finances — Blog — Rowan Jetté Knox

Last night I had a dream that Geekster was made captain of one of seven space shuttles, all of which were taking off simultaneously on some cosmic mission. I remember feeling so incredibly proud of him and, of course, bragging my ass off to everyone who could hear me.

Then I woke up and felt kind of bad for the bragging.

This dream taught me two things:

1. I've been watching far too many space movies lately (can't help it - Captain Kirk and Han Solo are dreamy dudes) and,

2. After sixteen years, I still think a great deal of my husband

Let's face it: Life has been shit on toast the last few months. The Maven family has had a series of unfortunate events that, while not exactly book or movie worthy, have thrown us for a loop or two. We faced a minor health crisis, a serious money crunch, some fluctuations in our social circle, a small fire, and a whole bucket load of 'Why is this all happening at once?!' This has undoubtedly been our worst year in at least a decade.

But he's been there, that man of mine. A shining example of this was how, when we couldn't afford anything for each other on Valentine's Day, he woke up early and made pink pancakes for the entire family. I married an amazing guy.

He's been solid footing when life feels almost treacherous; a warm campfire when the path is dark and cold. I could come up with many other cheesy metaphors - I'm quite good at them, you know - but I think the point has been made without making you gag on my sappiness. While stress has certainly not passed my darling husband by, he's been the incredible best friend to me that he always is, and for that I'm very grateful.

In fact, I'm feeling a whole crapload of gratitude lately. Back when I was quitting the sauce, I was taught by the wise recovery gurus that gratitude and optimism are sometimes all a girl's got to hitch her sanity to in times of extreme sucktitude, lest she go out for a pint or ten. I've carried that knowledge all these years within my soul.

Uh, I mean my fat cells, which is clearly why I carry the extra weight around. It all makes sense now, doesn't it? Someone pass the bag of chips; It's for a good cause.

So, in lieu of writing yet another depressing post about how we had to spend our grocery money to fix my windshield and Geekster's birthday money on groceries, I'm going to take a few moments to mention the good things in my life.

I know: big of me, right? Just flexing my well-used optimism muscle, that's all.

I've already mentioned my husband. He gets top billing. Then there are these beautiful little guys. Here they are this afternoon, smiling widely and loving life:

You're right: I'm full of it. They were totally fighting when I took those.

I'm also grateful for Spawnling's drawings. Like all good artists, his work is able to invoke several emotions simultaneously. When I see his work, I'm first proud that he's drawing sensible shapes.

"Snowmans"

"Daddy playing guitar" (Guitar added in by daddy upon request)

Then I'm somewhat confused because they look like potatoes with toothpicks, or drunken amoeba.

"Daddy hugging me."

"Daddy and me, but I drew Daddy with hair, and he doesn't really have hair, so... oops."

Then I'm a little annoyed that every single one of them is either Spawnling and daddy, Daddy being a rock star, or some inanimate object. You'd think having given birth to the ten pound turkey, I might get my own cracked-out single-celled organism look-alike, but apparently not.

And finally I laugh a little, because they're gosh darn cute, just like their maker. And their maker's maker, obviously.

I'm grateful for the family members who have stepped up and helped out with babysitting so Geekster and I can preserve our sanity and our coupledom, bought outerwear for the kids so we don't have to worry about clothing three gremlins for next year's winter season, given us a hand up financially until things get better, and just been generally supportive and understanding.

I'm grateful for the friends who text just to tell me they care, tow away the gremlins to make our house less chaotic for a little while, take me out for breakfast, drop by with coffee, and listen to my incessant complaints about Murphy and his damn law.

It's really hard to be depressed around you guys. You give me little opportunity to drown my sorrows in melted chocolate. Thank you.

Husband, gremlins, creepy/adorable pictures, family, friends. That's five, right? Counting is hard this evening. I went skating with Gutsy's grade 1 class and accompanying grade 6 class today. After tying that many skates and watching a kit throw up in a garbage can a few times, my brain is a little fuzzy.

Oh! And finally, I'm grateful it wasn't my kid throwing up in the garbage can. That's six.

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.