It started like any other weekend, but better. Finally, we're in a place once more where I can afford a decent cup of coffee and not lose sleep over it. Remortgaging earlier this month left us with fewer bills to pay with Geekster's reduced salary.
The husband and I discussed how we still need to be careful; With only a small amount in our emergency savings account, we could face monetary challenges should something break. In a few months, we'll have more saved up, and we could probably be a little less vigilant at that point. But for now, we should stick mostly to necessities.
... But that's so boring, you know? And there's a world of lattes out there just begging for me to taste them. So I had a couple. Sue me.
And Old Navy had a sale on denim. The boys needed new jeans. Hey, it's not my fault the gremlins go through knees faster than I go through a bag of peanut butter cups.
Yet, I was proud of myself; I didn't go crazy. I would say I was rather responsible in my spending. But I should have put at least half that money away instead of throwing caution to the wind and breathing the air of those who can afford a few extras. Silly, naive little Maven.
As the old adage goes:
It's all fun and games until someone loses both a windshield and a dryer on the same weekend.
My windshield has had a pock in it for about two years. It was filled, and I was told it shouldn't get any bigger. Well, it cracked. It was an icy cold Canadian winter day, and I blew hot air on a cold piece of glass that was already stressed, and it split faster than Drew Barrymore and Tom Green.
No worries. We have a little bit in savings - enough to cover a new windshield. We could claim it on our insurance, but we've had two such claims in the last three years - one for a cracked windshield, and one for the back window of Geekster's car that was smashed in by rowdy youth last summer. Any more claims right now and we'll be looking at a premium increase. Gag me.
Then, on Sunday, as we were standing in front of the dryer, discussing how poorly it was drying our clothes as of late, I said "I smell something electrical. Oh my God..."
Within seconds, smoke was billowing out of the dryer, and my husband was running for the fire extinguisher and turning off the breaker. Meanwhile, I was getting the gremlins out of the house and calling 911 - well, after ran around the house freaking out like the proverbial chicken with her head cut off. My body wasn't sure if it felt like fighting or flighting. I chose flighting - across the street with my half-dressed children to our neighbours' house, minutes before the fire trucks pulled up.
There was no damage save to the dryer itself. I don't want to think what would have happened had we not been standing in front of it when it caught fire. Those are thoughts and feelings I do not wish to explore right now, thank you. We were there, we acted quickly, everyone is safe. That's all that matters.
So, we are now without a dryer and I need to get my windshield fixed. That's a lot of cash we don't have. The ironic part? I had just reached a decision to lay off trying to start my own business so as to remain focused on my main priority - being at home with my kids. It was part of my stress-reduction plan. After all, I told Geekster and a few friends, trying to write more than an hour a day with the demon child clawing at my legs does not exactly promote creativity. Had we neglected him a little more, maybe he would have learned not to come to me when he needs things. What where we thinking, giving him all that love and attention? Hindsight, and all that... It won't be long before Spawnling is in school and I find myself with more time than bon-bons and soap operas alone can fill. At that point I can focus on this career-thing people say is so fulfilling or whatever.
Unfortunately, while being at home fulfills me just fine, it doesn't fill the damn bank account. It doesn't pay for car repairs or major appliances. Looks like I'm going to have to find some more contracts. Let's hope I can convince someone that I have some kind of literary talent. Some people are gullible, right?
If things go south in the writing department, I may have to use my old fall-back plan of part-time prostitution. Sure, I may carry that little bit of Monday morning frumpiness with me the entire week, and my body is not as young and tight as it used to be, but I obviously know what I'm doing - I have three kids, after all.
I've never actually tried being a prostitute, but I hear you can skip drug use and even the fishnet stockings (A good thing, as it's cold up here in the Great White North). I've also heard rumours that there are men out there who like their woman curvy and rather plain looking. I do plain very well and have no problems maintaining my curves. Proof, once again, that I am the perfect woman.
The one problem with prostitution? The whole 'having sex with strangers' bit. Also, I don't want to sleep with ugly people, or people with bad breath, or people with bad clothing choices. Nothing would make me say 'keep your hands off my eyelet-embellished pleather mini skirt' faster than someone wearing pinstripes and plaid together.
If I could just find the guys who pay for an hour so they can complain about their wives and jobs, I'd be all for that. I'm a great listener. I'll hear your sob fest, and I won't even wince at the stench of your garlic breath unless you try to get to first base.
On second thought, maybe I could just be a dominatrix; They don't have to put out and they get to whip people. How could this possibly be a bad thing? Also, if I were to time appointments around my cycle, I could charge more one week per month due to uber-bitchiness. Lashings? Oh, I'll give you lashings. Do you know how bloated I feel right now? Did you bring me any chocolate? No?! You're a very *snap!* naughty *snap!* boy! *snap!*
Who says I'm not an entrepreneur at heart? And you thought these smarts were reserved for sock-sorting and fort-building.
Anyway, I'm hunting for a used washer as we speak. Maybe I should also look into a whip and some heels.