- @ScottATaylor Thanks for following me. in reply to ScottATaylor #
- RT @ChristianPF: 5 Tips For Dealing With Your Medical Debt http://su.pr/2cxS1e #
- Dining Out vs Cooking In: http://su.pr/3JsGoG #
- RT: @BudgetsAreSexy: Be Proud of Your Emergency Fund! http://tinyurl.com/yhjo88l ($1,000 is better than $0.00) #
- [Read more…] about Twitter Weekly Updates for 2009-12-12
The Friday Tax
I’ve been at the doctor’s office every time my kids have been scheduled to get shots. I let them know what to expect before the shot, hold their legs still during, and comfort them after. It’s not pleasant, but it is a bonding experience. It builds trust. My kids know that if I tell them something won’t hurt, it won’t, because I tell them when it will. Unpleasantness is never a surprise. Somehow, this policy hasn’t led to a fear of the doctor. They always know what to expect and how tough I’m expecting them to be, so they don’t worry.
Last Friday, it was time for the unpleasant duty. Both of the girls had checkups and one was due for shots. I took the afternoon off to meet my wife and kids at the clinic.
It was a beautiful day. It was warm, the sun was shining, and traffic was light. The windows were down and music was playing; it was an almost perfect start to the weekend.
Did I mention I have a lead foot?
“No, honey, I don’t think we need to buy that” certainly loses some of it’s effect shortly after “Uh, honey? I just paid the voluntary driving-too-fast tax.”
For days, I heard, “Well, I wasn’t the one who got a speeding ticket!” This sounds like nagging, but it’s not. I am normally the one issuing reminders about spending and saving. This time, it was her turn. It’s not my job to hold her accountable. It’s our job–jointly–to hold each other accountable. If I mess up–and I did–she is perfectly within her rights to hold me feet to the fire. I certainly don’t hesitate when the roles are reversed.
I haven’t had a ticket in almost 12 years, so this isn’t a habitual problem. It is an expense that should have been avoided.
Now, I’ve got to take a day off of work and go to court to try to keep it off of my record, so it won’t affect my insurance rates. That means court costs on top of the fine.
Monetary weakness or a lapse in judgment can derail goals. We haven’t destroyed our budget for the month, but it’s not an insignificant amount of money. I try figure enough padding into our budget that this isn’t painful, but it is money that could have been “snowflaked” onto our debt. It could have meant another $150 in the vacation fund. That is disappointing.
It’s time to establish the habit of driving the speed limit.
Update: This post has been included in the Money Hacks Carnival.
4 Ways to Flog the Inner Impulse Shopper
Welcome to the time machine! This was originally posted on December 16, 2009.
Impulse shopping kills. Not literally, of course, but it stings. You need to stop. I need to stop. We all need to stop.
Here’s how:
1. Use a list. Everybody tells you to shop with a list. Nobody has problems shopping with a list. How, exactly, does a list prevent you from buying something on a whim? A list keeps you from forgetting things, it doesn’t stop your from putting Terminator:Salvation in your cart. Skip this one. It doesn’t count. No beatings for the inner impulse shopper means no honorable mention here.
Take 2:
3 Ways to Flog the Inner Impulse Shopper
1. Don’t Shop. I’ve found that it is almost impossible to leave Target for under $100. It’s too easy to grab a discount DVD or a small surprise for the kids. My solution is to use Alice.com. That’s right, I get my toilet paper by mail-order. With Alice, there are few opportunities for impulse purchases. I add the items I need, scan the deals for items I will need in the next few weeks, and have my wife review the cart for things I’ve either missed or don’t need. A few days later, there’s a big blue box full of deodorant, toilet paper and soap sitting on my front step. The manufacturer coupons are automatically applied and shipping is always free. I’ve easily saved $1000 in retail impulse purchases using Alice over the past few months. Alice is my favorite shopping-dom. Full disclosure: The Alice links are all referral links. If you click one and join, I will get 3% commission on your purchase for a year, and you will get a $10 credit after you spend $50 .
2. Set a goal and reward the goal – AFTER the goal is met. My wife and I have a goal to be out of debt in four years. We will enter 2014 free from debt. No car payment, credit cart, or mortgage. I have promised my wife that, in exchange for almost 5 years(we aren’t starting the process today) of frugal living, when we are done and have saved a bit at the other end of debt, I will take her on a cruise anywhere in the world. A real, debt-free vacation. AFTER we pay off all of our debt. AFTER we save enough to make the trip without sliding back into debt. This is the carrot instead of the stick. If the carrot doesn’t work, you can always try the stick. Not on your spouse, of course, but on the inner impulse shopper. Beat that little jerk ’til he cries.
3. Make yourself accountable. If you’re married, make yourself accountable to your spouse. If you’re single, go public with your frugality. “I’m a cheap bastard and I’m swearing off xxx until I’m out of debt.” Let your family and friends know what you are doing so they can be your support system. I regularly call my wife from a store, just so she can say “no” to me. When we are ready to check out at a store, we find some out of the way location and go through everything in the cart to see if we really need it or if it was simply an impulse grab.
How do you flog the masochistic little demon in your wallet?
53 Percent
I didn’t grow up with money. I never lacked for anything important, like food, clothes, shelter, affection, but we weren’t exactly rolling in cash.
When I was 6, I got a paper route so I could buy my own toys.
When I was 13, I started doing odd jobs on nearby farms.
When I was 15, I worked construction with my Dad in the summer. When school started in the fall, I gave up a study hall and my lunch period to work in the lunch room, serving food and washing dishes, for $4.25 per hour.
Within two weeks of getting my driver’s license at 16, I got a job working evenings and weekends washing dishes. I’d call it a part-time job, but it wasn’t, most weeks. A couple of months of busting my butt got me promoted to cook, which was more fun and had better pay. $6.25 and hour was a decent amount for a teenager in 1994.
Three days after graduating high school, I moved out.
At 18, I was living on my own, working two jobs. During the day, I stacked pallets. I stood at the end of a conveyor belt, picked up the 50 pound bags as they came my way, took 3 steps and set them back down. 1500 times a day. In the evenings, I was a cook at a different restaurant 5 miles away. My car was broken, so I had to bike to both jobs. In the winter. In Minnesota. That winter, my parents passed up a new washing machine to buy me a beater car so I didn’t have to freeze. It lasted until spring, but I’m still grateful for that car. That’s the only time I’ve taken money from my parents as an adult.
At 20, I was working 12 hour graveyard shifts in a machine shop when Brat #1 came along. I’d work from 5PM to 5AM, come home and take the baby so my wife could get 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep. That kid drank 8-10 ounces of milk or formula every hour, so without that, the idea of uninterrupted sleep was a cruel joke. We qualified for WIC, a “feed your family” welfare program. I was broke and scared of formula prices, so we signed up. My son puked up the one brand of formula we were allowed, and it hurt my pride, so we cancelled without ever using the benefits.
After 6 months of missing so much of my family’s life, I quit that job and moved into a call center, taking a $4/hour pay cut, before overtime. Fortunately, busting my butt every day allowed me to stomp all over my goals and get some decent bonus pay.
Working a daytime schedule also allowed me to go to school part-time. Here’s the scene: At 21, I had a baby, a full-time job, and I was going to school. I took student loans to make that happen. I was also doing side jobs fixing computers. Traveling IT for people who have no idea how to work a mouse. During this time, we started accumulating debt, based entirely on our own choices.
Within a few months of graduating, the years of busting my butt in the call center paid off and I got promoted to be the administrator for the phone system and collection system, which gave me valuable experience.
Until I got laid off.
Again, busting my butt saved it. My boss volunteered to “forget” about the vacation time I had used that year so it would get cashed out on my last day. I could cover expenses for a while.
Job hunting became a full-time job and it paid off. I landed my current job right as my funds ran out.
I work, on average, 50 hours per week. When it’s needed, I’ve cleared 100 hour work weeks. I have a side business as a firearms instructor. I have a side business doing web consulting for businesses. I blog here.
I do whatever it takes to support my family. I am that support.
I have never had an unemployment check, and I’ve never used government charity.
I have busted my butt to be where I am today, and continue to bust my butt to make it better.
Some day, I’ll be out of debt, and that will also be due to hard work, not charity.
I love my family.
I pay my taxes.
I give to charity.
Kids Are Temporary
Have you ever watched someone go nuts after they have kids?
I mean, even after the I-haven’t-slept-more-than-20-minutes-in-a-row-for-3-months stage of babydom?
These people dedicate their lives to their kids. They sacrifice all of their hopes and dreams and focus on the brats. They can’t have a date night because little Sally might get lonely without mommy and daddy. Can’t have a hobby because Johnny’s on the traveling soccer team. Can’t get laid because it’s a family bed and that’s kind of creepy when the kids are right there.
Everything for the kids.
As they grow, it gets worse. You spend more time helping with homework and less time talking to your wife. More time playing chauffeur, less time playing doctor.
It’s a nasty cycle, and it comes with an abrupt stop.
What happens when school’s out? Little Johnny graduates with a dual degree in Practical Philosophy and Experimental Art History, gets a job at the local Stab-and-Grab, gets married, and starts a family.
When that happens, parents suddenly become “extended family”. The kid has a life of his own and probably doesn’t need his clothes picked out in the morning, a ride to soccer practice, or someone to write his name in his underwear.
This is planned. It is–in theory–the reason we raise our kids. It shouldn’t be a surprise, even if it is a bit of a shock.
Can you survive it? Can your marriage?
If you’ve spent the last 20 years of your life pretending you are nothing but a system for delivering food, rides, and gadgets for your kids, what are you going to do with your time when they are busy pretending they are that system for their kids? If you’ve never developed a hobby, are you going to go extra-special, bat-**** crazy now?
For 20 years, have all of your conversations been about your kids? Have all of your outings been birthday parties? Will you have anything to say to your spouse when the kids are gone?
Your kids are temporary.
They are important. They are your genetic legacy and the people who will choose your nursing home. Don’t neglect them, but you do have to hold something back. Make time for yourself. Make time for your husband or your wife. Or both, if you can make that work.
When your kids are working 90 hour weeks building a new career, or hustling 4 kids to 10 after-school activities, your life doesn’t get to revolve around them.
All you’ve got is yourself and your wife. If she’s not feeling secure about your feelings now, when she loses the distraction of puke in her hair, that insecurity will blossom in unpleasant ways. If you can’t find a conversation that doesn’t involve the kids now, the silence will be blistering when you eventually lose that crutch.
If you don’t have a hobby, get one.
If you don’t have a relationship with your wife, get one. Take her on a date tonight. Your kids are temporary, your marriage shouldn’t be. This is the rest of your life. Make it worthwhile.
The Value of Hiding Money From Your Spouse
I have a confession, but it’s probably not going to be a big shocker if you read the title of this post.
I hide money from my wife.
Some of you just started screaming at your monitor that I’m a horrible person.
That’s cool.
You’re wrong, but the fact that I got that reaction out of you makes me smile.
Ok, I might be a little bit horrible, but not because I hide money.
My wife has an admitted shopping problem. If she thinks we’re broke, she shops less. That’s a win and allows me to save up for our long-term goals and provide for our financial security.
I don’t lie about it. If she asks how we’re doing, I tell her. At least in general terms.
But I didn’t tell her about my annual bonus, until we had a bunch of car repairs come up that would have swamped our emergency fund.
I also haven’t told her about the cash I’ve been stockpiling.
A couple of years ago, the power went out here for four days. It wasn’t just our house, it was 75% of everything within 5 miles of our house.
When the power came on in some places after a day or two, the phone lines were still down, which meant gas stations couldn’t process credit cards.
Quick, look in your wallet and tell me how much cash you have on you….
Most people live on their credit or debit cards.
Could you buy food or water if your plastic was gone?
I could that week, but not for long, so I started taking the cash payments from my side hustle and putting it aside. I’d come home, give my wife a little cash, keep a little cash for myself, and put at least 80% of it away. I absolutely refuse to touch that money for anything.
Part of the “set it aside and forget about” means not revealing its existence. It would be too easy to dip into it to pay the pizza guy or when we go to Rennfest.
So I don’t talk about, and it gets to sit all by itself in the safe, comfy and warm. It’s my security blanket, and nobody gets to touch my binky.
