Feeling the Crunch

I have long had a soapbox that I like to climb on from time-to-time that involves the ever-increasing use of credit cards to finance a lifestyle that some cannot afford. I do not hold myself above anyone else as I have been guilty of this behavior myself. It takes one to know one, so to speak. Still, in my single days with little more than groceries and rent to pay for, I often wondered how acquaintances who made far less than I did were able to afford $700 purses when I felt like I could not. It just didn't make sense. Somewhere along the lines we, as a society, were losing the conservative spending nature taught to us by our parents and grandparents in favor of the trappings of materialism. If not the generation before us, who exactly were we emulating?

Last Fall Husband and I took a trip to Vegas (I on business, he along for the ride). We stayed at MGM's Signature hotel on my company's dollar. It cost $200 per night which was far less than the going rate for almost all of the other hotels on the strip. We dined at the restaurants in the MGM Grand and spent a pretty penny to do so. In one restaurant there wasn't an item on the menu that cost less than $34. Everything was a la carte so the meal price added up very quickly. One steak on the menu actually cost $188!

Shocked by the prices of what is otherwise a very nondescript establishment, I glanced around to see what kind of people patronized this restaurant. They were almost all in their mid to late twenties.

"Trust-fund kids." Husband surmised.

"No, no way," I disagreed, "there aren't that many trust fund babies who would frequent this place---it's not glamorous enough."

That begged the question: if Husband at 45 and I at 36 felt like we could not afford this restaurant on our healthy, dual incomes, how could they?

"Credit cards." I told Husband decidedly. "They're maxing out they're credit cards."

But why? What was prompting this sudden movement of irresponsibility?

I still don't have the answer to that question but, in studying my own behavior, I can make a few good guesses. For instance, I'd never even heard of spending $400 on a pair of Manolo Blahniks until Sex an the City became popular. Through Carrie Bradshaw's character the show glamorized maxing out credit cards in the name of couture. Looking expensive was so damn important, the message told us, that it was worth missing a month's rent payment to do so.

(Note to Dad in case you're having a heart attack right now: I have never spent anywhere near $400 on a pair of shoes. I did on a dress once and felt stupid forever after, so I learned my lesson.)

Then reality shows joined the band wagon. Paris Hilton and her friends became en vogue and, with an insider's view into their lifestyles, we all craved a lifestyle that we could not afford. Or could we?

We opened multiple credit cards and simply transferred balances as the introductory interest rates expired. We made minimum payments and transferred money from savings as we struggled to cover our ever-increasing debt. We did this because buying nice things felt good and we craved the praise we received from our friends with each new purchase. The benefits were affirming and far outweighed the guilt we felt each time we saw our credit card balances rise.

After a while we just quit looking at those credit card balances as we continued to book those trips to Vegas and the slopes of Colorado. Multiple vacations in one year was the norm. We told ourselves that we "deserve it" and that we can "always make more money". We ceased putting money in 401K's and savings was a thing of the past. Who needs savings when our tech stocks will recover and once again catapult us to the ranks of millionaire?

Once upon a time, not too long ago, a LOT of people in Austin were millionaires on paper. They are no more.

This post comes about because I ran into an old acquaintance of mine at Starbucks this morning. (Side note: why am I frequenting Starbucks? I did the math the other day and realized that I could easily waste $100 a month if I gave into my urge to go every day. That's at least one week's worth of groceries for our household.)

Back to my acquaintance.

We were catching up on each other's lives and suddenly she looked crestfallen and placed her hand on my forearm. "You've always been responsible with your money," she began, "can I ask you for some advice?"

"Of course you can." I replied, failing to see the irony as I sipped my $4 decaf latte.

"I'm declaring bankruptcy." she whispered, glancing around with her head ducked in shame. "It just got out of control. I've tried everything to prevent it but it seems inevitable. I've had my house on the market since July but it won't sell. We just lowered the price yesterday and, if it sells, I won't make one single dime off it. I have $29,000 racked up on my credit cards and, with my child turning 18 this past summer, I no longer receive child support. I thought I was using it for her, but I guess I was using it to support my lifestyle. When I was married my husband made well over $200K, you see, and I guess I'm just accustomed to that lifestyle. I have a hard time cutting back. I really like nice things."

I murmured sympathetically. I do understand. Completely.

She continued. "I have spoken with two attorneys and we determined that the best thing to do is cash out my 401K and either use the money to pay off my car (which she bought brand new in 2006 for $40,000) or have my car repossessed and buy a newer model car that will last longer. What do you think? What would you do?"

Inwardly I was freaking out for my friend but outwardly I remained calm. Here's why I was freaking out: this woman is in her fifties and is going to cash out her 401K. What on earth will she do when she needs to retire? How will she replenish that money in time? Also, she bought a car, a nice car, for $40,000 in 2006. $40,000 is a LOT for a car! I can understand wanting a nice car, but the used car market is pretty good and far more economical. There are ways to afford things you want, if you're willing to put your ego aside. In addition, I distinctly remember her asking me for financial advice in 2006 because she was overspending. This was before she bought the car. What happened?

Then there's the issue of having a car repossessed. I remember not too long ago that having a car repossessed was something people kept to themselves out of shame. Bankruptcy too. Now, I guess, it's just so common that no one thinks twice about weighing the pros and cons of it over gourmet coffee.

"This is all my own fault," she confessed, wiping away her tears. "I mostly spent money on helping my kids and giving them the things they need. I mean, my daughter needed a new car for college so how could I not do that for her? And then there's my adult son who needs help from time-to-time. My 83 year-old mother has helped me out financially to the point where it should be embarrassing but still I am in this mess. My ex husband has even helped me out financially--he's given me thousands and thousands of dollars to get me out of these holes--yet I still have to sell my house and declare bankruptcy. I did it to myself."

My heart broke for her. Clearly she is responsible for the situation she is in but it is just as clear that she is willing to accept the blame. Her justifications were interesting. No college kids needs a new car, necessarily, but that's not for me to judge. What's worth considering is that she's having all this trouble yet not one major financial catastrophe has befallen her such as a serious illness or disability. What happens if it comes to that? What happens if you declare bankruptcy and then have something serious, like a huge medical bill, to pay? I honestly have no idea.

I do know, however, that given the right circumstances I--hell--any of us could be in her Manolo Blahniks.

Coming to Terms

“I’m almost full term!” I declared to Husband as I set down my laptop and stood up to make my point. “Full term!” I declared again, leaning towards him, fists clenched, eyes like saucers.

Husband glanced up distractedly from his laptop. “Full term?” he indulged. (Really, he was busy and I was distracting him with my banalities.)

“Yes! Apparently full term is 37 weeks and I am almost full term. Wwwwow!”

And with that, I did what any normal pregnant woman would do in a moment of extreme excitement: I ran off to use the bathroom.

Of Wayward Pizza Dough and Gentle Pushes

I continue to shake my head at the fact that I am now a full-blown 33 weeks pregnant. I think back to when I first found out and told Husband that we are expecting a baby. It seems like only last month!

We're almost fully prepared for the baby and are so excited although I definitely have my moments. For the most part this has been a good pregnancy save for those horrible stomach aches I get from time-to-time (the doctor says it's pregnancy-related and should cease after the little babola is born). Thank goodness for that!

This is why I get stomach aches:



At 5'2" tall and with legs that are long for my height, there isn't much room in my torso for the babola. Consequently, he's squashing everything. Look at the intestines in that diagram!

This past weekend was particularly tiring physically. Husband took me out on a romantic date on Friday night. We went to a nice Italian restaurant for dinner and then on to the lounge at The Four Seasons where our corner table allowed us to monitor the comings and goings of the beautiful people of Austin. Husband ordered a Merlot and I ordered a glass of skim (milk). I am so glamorous!

Saturday I attended a Pilates/Yoga fusion class at my gym. There was another pregnant woman in the class who was five months pregnant and obviously freaked out to be exercising during pregnancy. I felt sorry for her as she continually drew the instructor's attention as she struggled with each pose. Hey, I struggle too but for some reason the instructor left me alone. This is possibly because if I cannot do a pose and the instructor looks my way, I glare back defiantly as I perform my own modifications to the pose. Anyway, at the end of the class I heard the instructor tell the woman that the class "isn't really for pregnant women."

"Well I'm coming anyway!" I announced, butting into their conversation. "I only have about five good weeks of exercising left and I don't intend to give it up. There are only a few classes offered here that pregnant women can participate in and I think it's too bad that you're discouraging us from coming to this class. I find that the stretching alone is tremendously beneficial to my pregnancy."

I'm certain that I shot myself in the foot with this instructor. Next week she'll probably make the class harder just to show me that I can't do it.

Yoga aside, for some reason I was *exhausted* this weekend. We were pretty active so I'm sure that has a lot to do with it. Also, Little Husband is definitely going through some sort of a growth spurt so I was achy and tired most of Saturday and Sunday. I hate that feeling. I hate not being able to predict my body or, at times, my moods. I guess I'm not one of those women who embrace pregnancy. It's fine, but I don't love it like some of my friends did. I feel very lucky that I have an incredibly kind and understanding husband who encourages me to rest when I am tired and never makes me feel like a lazy sot if the laundry isn't put away the minute it comes out of the dryer. In fact, if he sees that I am aching he'll jump up and, after gently pushing me towards the couch, finish whatever housekeeping task I was in the middle of. Then he'll join me on the couch and rub my back. This is a good man.

I'm also lucky that Husband is incredibly understanding about the various moods that accompany late-pregnancy. Last night I felt like I was going to have a meltdown because the homemade pizza dough wouldn't stretch the way I wanted it to (feel free to laugh!). For some reason I did not have the resources to deal with wayward pizza dough and I about went over the edge. Husband, in his infinite patience and kindness, talked me down from the cliff and within minutes I was back to normal.

Yes, with pregnancy comes its ups and downs and I'm finding out how important it is to have that man by your side who will support you either way. At least three times per week I will walk several miles around my neighborhood or the lake. If he's home, Husband will join me. I've mentioned in past blogs that I treasure this time with Husband as we have our best conversations when we go for long walks. What I didn't mention is that during these walks, almost without fail, I will feel Husband's hand on the small of my back, gently pushing me as I struggle up the hills. I've never asked him to help me, he just does it. I guess you could say that he's literally "got my back".

This is a good man.

No you can't pinch an inch on meeeee!

So... I am sitting here reading email, absentmindedly pinching the side of my waist in order, I guess, to see how many inches I can pinch. Know how many I came up with? None! It turns out that when your belly is distended and stretching your skin all taut-like, there’s nothing left over to pinch. For the first time in months, I feel skinny!

I, too, live in a bubble.

This came to me in an email today from a local gym. I had no idea it was this bad...

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Dear Femme,

A story from a friend of BodyBusiness...

On Saturday afternoon I was running errands and went to Randall's in Rollingwood. An older lady was holding the hand of a little boy and staring up at the store. I walked past her and thought she must be confused or something, but kept on with a cart full of kids and ice cream. When I got to my car and was unloading she approached me and with her voice quivering she asked me for a ride back to the shelter at Hill Country Middle School. She had walked over to Randall's looking for her husband, who had left the shelter hours before, and was with her 7 year old grandson. She was hot and exhausted. I gave them a ride to the school and saw the people there outside looking a bit sad in more than one way. The lady looked at me and said, "May I ask you one other favor?" Now, living in the bubble I do I thought she was going to ask for money. But, she didn't. She asked if I would pray for her and her family. She was so scared that they had lost everything. Her family had ridden the bus from Galveston and they were not allowed to return. Her daughter and 3 year old granddaughter were inside the shelter. Then she said she was going to pray for me, because God sent me to her at that very needed moment.

I left and drove out feeling empty. I felt like I should have done more, but what? I thought about that family all weekend and called the school today to see if they were still there. Their evacuees had been relocated to the Convention Center.

I called the convention center and wasn't able to get much info. They said the evacuees are being locked in and no one else is coming into their section. She referred me to the Austin Red Cross and the Capital Area Food Bank. The lady at the Red Cross said the Food Bank was providing all their food, but the Red Cross was taking care of their shelter and basic needs. I asked what they really needed and she said, "It's a bad, bad situation. They need so much." She said donations are needed to them of course. I thought about those little kids being locked inside and asked if I could take some toys up there and she said I wasn't supposed to, but she felt as though I wouldn't be turned away.

The Food Bank had a sadder story. As of TODAY, they ran out of money and food to support the 2000 (+) evacuees. They have nothing left to give until they get donations of money and food. The evacuees are going to be supported by random shelters and groups until something happens. I didn't realize how bad the situation was in Galveston until yesteray. Those folks may not be able to return home for a month. Can you imagine?

Donate online to American Red Cross of Central Texas: Click here.
View most needed items at the Capital Area Food Bank: Click here.

BodyBusiness will be collecting items to deliver to the Capital Area Food Bank from now thru Friday.
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I'll have to speak with Husband tonight to see what we can do to contribute. We can't let the food bnk run out of food--that's unthinkable.

I Crushed It With My Bare Hands!

Today the lamp shade was delivered for Little Husband's new nursery lamp. This was good news because the lamp itself was delivered several weeks ago and has been sitting, bare and alone, on top of the dresser. These were shower gifts purchased at Restoration Hardware Baby so they aren't items that can be replaced inexpensively.

I unwrapped the lamp shade from its packaging and dashed up the stairs to affix it to its base. Not satisfied with the seemingly crooked angle of the shade, I worked the shade to try and straighten it out. The angle didn't change so I grabbed hold of the base and harp and attempted to align the shade by bending the harp. The next thing I knew, I heard a shatter and looked down to see the lamp base in one hand and the shade (still attached to the harp) in the other. I was crushed.

My first thought was that of Husband killing me for busting a brand new lamp. Being one of six kids, I am quite adept at covering up my screwups. If, for some reason, I couldn't cover them up, I'd blame one of my siblings. I didn't have this option as I immediately raced downstairs for the Krazy Glue. (Side note: my older sister, known as "Blank" in the comments section of this blog, was especially good for finger pointing purposes. One time when I was 9 or 10 I wrote myself a check from my mother's checkbook. I made it out in the amount of $1,000,000. When my mother asked me about it, I denied all knowledge and blamed my sister which was a pretty bold move seeing as how the check was made out in my handwriting.)

Krazy Glue in hand, I attempted to piece the lamp back together. Having no patience, I liberally poured glue all over the cracks and tried to set the pieces. It didn't look that great but the cracks were at the top of the lamp so I figured that the shade would cover them. Then I realized that Krazy Glue had dripped (and dried) all down the sides of the lamp as well so I busted out the nail polish remover.

Here is the net result:



Turns out that nail polish removes removes everything (i.e., glaze) from a lamp *except* Krazy Glue.

In-tro-doo-cing Little HUSBAAAAAAND!!!!

I had a DVD laying around the house that they gave us after our 28-week 4D sonogram. I decided to look at it today thinking it was just more of those creepy "Elmer Fudd in a Casket" photos that I really don't care to see. Imagine my delight when I discovered that it was actually video footage of Little Husband! Here he is sucking his thumb. He takes after his mother there, I cannot lie.