Being Thrifty

I'm a sucker for a good deal.  When I shop at Target, I often head to the endcaps and looks for those red tags.  Usually, those areas are filled with things that I really didn't want but, ooooh, look how much they USED to be!  Don't get me wrong.  I'm not about to be featured on a reality show or anything.  (Just picture it....Hoarders: Target Clearance Edition)  I just have been known to donate a number of things to charity that still had those red tags on them.

Recently, my clearance kick has shifted over to a thrift store phase.  I am remaining strong and keeping myself from impulse buys.  But during the course of my "window shopping", I run across some super fun items.  In order to keep myself from putting nonsense into my cart (even if it is extra awesome, kitschy, retro nonsense), I usually ask myself a series of questions:

1) Do I need it?

  - If Yes, ARE YOU SURE? If it's still Yes, ask Question 1 again.

  - If No, yay for honesty.  Go to Question 2

2) Will I use it?

  - If Yes, go to Question 3

  - If No, PUT IT BACK

3) Is there a place for it?

  - If Yes, go to Question 4

  - If No, PUT IT BACK

4) Is it suuuuuuuuper cute? (This question is interchangeable with with "Is it so tacky, it's cute?")

  - If Yes, ask Question 1 again

  - If No, WHY ARE WE HAVING THIS DISCUSSION?

When I finally talk myself down from an impulse purchase, I use Connor's example for dealing with loss and get the camera out to "picture it".  Here are a few of my recent favorites:

I like my 80s dresses a little less Alexis Carrington and a lot more Angela from "Who's the Boss". 

I didn't get a good picture of the dress, but this fabric screamed  "Electric Company" to me. 
Either that, or someone sucks at the 60s version of Tetris.

I was going to get him, but I realized that I already had a sassy, green porcelain elephant Buddah planter.

If I had a Mad Libs Room in my house, this would be featured prominently on the wall. 

I might start to make this a regular feature on my blog, posting picture-worthy thrift store items ranging from the hideous to the hilarious.  And by regular, I mean, it may happen more than once.    

Signs of Motherhood

The other day, Cara came in from the three-season porch (a place where we keep all of our craft supplies) and presents me with the following gem:

 Awww!  How nice, right?  No reason.  Just thought I could use some encouraging words.  So, I did what any proud mother would do.  I hung that baby on the fridge and, every time I look at it, I smile.

Cut to today. I had told Connor to do something which he then refused to do.  In order to try and coerce compliance (Yeah. I know. Bad plan.), I said that failure to do said item would result in him not getting any mellowcreme pumpkins that I had just bought.  Instead of going ahead and doing the task, he dug his heels in and argued about the treat and how "I AM going to get to have pumpkins."

When the boy finally realized that he was not going to get his way, he went out back to the craft supplies.  About three minutes later, he returns, goes to his bedroom, and then comes back and motions for me to follow him.  When we get to his room, he points to a sign that he had just taped to his door.  The look on his face as he watched me read his note said, "Hah. I sure showed you, Mom."   

"YOUER NOT TEN BEEST MOM UVR"
(You're not the best mom ever)

I let him have this little victory for today.  Come tomorrow, that puppy's going right up on the refrigerator.

Crash Test Dummy

A few months ago, my son started getting into and buckling his car seat buckles all on his own.  Since we still have him in a 5-point harness, that's a pretty big accomplishment for the little dude.  Not to mention, a HUGE time-saver when it comes to getting us all in the car in a timely manner.   Our usual departure routine includes waiting for Connor to say "I'm done" since he has a couple extra buckles to contend with.

Now, I think I've alluded to the fact that my son doesn't really like being told what to do.  He's usually okay with the reason "because it's the law", but, who am I kidding?  It's only a matter of time before that one goes the way of "because I said so" as a viable option as a threat.  For now, I'm just happy that he still gets in his car seat with very little complaint about having to use one.

I picked Connor up from school today and waited for the all clear before putting the car in drive.  We talked on the way home about his day and, before we knew it, we were home.  As I gathered up our stuff to go inside, Connor realized that he was one click shy of having been fully secured into his car seat.

"I didn't have a buckle buckled and I lived," he revealed. "That's called surviving."

I am willing to bet that he has filed this incident in his steel trap of a brain. If he needs to refer to it, all he's going to have to do is look under "Reasons Why Rules Don't Apply To Me". Right next to the time when he stood on the couch and didn't fall off like his mom said he would.

Trouble with Squirrels

I have a love/hate relationship with squirrels.  The couple of times that I thought that I hit a squirrel with my car, I have been in tears.  They are furry creatures and I do not wish to cause them harm.  That is unless those jerks come over the fence into my back yard.

I HATE the squirrels that make their way into my yard.  Our backyard squirrels have very little fear and huge cajones to even attempt some of the shenanigans they pull. They had giant holes chewed through our trash cans within weeks of us getting the previous hole-ridden ones replaced.  In the winter time, they've been known to track garbage all across the lawn.  And just days before my tomoatoes are ready to be harvested, those assholes get into the garden and bite into the near-ripe beauties leaving evidence behind just to piss me off.  The squirrels in our backyard can go to hell.  

The other day, Cara came into the house yelling about how I needed to come out and look at a baby squirrel that was in the back yard.  I thought, "I'll do something better than look at it.  I'll stop that little jerk from ever propagating again. Chew through my garbage cans, will ya?"  I step off of the back porch, ready to chase that furry-tailed rodent and give it a squirrelly heart-attack and the hate part of my love/hate relationship with these guys melted away.

There, sitting before me, was this tiny, trembling little creature who was covered in flies.  He was obviously sick or hungry or injured.  This little thing was so pitiful that all I could think about was how we could save him. And keep him as a pet.  And maybe buy him some of these.  I thought "He needs to get his strength up. Let's give him protein."  And I grabbed a bit of the salmon that we had left over from dinner that night.  What?  You guys wouldn't give a squirrel salmon?  Yeah, that's what Craig said, too.

I contacted the Wildlife Rehabilitation Center but, since they were getting ready to close, we would have to wait until the morning to bring this cutie in.  The guy on the phone said that we should NOT feed him (oops), should maybe give him a little water, and put him in a box with a bunch of toilet tissue in it to keep him warm.  We borrowed a cage to put the box in and he hunkered down in the toilet paper for the night.

The next morning, I got up before Cara to make sure that our little visitor had made it through the night and, after seeing that he was still breathing, Cara and I got dressed and ready to take the little guy to the WRC.  As we were leaving, we heard a familiar mewing sound and saw another baby squirrel in the yard.  This guy was coming toward us, just as his brother did the night before.  He didn't seem as much in distress as the first guy, but I figured if we were relocating one of them, we shouldn't leave the other one alone.  So, we packed up number two in the crate along with his brother and headed out.

#1 peeks out from his TP nest as #2 huddles in the corner.

Taking our two furry guys to get nursed back to health.

We filled out some paperwork, gave the WRC a donation to help offset the cost of taking care of these guys, and were on our way.

After we had been home for about an hour, I had to take trash out to our rodent-damaged cans.  As I was putting the garbage away, I noticed a rustling in the bushes.  Seems that there were three squirrels in that litter and #3 was pretty put-off that his brothers were missing.  Instead of the pathetic mewing, this guy clicked and yelled and scurried back up the tree as I came towards it.  

It was right about then that the love part of my relationship with squirrels took a back seat again.  This adventure had successfully relocated two new members of the garbage-munching rodents that plague my back yard.  However, I am now left with a squirrel who is pretty ticked off that I left him with no family.  He is now the Inigo Montoya to my Six-Fingered Man.

Bring it, squirrel!