What it must have been like for my Dad

I was reading a book recently, where the character reminded me of my dad.

After my parents got divorced my dad moved from a bad house to an even worse house. At one time he was even living in a barn. I saw his space. He slept on a cot, and had his clothes in milk crates. There was another place that he would never take me too. I never understood why. Now looking back I see it was his pride. In many ways I am glad he never showed me. I am a visual person and it would be imprinted in my thoughts. I still remember how strange it was to see my dad inside the barn stall. His friend let him stay there when he had no where else to go.

dad’s home away from home

At the time he lived in Indiana, and it was the early 90’s. I cannot imagine rent was that expensive, and yet he did not have the money. I remember one house he lived in, had mice. Yes, many homes have mice, but these you would hear crawling through the walls, and they loved the kitchen. You would find their droppings in cupboards, on the counter, and on the floor. I am sure my dad hated it, but many times he did not have a choice. I know what he would tell me today. He would say: “I have a roof over my head, and food on the table and that is all that matters.”

As I type this I am crying. I wish he had a better life. If he were still alive today, maybe he would have figured some things out and found that house that he could call a home, with no mice, windows that let in the light, a dresser for his clothes, and a place to park his beloved truck. I wish I had understood back then how hard it must have been for him. To have to leave the home you have, walk away from seeing your family each night, and start out new. I wish his life had been different. I will never know what his life might have turned out like, but I can keep living and working to make mine better.

Love you, Dad.

What is your earliest money memory?

Posted by random olio

I can remember when I was nine I had my own paper route. I delivered the evening paper, which meant that after school I would come home, roll and rubber band each newspaper, load them onto my bike and begin delivering them. Rain, shine, snow, and slush. There were gross snow days where my dad would come home early and we would load up my papers in the back of his truck with the tailgate down. I would sit on the tailgate with my legs dangling and he would take me on my route, stop at each house, and I would jump off and throw the newspaper to its spot on the subscriber’s porch.

coin changer like the one I had for my paper route

I sometimes loved those snowy days, as cold as they may have been, just for the chance to hang out on the tailgate, and know my dad was there with me driving along. My money memory is from my paper route. I cannot remember if I actually got paid for delivering papers, or if the only payment was through tips. Each month I would take my collection book to each subscriber’s house and collect the amount they owed for the newspaper. Often I would get a tip. Tips ranged widely in amounts and really depended on who answered the door that day. The generous wife, the miserly husband, the kid who would just pay me the exact amount. Usually the best tips were around Christmas time.

It was a tough time for my family, my mom often worked many jobs to help ensure there was food on the table. I would give my parents my tip money so they could put it in my savings account, and many years later I found out that my parents were not putting it in my savings account, but that my tips were being spent. Maybe it was for the electric or phone bills, or maybe for the food on the table. It does not matter now, I will always remember that as my first money memory. Not the best lesson to learn, but maybe that is what has made me so careful with my money now.

What is your earliest money memory?

My marriage secret: 51/49

Posted by random olio

If you are married, you will probably understand what I am about to tell you. You know that Sunday afternoon when it is slightly cold out, but it is past time to clear the leaves out of the gutters? When you ask your husband if maybe this is the day to clean them out, and they look at you with raised eyebrows because they know it is:

a) a good day for it

b) past time for it to be done

c) they do not want to get on the roof and clean the gutters

d) they know you are right

You say to your husband: “51/49” which equates to: time to clean the gutters.

You might ask: What is this 51/49? Chris and I have a little mantra for our marriage that we joke about together. “51/49” is what we call it. Basically the short and dirty of it is that I have 51% say and he has 49% say in decisions. I know what you are thinking. Either: “That is not fair” or “Wow, lucky woman.” Whatever you are thinking, save it. It works for us. Chris has always had the idea in his mind: “Happy wife; happy life.” You can guess correctly that I like it. I have the most wonderful husband (I already know I do so you do not have to tell me).

You may ask why I am telling you this – especially when I have also just told you that he only gets 49% say. Well, in the end 51/49 is our inside joke. It is our decision-making motto. Yes, there are many decisions that we make together. Definitely the big ones, buying a house, moving to a different city, making large purchases, you know the drill. Yet, on the day-to-day level, I often plot out the plan for our life. I carve out what is next, make a plan, and divvy up the details for us both to execute. Partly because I am on point for driving us forward with those plans, I often use 51/49 to make sure things happen. If we are torn about where to have dinner and I have a strong opinion, I might mention 51/49. With a grin on his face, and the knowledge that it is our little joke, Chris might lean my way. Or, he might decide to bring his own plan to the mix and test my 51/49. Yes, it is fun, and yes, it has proven very effective in our marriage.

51/49 is also a reminder to us to take good care of each other. I try just as hard to look out for and pamper Chris as he does for me. We do it in different ways, but we love to find ways to make sure we both share in living a happy life together.

I grew up in a family where my father made the decisions (whether right, smart, wrong, or not thought through), while my mom did almost everything in the house. It was always evident to me that my dad made the decisions. It was his way or the highway. I knew I never wanted to be in that kind of marriage. First, I am too strong-willed. Second, I wanted to be in a relationship where we shared and made decisions together. 51/49 works for us.

What do you think of our marriage secret?

Tell it like it is…

Posted by random olio

I often think I do not do the best job of telling people in my life how important they are to me. We just had probably one of the most normal holidays of all holidays, Thanksgiving. While you might have stuffed your face with cornbread stuffing and other Turkey Day favorites, what did you do to tell someone else how important they are to you?

I did to one person, but I can sometimes be shy to tell others. I am never hold back to tell Chris what I am thinking, and Thanksgiving Day is no different. I adore him, and am ever so grateful that he is in my life. Yet, why is it that sometimes I let time go by without telling other family members and certain friends how I feel?

I recently read a few posts from someone I used to work with and am connected to on Facebook who had a childhood friend pass on from cancer. She did not know her friend had cancer. She was shocked and upset. You could read the pain through her posts. It got me thinking. How often do we tell those in our life, no matter how close they are to us, how important they are to us? If you have not recently, what is holding you back?

I am going to try to reach out to friends and family in the coming weeks and tell them how I feel and that they are important to me. Holidays can be full of fun and happiness for some, and challenging and depressing for others. December is a great month to reach out and connect with others. You never know what another individual might need until you reach out and express your appreciation and love to them. Here I go, will you join me?!

I hope you had a wonderful holiday, enjoyed time with friends and family, and are ready to get back to work. A happy week to you!

A letter from a friend to her mom…

Posted by random olio

While some of you may be watching individuals get attacked at Best Buy, or waiting in long lines at your local mall, your patience might be wearing thin. I thought I would share a little humanity and love with you today. I have no interest to join in on any Black Friday sales, but I hope the story I share means you call your mother, or if you mom is no longer with you, whoever in your life you feel compelled to reach out to and tell them how much they mean to you.

When I read this I instantly had tears in my eyes. Actually they were running down my face. As someone who has lost my mom, I read the following letter and thought about my mom riding a bike again, and what it would be like to watch. But, I also had tears and a smile for Mindy and her mom. I’ve known Mindy for almost 20 years and I know many of the ups and downs she has had with her mom. Both with her own frustrations with her mom, and with her deep love for her. Mindy is not someone to ooze with bubbly ramblings about your place in her life. When she tells you what she thinks, you listen. This is her story to share:

“My Mom. A warrior. A breast cancer survivor. A woman who has been dealing with the debilitating disease MS (multiple sclerosis) for at least 15-20 years. She has been hospitalized 3x for an extended period of time within the last year. She walks with a walker, falls often, but always gets back up. She looks like a drunk person when she walks yet every step she takes is calculated and focused. A journey to get from one room to another. One foot in front of the other. Carefully. She repeats herself, forgets things often, or sometimes gets her facts mixed up. Maybe a result of the changing lesions on her brain and spine. I get frustrated with her. I am her primary care giver. Her only care giver. She has a string necklace she hangs on her neck with a plastic button that is her lifeline to 911 if she needs it.

But, with this frustration is a love I cannot verbalize. An admiration for an amazing women beyond words. She told me a few years ago it was her goal to be able to ride a bike again. I smiled. Normally, a very positive motivating person, but felt complete doubt and remorse for her. I didn’t believe her dream would ever come true. She worked with therapists. Tossing balls, balancing on her two feet, using elastic bands to build strength. But, I still never though the day would come. How in the world would she be able to balance on two wheels if she can’t even balance on two feet with a walker?

Mindy’s mom…

But, about 2 months ago mom made a purchase. She bought this bike. With three wheels. Ahhhh. Maybe her dream of riding a bike would come true. On occasion she would tell me she rode her bike that day. I secretly was worried, but would tell her how great that was. Yesterday. Yesterday she told me she rode 3 laps around her block. That is 1.5 miles! My mom. A warrior. A bike rider. I tried to capture in this photo the sense of shear freedom I see in her face when she rides her bike. I think my hand was shaking as I took the photo with complete awe. She has conquered the world. One pedal stroke at a time. Every second fighting for her life and freedom to be normal again. I never tell you this mom. But, I love you. Thank you for being my hero. Love, Mindy”