In which I vehemently hate money

We just returned home from the library's science and storytime programs. Monet and Sweetheart have been enjoying the "wacky science" class put on by M. for about a year now. I was so encouraged to find that this winter they have had so much of a response from homeschoolers that they created a new class just for us. I, of course, missed out on signing my darlings up for the class, so we participate in the regular class instead. I hope to get signed up for the homeschool class next session.

I still don't know why today is such a fog of a day. Honestly, I just feel like I work and work and work and work and I can't get ahead.

And a very big part of it has to do with money.

There are so many things I want to provide for my family, and I feel like most of it takes money. Joining the local gym. Taking field trips. Going on vacation (which we haven't done in about a gazillion years). Making nice meals. Taking fiddle/banjo/dulcimer lessons. It all costs so doggone much money, and right now, I'm piece-mealing my dinners together because money's so tight from week to week that I can't make a full-blown shopping trip.

I think the thing that really set me off today was step dancing.

I'd just come home from driving an Amish neighbor. It's not really something I enjoy doing, but I feel right now that it's the only way I can justify piano lessons, algebra classes and extra-curriculars. I had driven one woman at oh-too-early in the morning and then had another woman to pick up from the birthing center--she had a baby girl yesterday. When I arrived, she asked me if I could take her to the neighboring town for a "quick" doctor visit because the baby had a rash. I really didn't want to do it because I was due home to make cookies and soup for a homeschooling family who had a very serious car accident two weeks ago, but because I felt like I could use the few (and they were very few) extra dollars, I said yes. "Quick" turned into a half-hour, and I began to feel taken advantage of, yet when the new mama came out of the office and told me that the doc had looked at her newborn baby girl for about three minutes of that half-hour, announced there was nothing wrong with her and the rash would go away on its own, charged her $75.00 and told her she'd see her in two weeks, my heart went out to her.

When I arrived back home, the house was well on its way to shambles. I knew that Bo was expecting a guitar student, so I encouraged everyone to clean as much as they could for about a half-hour to prepare while I made the soup (the cookies, miraculously, were provided by the family of the new baby. I decided to give them to the car-accident family instead of keeping them myself. We certainly don't need them). As always, Bard was the productive one, even though she had several Algebra lessons to do in preparation for her class later in the day. She cleaned while I cooked. By the time I was done, I felt that things were shaping up fairly well.

And then a good friend called and asked a favor. They had misprinted some fliers for their business and needed them all unfolded and stacked so they could be sent through the printer again. "There are about ten boxes," she said, "and we'll pay you $XXX to do the job." Of course I'd help, I said, but the amount she was offering seemed too much, and I told her so. "It's a mundane job," she said, "and that's what we can afford to pay. R. will bring the boxes over shortly."

As I was cooking, Bo came into the room and I told him about the little venture. "They don't need to pay us to do that," he said. R and P have done some wonderful things for us, and were very instrumental in our moving to this neighborhood.

"That's what I told her," I said, "but she insisted." Bo went back into his office and I continued to cook.

As I was stirring the lentil soup, I came up with an idea. I'd recently signed myself and four of the children up for Irish step dancing classes in our community and had been ferreting away money to try to pay for them. Since Bo had been willing to do the task for free, or at least volunteer the kids and I to do it for free, he certainly shouldn't mind if I allocate the funds for the class. I knew the budget was very tight, especially with the output for Bard's birthday dance, but this was windfall money! Unexpected blessing! Surely this is what the money was *meant* for.

So I announced my plan to Bo assertively, because I've been trying hard to work on stating my needs outright instead of beating around the bush or begrudgingly doing things myself.

"Well, let's pay off debts first," was his response.

Now, I know that his intentions were to use the money for immediate financial need and to give me the money for the step-dancing classes before it was due, but I just didn't know how to handle his response, so I didn't handle it well at all. I shut down. I blew up.

I did go to him and apologize, but I still feel frustrated and out of control of my life. I want to beautify my home, educate my children, improve our quality of life, *live* a little, and I feel like I have no way of doing these things because of this cursed thing called MONEY! And because I'm supposed to be a stay-at-home mom, I have no real way of contributing, other than cutting back. But I have. I've cut back about as much as I can on household expenses, short of using the Sears and Roebucks Catalog for T.P. Because things were so tight, we were forced to increase the rent for our friends who are living in our cabin, even though I know they're trying to make a financial peace plan, too. But their rent doesn't even cover the yearly taxes on our property, not to mention maintenance of the road (we have to pay the township to resurface the road) or our personal lane (which turns as muddy as can be in the Spring). Dreaded, dastardly MONEY!

Even after I apologized to Bo, tension remained. "why are you so angry with me?" he implored. I don't know. I really don't. But something deep within me is very angry with him, with my dad, and with myself.

I left to deliver Bard to her algebra class and the soup to our friends and my dad to the library. when I returned, the house had basically erupted. There were dirty dishes all over the counter, in the sink and on the stove. There was half-eaten bowls of soup--three of them--dotting the countertop. And what's worse, the huge pot of soup that I'd made which was intended not only for lunch today but for tomorrow as well, when a young lady from a local newspaper will be coming to--get this--photograph me in my kitchen and print it along with two of my favorite recipes. The lentil soup was to be one of them. And since I'm flat broke, I can't afford more ingredients.

And the kids hadn't practiced piano, even though I'm busting my butt to pay for their weekly lessons.

And the house had been a disaster area when the guitar student had been there.

And Houdin announced that one of his turtles is missing.

So, yeah. There you have it. That's why I couldn't single one thing out. It's just snowballing.

And that's my pukefest for the day.