When this goes live, I’ll be on the road to the Financial Bloggers Conference outside of Chicago. That translates to a day off here.
Monday, I’ll be back with a whole bucket full of bloggy goodness.
The no-pants guide to spending, saving, and thriving in the real world.
When this goes live, I’ll be on the road to the Financial Bloggers Conference outside of Chicago. That translates to a day off here.
Monday, I’ll be back with a whole bucket full of bloggy goodness.
I spent last week at the Financial Blogger Conference. Saturday night was the big debauch, a 90s themed hip-hop dance party.
Yeah.
Instead, Crystal, Suba, and I hosted a super-secret pizza party to let some of the less “dance party” inclined attendees discuss things like the sanitary concerns of group body shots, sex toys, and horror movies.
During the course of the party, Crystal and I decided to race to pay off our mortgages.
Her balance is just under $25,000.
My balance is $26,266.40.
We both technically have the cash to pay off the balances right now, but we are both dealing with secondary housing issues. She’s building a new one, and I’m updating an inherited house. Neither of us is willing to use our cash reserves to pay off the balance right this moment.
Now that my credit card is paid off, I’ve moved that money to an extra interest-only payment on my mortgage, effectively doubling my mortgage payment, which puts my projected payoff date as about the end of next year. Crystal’s aiming for June, so I’ll have to hurry.
We do have tenants lined up for February, and all of the non-expense related rent will go to the mortgage.
I think I can win.
Update:
I forgot to mention the terms of the bet. The loser has to go visit the winner. When I win, Crystal’s going to fly to Minnesota to experience snow.
Wow. I’m having a hard time believing it’s August already. Every year seems to slip by a little faster, but this summer has truly flown by, somehow without anything to show for it. I haven’t gotten any of the yard work or household projects finished. I’ve taken on so much that I can’t do anything but the side hustles.
This summer, I’ve been busy. I teach classes one Saturday each month, I’ve picked up a couple of web design jobs, I’m the webmaster for a nonprofit, and I’ve taken on an affiliate marketing project. Oh, and I can’t forget my 50-hour-per-week day job or the ebook I’ve promised to help prep and launch. With all of these projects, my cash flow situation is better than its been in a while, but my time is seriously crunched.
That’s not even counting the family activities. We’ve had swimming lessons, birthday parties and family reunions…all in the last month.
Our family is seriously over-scheduled. It seems like there is no downtime, which is a situation I’ve always tried to avoid in the past. Somehow, I’ve lost the ability to say “no”. Because of that, I’m now left with the impossible task of trying to scale back. While I can’t abandon my commitments, I need to work towards resolving them all and not taking on more.
[ad name=”inlineleft”]It’s time to scale back through attrition. In a month or two, I should be down to a sane schedule again, and able to tackle the things I really want to do that have been indefinitely delayed.
Everybody takes on too much at times. How do you avoid over-committing?
It’s entirely too easy to do too much. When every moment of your day has two of more things that need to be done, you’ll do them all poorly. How do you avoid taking on too much?
When I was little, the world was amazing. The first snowfall was among the best days of the year. Everything was worth exploring, in hopes of discovering something new and fascinating, and everything was fascinating.
Stepping on a crack had serious implications. The wishbone in a turkey earned its name. Blowing out all of the candles on a birthday cake could change your life. The idea of some dude half a world away, watching you, then sneaking into your house to dish our rewards and punishments wasn’t pervy and sick, it was wonderful.
Then, one day, it all changes.
Somebody–a classmate, a older brother, a neighbor–let’s it slip that Santa isn’t real, and the implications snowball. That day, the magic dies.
Wishing on a star? Over.
The Easter Bunny? Hasenpfeffer.
Growing up to be Superman? Welcome to the rat race.
It’s a sad day when kids stop believing in magic.
I don’t believe in lying to my children, but I also don’t believe in destroying their magic. It’s a balancing act.
When my son was 6, an older boy at daycare tried to kill Santa for him. He was upset.
“Dad, is Santa real?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t believe in Santa.”
“Okay, I’ll let him know.”
“Nonononononono! Don’t tell him!”
Was it lying? Probably, but he obviously wasn’t ready to stop believing, so I let him continue. A year later, we had the same conversation, but the results were quite different.
“Dad, you’ve always said that you hate lying, so why did you let me believe in Santa?”
So I told him the truth. Magic is a frail thing that’s nearly impossible to reclaim and I wanted him to have that treasure for as long as possible. And, “Now that you know, you are in on the conspiracy. You’ve been drafted. Don’t kill the magic for anyone else.”
It was weird having him help me stuff stockings.
If you’ve got kids(and celebrate Christmas), how do you handle the Santa problem?
It’s a sad day when kids stop believing in Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy, and fairies.
Not because I enjoy lying to my kids, but because–on the day they stop believing–a piece of their innocence is lost. An unforgettable, valuable part of childhood dies.
Believing in magic is a beautiful thing.
Do you remember the last time you looked around the world with a sense of wonder? When seeing a puppy form in the clouds was a miracle? When the idea of an ant carrying 1000 times its own weight was something worth watching? When the impossible goodness of a fat man squeezing down your chimney fills you with hope instead of making you call 911?
Do I believe in Santa?
Of course not, but I believe the concept of Santa is worthy of my children’s belief. I don’t want them to lose that innocence and wonder.
When my teenager was young, he asked if Santa was real. I responded by asking what he thought. When he told me he didn’t believe, I offered to let Santa know. His panic told me he wasn’t ready to give up the magic.
The day that conversation didn’t cause a panic, he looked hurt, like he’d lost something precious. He had.
His world of magic was gone.
The he asked why I had spent his lifetime lying to him. I told him the truth. I said I couldn’t bear to be the one to shatter his belief in magic before he was ready.
Then, I informed him that he was in on the conspiracy. He was not allowed to ruin it for anyone else. Not his sisters, not his friends.
That Christmas, my little boy helped me stuff stockings, which was an odd feeling.
The magic was over, but we still got to share the magic of his cousins and sisters.
I’m lazy.
Really, I am. When I get home from work, I want nothing more than to plop down on the couch, dial up a movie and ignore the world for a few hours. I need some downtime to relax.
While I am keeping the couch from flying away, my wife gets home, makes dinner, does the dishes, changes the cat litter and maybe vacuums the floor. Once dinner is cooking, she usually throws in a load of laundry. Three kids is a great way to guarantee a lot of laundry needs to get washed.
I have just two things to say about that:
I’ve never considered it a problem because I work my butt off on the weekend. My wife isn’t happy with the arrangement because I tend to do next to nothing during the week. I think it’s a good balance. I’m productive on the weekend, she’s productive during the week. Unfortunately, my habitual laziness has caused a bit of tension. We’ve had a few “discussions” about that balance. It’s obviously not working.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been trying something new. When I get home from work I’ve been doing just 1 thing. I do one thing per day. One day, I fold laundry, another day I do the dishes. Some days, I pick a room to organize. It’s never very much, but it’s always something that needs to be done and, possibly most important, it looks like I’m doing more so my wife feels less abandoned to the housework. I’m not actually doing more, but it gets spread out over the week, so it looks like more. Slowly, surely, all of the work is getting done.
It’s not a perfect solution, but it seems to be working. More is getting done, my wife feels like I’m helping out more and I get more time on the weekends to pursue whatever I feel like pursuing. It’s a win for each of us.
How do you balance relaxation and a shared workload?