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The no-pants guide to spending, saving, and thriving in the real world.
A few weeks ago, I discovered the queue at my public library’s website. The process is simple: Select your books, wait a few days, then pick them up. They are available from any library in the county, delivered to my local library. That’s awesome. Much more convenient-and cheaper-than Amazon.
So I moved a couple of pages of my Amazon wish-list into the library’s queue.
I must not have been thinking, because two days later, I got an email telling me that 19 books were ready to be picked up and 10 more were in transit.
In this county, each checkout is good for 21 days. For items that don’t have a waiting list, you can reserve 3 times. That’s 12 weeks for 29 books. Hopefully, I’m up to the challenge. Please keep in mind, I’m a father of three, two of whom are in diapers, and I’m married, and I have a full time job.
I have frugally blown every second of spare time for months.
Update: This was another post written in advance. When all of the books came in, I suspended my request list. Little did I realize, the suspension cancels itself after 30 days. That was 30 more books. Whee!
Satirical reports regarding George Zimmerman have been misconstrued as factual by several media outlets, which have led to the belief that the man who killed Trayvon Martin is now a multimillionaire due to a lucky lottery ticket. The improbability of the story is astounding, but the more inconceivable notion is that reporters actually believed it enough to pass it on to their audience. The origin of the hoax was the same source that profligates fake news items on a regular basis: The Onion.
was obviously meant to be disseminated as sarcasm, but the writers must feel tremendous pride in their ability to dupe the mainstream media. An unintended prank has a marvelous ability to generate a lasting reputation for the satirist. Notoriety is now something the author has in common with Zimmerman.
A stark contrast exists between lotteries and trials, and they are not equivalent. The justice system strides to avoid occurrences of random chance while lotteries promote the notion that anyone can win. The legal process is supposed to rely on evidence. Regardless of the circumstances, a victory in the courtroom has to be vigorously earned. Contrarily, there is nothing anyone can do to increase their chances in a lottery short of buying massive amounts of tickets. In a trial, the concept of reasonable doubt exists to exonerate the defendant, which should eliminate any potential for a toss-up. Courtrooms operate using evidence while lotteries are strictly statistical; therefore, the comparison is non-existent.
Even when it comes to jury selection, the process is not chaotically uncontrolled. Both sides have a general composition is mind, and they meticulously scrutinize prospective jurors as they whittle the numbers down. The pool is always sifted for bias. They are analyzed with hopes of picking people that will be sympathetically swayed towards a certain point of view. At the end, one side picked a better jury. Lotto victors cannot pick the numbers that will be responsible for their fate. Winners of lotteries do not stalk unarmed teenagers with a gun and fatally shoot them, but apparently winners of trials in Florida do.
Lotteries are often labeled as a tax for dumb people; coincidentally, this demographic is the same segment of the population that was targeted by the falsified journalism. In fact, real lottery odds are mathematically insignificant. An ABC News study declares it would take 1,684,841 years for the average lottery player to win a jackpot. Not even Zimmerman is that lucky.
For years, my kids shared my bed.
When my oldest was a baby, I was working a graveyard shift, so my wife was alone with the baby at night. It was easy to keep a couple of bottles in a cooler by the bed and not have to get out of bed to take care of him when he woke up once an hour to drink a full bottle.
Then he got older. And bigger. And bigger.
We tried to move him to his own bed a few times, but it never worked well. He’d scream if we put him in a crib, so we got him a bed at 9 months old. That just meant he was free to join us whenever he woke up. Brat.
We finally got him to voluntarily move to his own bed after his sister was born. Shortly after she was born, I woke up to see him using her as a pillow. To paint the proper picture, this kid is 5’9″ and wears size 12 shoes. At 11. When I woke him up to tell him what he was doing, he decided to sleep in his own bed.
Method #1 to get your kids in their own bed: Have kid 1 try to crush kid 2 and feel bad about it.
Method #1 isn’t a great solution.
Soon, baby #3 showed up and we had 2 monsters in bed with us again. Once they started getting bigger, it became difficult for the 4 of us to sleep. We tried to get them into their own beds. Unfortunately, even as toddlers, my kids had a stubborn streak almost as big as my own. Nothing worked.
Eventually, they got big enough that I was crowded right out of the bed. At least we had a comfortable couch.
Sleeping on a couch gets old.
When the girls got old enough to reason with, we had a choice: We either had to find a way to convince them they wanted to sleep in their own room, or we had to have a fourth brat for them to attempt to crush at night.
We went with bribery. Outright, blatant bribery.
We put a chart on the wall with each of their names and 7 boxes. Every night they slept in their own beds, they got to check a box. When all of the boxes were checked, they got $5 and a trip to the toy store.
It took 10 days to empty our bed and it’s been peaceful sleeping since. That’s $5 well-spent.
Have you done a family bed? How did it work? How long did it last?
We don’t have daycare on Good Friday.
We do, however, both have to work today. Two rounds of little-girl tonsillitis have zapped our available vacation time.
On an entirely related note, we put our 12 year old son through Red Cross babysitter training a few weeks ago, just for something like this.
My wife gets nervous at the idea of leaving the girls with the boy for very long. I think she thinks the world will explode if he takes care of them correctly.
Our solution for today is to have a slightly older friend come over and help.
She’s 13 and she brought her 10 year old brother with her.
That’s kids aged 3,5,10,12, and 13 in my house today. Total Lord of the Flies.
Hold that thought.
My son, being 12, doesn’t feel it’s necessary to brush his hair for school, or change his clothes every day, and he needs to be reminded to brush his teeth.
This morning, he woke himself up and ran into the bathroom. He emerged with clean teeth and combed hair. I asked him if he was wearing the same shirt as yesterday, and he flew into his room to change.
Hmm. Something is afoot.
While I was putting my shoes on, I reminded him to take care of the house and his sisters, and he made some smart-aleck joke in response.
She giggled.
Watson, I think I’ve found a clue.
Her father told me, just yesterday, the she thinks boys are gross.
The boy has never shown an interest in girls, until this morning.
Grr. The next decade just got considerably more interesting.
Time to lock them both in their respective basements until college.