My Other Car is a TARDIS

Workin’ It

2012-02-01T04:53:00.000-06:00

I am about halfway through my workout challenges. I had some good weeks and some not-so-good weeks, days where I felt great about what I was doing and days where I simply couldn’t do one more squat. But if I screwed up, I just got back on the horse as soon as I could and kept going. I am not precisely where I should be, but I am still in the game. And isn’t that the point? Because if I listened to that voice in my head that says “I’m too tired” or “Not today” or “The whole week is screwed, just forget it, I don’t want to do this anymore” than I wouldn’t have done:

140 squats

55 push-ups

and

182 sit-ups

during my last workout.

My abs wouldn’t be as stiff, my arms would be bereft of budding biceps and my yoga pants wouldn’t feel clingy two inches above my knee. I wouldn’t feel optimistic about that tankini. I have about 3 more weeks left of this introductory phase, then I have to kick it up a notch. I’ll have to think about what that might entail. Any workout suggestions from my time-traveling peanut gallery?

Broke-Ass Tip #1: Double Your Meat!

2012-01-30T05:18:00.000-06:00

We here in the TARDIS are big fans of meat. Packed with protein and essential amino acids, it is a healthful part of a balanced diet. It is important for muscle recovery, growth and brain power. However, meat can be expensive, depending on the type and cut. So, what I like to do is buy some of my meat in bulk, double it, then freeze it. It’s easy!

Take your chop, breast, cut, whatever.

Then cut it in half.

Now you have two chops, breasts, cuts, whatever. See that? Two for the price of one. Yes, I am aware that it is the same amount of meat; we saved no money by the pound. But now it is two servings - two dinners - instead of one.

Are you feeling a little let down by the new size? Well, then, the TARDIS encourages you to beat your meat!

Basically, you take your cuts, put them on some parchment paper, top them with saran wrap to catch any errant spatter, and pound the shit out of them with the flat end of a mallet. This creates what the food network calls a “cutlet.” Cutlets thaw faster, cook quicker and look bigger because they s p r e a d o u t when you beat them flat. It is a little trick o’ the eyes that makes you feel satisfied with less. No, really, studies have demonstrated that people only need to think they are eating more and they will feel sated by less food.

This also works with ground meat. For instance, I bought a 6 pack of ground turkey from Costco. I cut each block of meat in half, making 12 dinners of ground turkey. Each portion makes a pot of chili, a turkey meatloaf, turkey burgers, turkey meatballs, or a meat-infused pasta/rice dish.

And this is the coolest part! Here is a sweet storage tip from my mother-in-law: Put the 1/2 brick in a gallon-sized Ziploc and roll it out with a rolling pin. It creates a large flat rectangle that saves a ton of freezer space and it literally thaws out in less than an hour on your countertop! It’s perfect for those nights when you forgot to pull anything out for dinner.

Be careful not to get any meat in the zipper part of the bag. You can do this by zipping the bag most of the way closed before you begin rolling, then press out the air and be careful around the small unzipped area. Once it is flat, you can finish zipping the bag closed.

The point of doubling and beating your meats is obviously to make one of your more expensive grocery items last longer, but it also has the added effect of cutting your calories and easing your dilemma as an omnivore. Do more with less.

Mustaches: The Book

2012-01-27T05:42:00.000-06:00

Good Girl wrote a book the other day about mustaches. God, I hope this doesn’t mean she’s becoming a hipster.

A black mustache is silly,

and a brown one is CrAzY!

A white mustache is calm.

… Wait a second, is my daughter is a mustache racist?

But they are happy no matter what.

Broke-Ass

2012-01-25T05:50:00.000-06:00

“We didn’t always have food back then. Sometimes you got nothin’ and that was that.”

- Charlie Hum (my Grandpa), on the Depression

I think I’ve got it. Our tax return and a Hail Mary should get us back in the black within the first half of this year and I am so very happy about that. Until then, however, we must live very frugally.

But the thing is, we already live pretty darn frugally. We have no LAN line, we drive old cars, talk on free phones with no texting plans (gasp! I know!), we don’t go out, we don’t eat out and my clothes are, well – dated. The only room for wiggling is our grocery bill. But even then, how do you feed a family of five on $100 a week without resorting to Ramen noodles five out of those seven days? Oh really? Now factor in diapers.

I want to maintain a level of quality in my family’s food intake, so I realize I must sacrifice a little quantity. (Remember Monday? Life’s a seesaw, not a balance beam.) I have to let go of everything naturalists and foodies tell me on the internet. I do not need to hoard a zillion different sauces and condiments or buy 4 different kinds of cheese. I can go without fresh herbs and anything labeled “gourmet.” Really. We’ll be all right (see my Grandpa’s quote above, and he lived to be 91.) Besides, losing a few pounds before summer is a good thing.

I believe it is a myth that you cannot eat well on a broke-ass budget. When I saw Food, Inc. I was angry with it on many levels. But to stay on topic, the movie's insistence that a low-income family’s only options for sustenance were pop and fast food because of “Big Agri/Farming/Meat/Dairy/Supermarket” made me want to scream. The scenario was this: Poor Mexican family has to eat McDonalds every day and be subject to diabetes because it’s cheaper than the produce at the grocery store. The family walks by a head of broccoli and scoffs at the dollar and change price. “How is this going to be a meal?” they ask (more or less.) It’s not. Its a SIDE-DISH, dipshits. It is the equivalent of your 4 orders of french fries. One head of broccoli, which you take home, chop up and steam is cheaper than 4 orders of fries. Next up, they all commented on how pop is the cheapest beverage, therefore they are enslaved to it’s high-fructose corn-syrupy evil. Well, again, what is cheaper than pop? WATER. I drink water and coffee most days – both cheaper than a coke habit, and it they don’t taste like type 2 diabetes. Last but not least, I wanted to take the mom by her hair and yell, “Bitch you are MEXICAN. Can you not whip up some beans and rice? It has got to be one of the healthiest cheap meals you can eat.What is the matter with you, woman??”

I also don’t go for this “extreme couponing” fad for a number of reasons. First off, it takes dedication. Those women need expanding files and long hours to languish at the kitchen table, cutting coupons and surfing the net for deals. Half of them go on to buy 30 packs of dental floss or twelve cases of diapers even if they don’t have children. (‘Cause its FREE!) Well, I don’t need a garage full of Suave deodorant and off-brand contact solution (‘Cause it’s FREE!) And I certainly don’t need to spend hundreds of dollars on shelving to house it all. Beyond that, the ladies who actually do end up buying food for their family have their carts chocked-full of Cap’n Crunch cereal, Hamburger Helper, Pasta-Roni and canned green beans. I think boxed delights and nasty kids’ cereals are fine once in awhile, but, at the risk of sounding like a snob, I refuse to let those kinds of things be everyday staples. To me, even if that kind of thing is cheap, it’s not a “deal.”

In this ongoing series, I am going to be exploring the healthiest meal plans I can figure on my broke-ass budget and providing tips on how to stretch your food, so it lasts just a little longer. There will be compromises made, because we are broke-ass, but this isn’t about simply gobbling up the most crap for a dollar. It’s about being honest with ourselves during this time of financial stress, going without the frills, and yet trying not to compromise our health in the process. Can we do it? Stay tuned and well see -

Ride My Seesaw

2012-01-23T04:15:00.000-06:00

If anyone hands you a line about “balancing your life,” you can tell them I said shove it.

He’s just daring you to kick him.

There is no balance in life. If you are juggling many tasks, one will suffer once you focus on another. This is not good or bad, it is life. And life is a continual shifting ride that goes round and round and up and down. One day, the gnarly old carnie reaches out his tattooed arm and yanks the start lever. Next thing you know, you are on the gravitron, where your main concerns are narrowed to keeping your money in your pockets and trying not to vomit.

At the moment, I am trying to accomplish three “big” things at once: keeping my children well cared for, writing my novel and exercising. Until wolfman was on the bottle, it was too hard to exercise around the kids’ schedules. When I got writing done, the dishes would pile up. When I got dishes done, I had no time to write. When I ignored my children, their whining became intolerable.

Now I have a fairly dependable schedule where I can start working out and for two and a half weeks, I did really well. I was also on top of the dishes, because I need to have clean milk cups every day. But then I was hit with a bit of writing mania and had to knock off a few chapters. Guess what happened?

My exercise came to a screeching halt. (More like a total wipe-out with cartwheels.) I was barely getting the dishes done on time for wolfman’s morning milk. The whining rose to a crescendo by Friday night.

So, I must ride the seesaw back down to earth and re-focus on exercising and the kids. I am going to go back one week on my workout challenges and start again today. Writing is something I can do when my other tasks are completed, or until the next time my legs can’t help but launch the ride upward again.

No, there will never be balance. The important thing is to keep your money in your pockets, try not to vomit and last, but not least, don’t fall off.

Good Girl Explains Dr. King

2012-01-16T06:00:00.000-06:00

Good Girl: The white people didn’t want to get along with the black people and they got to use all the nice stuff and put up signs so the black people could only use the old stuff and the dirty stuff, like water fountains and old seats in restaurants.

Goblin Queen: (aghast) Why?

Good Girl: And the white people didn’t let the black people go to school until one day a black girl went into school.

Goblin Queen: That is terrible!

Good Girl: But Dr. King wanted all the white people and black people to be equal and he made a rule for them to be friends. But someone – a white guy – killed him because of it.

Goblin Queen: (horrified) Are white people evil?

Good Girl: No, but that guy just didn’t want to follow the rules.

Goblin Queen: Did white people really do that, mom?

Me: Yes, some of them did, but not all of them.

Good Girl: You know what we think of those people. I know what mommy would say.

Me: What would I say?

Good Girl: Can I say it?

Me: I don’t know, can you?

Good Girl: It is total B.S.!

Me: That it is dear, that it is.

My Worst Fear

2012-01-15T15:34:00.001-06:00

Good Girl had her first panic attack last night.

Since I deleted my archives, I must give a little backstory. Those of you who are long-time readers know I have panic disorder and anxiety problems. I am also emetophobic. Emetophobia is the fear of vomiting. My grandfather had it (near as I can piece together), so I think this is where it comes from. The panic and anxiety was handed down from my mom’s side, so I got a double-dose of crazy. (Lucky me.) Panic and phobias are ridiculous, but real. They’re like a nut allergy, irrational and completely counter-productive, but the chemical rush is true and tangible and not “all in your head.”

The good news is at this point in my life I am very high-functioning. I can deal with puke, so long as it is not contagious (and even then, I can do what I have to for my kids.) I can have a panic attack without anyone ever knowing. And, more importantly, they aren’t a regular occurrence in my life anymore.

So, as I was saying, last night the Wolfman threw up a little in his pack n’ play. I knew it was just that he’d had too much to eat at dinnertime and probably had some gas to boot. I had no problem cleaning him off and gathering the linens, but the smell. The smell was rough. So rough, in fact, that the Viking started lighting candles and saying things like, “Whoo-eee, buddy.” When something is foul enough to offend the Viking, it’s bad.

Good Girl came in and squealed “Eeeeew! What happened?” So I told her that her brother puked and she began peppering me with questions about it. The same kind of questions I used to pepper other people with when someone in class threw up or my little brother barfed. Then, she said that thinking about it made her stomach hurt and she started rehashing her horrible experience with norovirus last year. She and her father were severely ill together, lying in bed with a bucket on both ends because it was one of those throw-up every 20 minutes for 8 hours kind of bug. It scarred her psychologically; she has been afraid of vomiting ever since.

We sent the girls to bed shortly after the spitup incident and, on the way, Good Girl vurped. The acid burned her throat, but she still got into bed. The Viking and I had just gotten comfortable and popped on Farscape when we heard crying upstairs. Good girl said she felt really sick and really scared. She was shaking like a leaf. I took one look at her and realized it was adrenaline letdown. I scooped her up and rubbed her back and explained that she was just fine but this is what happens when you get too worked up about something. We gave her some water and watched an episode of Fanboy & Chum Chum. I told her how to breathe and calm herself down. She recovered and is 100% fine today.

But I haven’t recovered. I wouldn’t wish panic disorder or emetophobia on my enemy and here my sweet little seven-year-old daughter, of course the most sensitive child I have, is showing signs of following my path. It is my worst fear – worse than dying – that my children might have to endure the hell that I have lived. True, this disorder has ultimately made me tough as nails (most of the time) and kept me out of a lot of trouble during my teenage years, but it’s toll of stress and pain and self-loathing has probably stripped a year or three off of my life.

All I can do is hope this was a one off, and if it isn’t, I guess it is a good thing that I can be open and helpful about it right away.

That’s It, I am Working Out

2012-01-12T06:00:00.000-06:00

Like most bulging Americans, I have decided this year is the year to get back in shape. I know what you’re all thinking. “Fool – let’s see where she winds up after January’s steam runs out.” But this has nothing to do with sudden resolutions to eat nothing but organic green smoothies and lentil soup or signing up for a half-marathon in my brand-new minimalist running shoes.

You realize wearing these shoes makes people want to automatically hate you, right?

I am not interested in sudden changes to my lifestyle that I cannot possibly maintain. I just want to start slowly and early enough that my goals might be accomplished by mid to late June. This January is not special because it heralds the beginning of some arbitrary clock change, this January is special because it is the first year I am going to have to buy… a family pool pass.

Yes, the realization that I am going to have to be one of the pasty moms in my sweet mom tankini, sitting in the zero-depth with my toddler, and hoping that no one can judge the true size of my thighs under the shallow water or see all the bruises that run up and down my shins from smacking into toys and child safety gates all winter long, has given me the impetus to get off my ass and begin the ascent into fitness.

And because I am aware that the ascent from “slob” to “fit” is a slow one that cannot be rushed, lest failure is an option, I am taking it easy through January and February. I am back on the challenges:

On Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday I am doing the 100 push-ups challenge and the 200 sit-ups challenge. It only takes about 10-15 minutes of my time in the mid-morning.

On Monday, Wednesday and Friday, I am doing the Couch to 5K program and the 200 squats challenge. This takes a little more than a half-hour, so I do it while Romana is at preschool.

And the good news is I already have almost two full weeks under my belt. And it is starting to feel good.

My plan is to start waking my body up to exertion again (and not the kind that requires hustling a kicking and screaming child out of a store) so that in a few months I can pick up the weights again and really begin the process of feeling better and stronger.

…or, more importantly, I won’t have to cry while shopping for that sweet tankini.

Working Title: Black Tendrils

2012-01-09T05:35:00.000-06:00

I have to get back on track with my novel.

Coming up with an idea is easy. Everyone you know has an idea for a book, even your mom. Ideas are like taking a dump, effortless and satisfying. But building a story around an idea… well, that takes talent. And building a story that is well-written takes craft and skill. And effort.

Effort is hard.

Effort isn’t the little muse that pops in to give you a cool scenario or plot point. It’s not the picture in your mind’s eye of how your piece of art is going to end up. It’s the plugging and plodding away, trying to get from point A to point B and watching the characters and scenes you are writing take on a life of their own and then say to you, “fuck your idea. We don’t want to go there.”

Effort is orchestrating your story to flow properly, so that your characters come to conclusions at the right time and everything you have been building up comes together seamlessly and in the right sequence.

Effort is writing through your doubts. Even though you know that the scene you are writing is terrible, effort is finishing it anyway. It is quieting the voice in your head that wants to sabotage you so that you give up and surf the internet instead. Or try to chase another idea, because ideas are easy and they make you feel good. (Swish and flush – there goes another one!)

It is in the effort stage, where I find myself. I had my idea a while back. I have my beginning (I think) and my end (I am pretty sure) and I have most of my characters pretty-well fleshed out. I have much of my story written (very roughly). But I am having trouble with chronology and how to sequence everything. It is a story that spans generations. I am also struggling with how to format all these characters. It was in a George RR Martin-esque series of character chapters, but now I am not so sure they should share the story with my main gal. So how do I reveal their dimensions through her?

See what I mean? Effort. I don’t want to do it. But I felt the same way about Vampires Don’t Drink Wine and I finished it anyhow. So this week, I am opening my Black Tendrils file and sorting some things out. Effort is what separates the writers from the dump-takers. So I’d better get off the pot and in front of my doc file, right?

State of Wonder by Ann Patchett

2012-01-08T08:15:00.000-06:00

State of Wonder by Ann Patchett
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Perhaps it was my terrible cold and ear infection that brought these Amazonian fevers in Ann Patchett's "State of Wonder" to life, but I really and truly enjoyed this book. Manaus and the Brazilian jungles were alive and breathing. I felt the insect bites; I tasted the bark of the Milton tree. Although there were a few very small points that I feel fell by the wayside, such as Dr. Singh's relationship with her father, the big reveal was the one thing I thought would remain unresolved. Well played, Ms. Patchett, and very satisfying.

View all my reviews

i’m out of breath just listening to this.

2012-01-07T09:24:00.001-06:00

Is it 2012 Already?

2012-01-04T14:47:00.001-06:00

I must say, 2011 was a challenging, but productive year. We had a painful death, a lot of drama and doctor visits and various relatives clinging to life in hospital beds, but we all managed to pull through. I had a million things go wrong with me and I don’t remember ever in my life being as consistently stressed-out as I was last year. 2011 was a bear.

But, looking back, I don’t feel so bad about the year itself. Wolfman was born and I published a book. A short book, indeed, but a book nonetheless. And even crazier than that – some people bought it! Also, in the very last days of the year, Wolfman was weaned from breast to cup, taking a huge weight off my chest both literally and emotionally. I guess I feel that as long as the stress is out of sight, it doesn’t matter anymore. It’s over. We’ve moved on. I was going to write the obligatory yearly-roundup last week, but I was too sick and now I just don’t care anymore because we’re in 2012 already. What’s the point of looking back? There are new things to do.

I am feeling pretty good about the future.

Some of you may notice some small differences around here. I have gotten rid of my old archives. That may upset some of you, but this site isn’t as small and personal as it used to be. Don’t fret, a new tag cloud will be coming soon and we’ll build up some new archives together.

I have some new series coming up, whereas I actually try to work my tired body out and cook things on a broke-ass budget. I will be writing a real novel this winter and spring. In the meantime, I am sure my children will keep providing you with entertainment and awesome quotes.

Any books I review will be posted on goodreads – feel free to friend me and we can share reviews!

I’ll also be tweeting here and there – follow me on twitter if you’re so inclined.

Soon enough, I’ll even be on facebook again and you will all be sick of me.

But until you are sick of me, please stick around. I still intend on entertaining at least a handful of you this year. I’m late out of the gates and off to a slow start, but nothing ever goes as planned. Here’s to hoping it goes better.

Cheers & good fortune in 2012!

‘Tis the Season to be … Diseasin’

2011-12-26T15:56:00.001-06:00

My children have been on break since last weekend. Our time off started with a nasty upper-respiratory infection and they spent most of the week lying on the couch playing Plants vs. Zombies and ilomilo on the xBox. The boy child got it too and had a fever, which meant that he was… you guessed it … up all night long for a week, crying, coughing & nursing. I finally succumbed on Wednesday and felt terrible by Saturday (of course). But Santa can’t sleep, so we went on with the show.

The good news is the girls and boy had an awesome Christmas. And they are at 95-100%.

And after fighting the urge to vomit first thing Christmas morning, I was much better, too.

During dinner on Sunday, my ear became plugged up. Getting over a cold, I paid it no mind. But by the time we were driving home, it turned to pressure and then to intense pain. Long story short: I gave up the fight around 4:30 AM and resigned to go to immediate care. Of course I had unknowingly left my wallet in the car, so there D & I were, in the middle of our Christmas wreckage, frantically searching for it. Did I mention the boy was screaming bloody murder? Yep, there was that, too. I was perilously close to tears.

Eventually I made it, and the Doctor said ‘wow’ and told me he could give me Tylenol on the spot. When I mentioned I had taken 400mg of ibuprofen he reminded me I could take up to 800mg at once. I had my Amoxicilin & took it at 6AM, with 600mg of ibuprofen. At 8, the boy woke back up briefly, grabbed my arm and dozed back off. It was then I noticed my palms felt itchy. It was weird. I got up to go see, but there was nothing yet. My neck started to itch. I woke D up.

Within 20 minutes I was covered in fire-red hives. And D was out getting me Benadryl. My face was red. My whole trunk was red. And the ear thing made it hard to tell if my throat was acting up or what. So, back to the immediate care I went. The wait was a little longer this time and gave the Benadryl an opportunity to settle in. My hives disappeared and I was filled with the urge to lie on the little gurney and go to sleep.

The Doctor said it was odd, since I have taken Amoxicillin and Motrin since childhood. He said maybe it was some inert ingredient in the brand of pill. Either way, I’ll be making an appointment with an allergist in early 2012. I do not want to go through that again.

Now I am up in bed feeling like hell. Darin has been taking care of the kids and washing dishes, giving the boy a sippy of formula and making me Ramen noodles. He’s a good man.

This isn’t how I pictured winter break to be. But the most important part was already mentioned above – the kids had an awesome Christmas. Aside from all this, mine wasn’t too bad ,either.

I’ll catch up with everyone in a few days.

Sweet Song Saturday

2011-12-24T06:00:00.000-06:00

We’re kickin’ it Christmas-style.

XMAS WEEK COUNTDOWN, FRIDAY

2011-12-23T06:00:00.000-06:00

courtesy of failblog.

XMAS WEEK COUNTDOWN, THURSDAY

2011-12-22T06:00:00.000-06:00

Tokyo Mall, 2006

XMAS WEEK COUNTDOWN, WEDNESDAY

2011-12-21T06:00:00.000-06:00

by artist Robert Evans

XMAS WEEK COUNTDOWN, TUESDAY

2011-12-20T06:00:00.000-06:00

courtesy of FailBlog.

XMAS WEEK COUNTDOWN, MONDAY

2011-12-19T06:00:00.000-06:00

Krampus Postcard by missmonster

Crooked Ass Quilts, Meet Shitty Ass Cookies.

2011-12-18T06:30:00.000-06:00

I decided that I was going to bake cookies for my kids' teachers this year. And not just any old cookies. I am not talking about squeezing out some pre-made sugar cookie dough and dumping the obligatory green and red sugar sprinkles on top. No sir-ee. I was going to make some fancy morsels.

I bought cute little cookie boxes and festive parchment paper.

I bought fancy chocolate bars, like ginger-infused dark, raspberry chocolate and chipotle chili chocolate.

Best of all, I snagged the best shortbread recipe ever, courtesy of a baker who works with my husband.

My plan was to make 4 cookies per box. One was going to be a rosemary-shortbread snowman, and the rest would be plain shortbread, shaped like Christmas trees, candy canes and sleighs and dipped in the three chocolates (one flavor per cookie, of course.) They were going to be something special.

But, true to form, where I think I can just do something at the eleventh hour and have it all work out perfectly, I waited until the evening before to start these things. It's just shortbread, right? You can't f*ck that up.

Oh, yes. Yes you can.

Now don't get me wrong. These cookies TASTED excellent. I made a top-notch cookie. The problem was that shortbread has a tendency to spread - even when you think you've outsmarted it by chilling your shapes in the fridge before you bake them. Well, long story short - the snowmen got all puffy and ended up looking like something the kids made and nothing like the professional delights I had envisioned.

Not only that, but I had printed out these labels to explain which cookie was what. Nadja came up to me and asked, "what's this shape?" "Oh, that's the sleigh," I said, "these are the labels." To which Nadja responded, "I don't see a sleigh." I looked closer at the cookie cutter and realized my mistake. "That's because it's a dove," I said as I crumpled up the labels and threw them out.

So at about 8PM, with not one chocolate bar even melted yet, I realized the futility of it all and said, no way can I hand anyone these things as a gift. I wish I took a picture before I ate them all.

It's not so bad, though. Everyone got sick on Friday morning with a nasty upper-respiratory bug and no one went to school anyhow. Other than feeling the heaviness of a pound of butter in my intestines, no harm no foul.

Sweet Song Saturday

2011-12-17T06:00:00.000-06:00

All For a Garbage Truck??

2011-12-16T09:55:00.000-06:00

Do you see this garbage truck? Apparently it is the hot shit toy of 2011. Sometimes you really cannot predict this stuff.

Around Thanksgiving, I gave the girls the Toys R Us gift catalog to peruse for Christmas wish list inspiration. Of course they wanted everything in there. So my job as a parent is to figure out which toys they really want and which ones are picked from the rush of Christmas cookie-fueled adrenaline. I thought I did a pretty good job.

Until I realized that I screwed up.

One of the first things Romana blurted out was this trash pack garbage truck. Her list went something like "makeup kit, dolls, makeup kit, dolls, DS game, makeup kit, dolls... garbage truck." So I ignored it. Yes, I saw it at Toys R Us while shopping for their presents. I even casually remarked to my mother-in-law, "Ha - look. It's that silly garbage truck Romana wanted for a second." I passed it by. I didn't hear too much about it after that.

Then, last week we were at Darin's company Christmas party, where they had Santa for the kids. Romana pops up onto his lap and says "I want the garbage truck." That was ALL she said she wanted.

So, when my folks asked what the kids wanted for Christmas, I gave them the garbage truck information. But by the time they went shopping for this silly little $20 toy... it was gone. Off the shelves. Out of stock on line. It was "the" toy to have this year and none of us had a clue. My dad saw it for $35 on Amazon, but they thought they'd save the $15 extra + shipping and wait for it to be re-stocked. It wasn't and supposedly it isn't going to be anytime soon. So my dad went back on Amazon. Now the truck was going for $50.

None of us in good conscience can spend that much money for it.I always told myself I would NEVER be so materialistic as to jump through hoops for some stupid toy. My children will just have to learn that they can't always have everything and that toys are just toys. They come and go and are soon forgotten about.

But then I thought that it was all my fault. Little Romanabelle really, really, super-duper wanted this garbage truck and I dropped the ball. She asked Santa for it. IN PERSON. Could I let this sweet little angel (Yes, for holiday purposes, she is an angel) think that Santa just doesn't give a frack? No, I cannot.

I found it for $35 on eBay. Hoops, jumped. Shipping fees, eaten.I guess I am one of those parents who must get that toy. At least I didn't have to shoot or pepper spray anyone for it. I'll save sinking that low until next year.