Here's the deal: I'm not a frivolous girl. I occasionally over-spend at Target (just one more pair of yoga pants won't break the bank) but tend to spend my cash wisely. Lovin' the deals at Marshall's, I might splurge on a great piece from Anthropologie now and again.
Food, we spend top dollar for. Heaven and earth opening up to swallow me might be the only way to put a halt to that.
And like every family, we budget and pinch and conserve where we can, putting more cash towards the kids and their sports/schools/dramatic productions than to luxury villas by the sea.
So when the hub told me that the car would be going in to get a few things fixed, I thought OK, no biggee. It turns out that beyond an oil change and fan blower adjustment, he had the cruise control fixed. To the tune of $700.
I'm not saying I don't appreciate the presents my husband picks out for me, but let's just say that he's gift-impaired. There have been some winners (trip to Spain) but more often than not, I find myself suffering through a black and teal tiger print robe or a penguin shaped martini shaker. The worse one yet, a shower squeegee. But they're gifts, right? So you suck it up and smile and laugh. But what if you didn't have to? One of my friends, who has great style and taste, has volunteered to help steer my husband in the right direction for the next big anniversary gift. What do you think, is that too plotting of me? Too materialistic? Or do you think husbands really want to be guided and helped?
I spend the long, drawn-out Minnesota winter dreaming of those nights that you can hear the crickets and frogs outside your window. When I unpack the summer clothes, I get excited for tank tops and flip flops. And for the first month, I'm usually obliged. But if the temps crease 80, the windows get shut and the frog sounds disappear. My tank tops get covered and I curl up under the same blanket that I use in Janaury to watch tv. It pisses me off.
I've always hated the term Date Night, mainly because I've always hated dating. I got married chiefly so that I wouldn't have to date anymore. Instead, on the chance night that I get to get out with my husband, sans kids, for a night of adult debauchery, I prefer to call it a Self Esteem Workshop. After a night of eating out, when I don't have to cut up someone's chicken fingers, or seeing a movie that has no trace of cute singing animals, I feel refreshed. Even if I'm hungover in the morning, my self-esteem is high and I am a nicer, more centered Mommy. What do you do for your Self Esteem Workshop?
