
Whatever. It’s not that, it’s 39 other good reasons.
Sarah’d seen this article yesterday, I might be willing to pay full price for this woman’s next book, as it is, I read Joan Dye Gusow's last book three times, an amazing octogenarian who long ago put two and two together and very early on realized the locavore situation. Seeing the devastation she’d recently endured, pictures on her web page, watching her pull it together again in spite of her age, inspires the tarnation out of me, making me so excited about the upcoming second half of my life that I could barely sleep last night, explaining why I overslept so drastically this morning.
And when one’s dad takes the time to explain The Rule of 72 during dinner table conversations, along with his opinions regarding junk sold in stores, it stands to reason he’ll produce a bunch of underspending money nerds, which is exactly what happened with my parent’s ridiculously thrifty kids. Money spent on experiences, or security and stability, versus money spent on things, is money well spent and brings happiness, according to researchers. My parents could’ve told them all that years ago. Click that link, it isn't just me spouting off my eccentric ideas and notions.
What’s up with all the duh moments lately?
Jonathan picked me a bowl of scuppernongs for snack this afternoon, I’d eaten my usual large, heavy-weight salad for lunch, all stuff I’d grown, even Daniel’d recently remarked there soon wouldn’t be all that much I’d need outside of our land, “Maybe the UPS driver’ll toss you a box over your gate every now and then,” he’d stated.
Yep, a girl can dream.