About FrugalJo.

FrugalJo lives with Husband, Twin A, Twin B, Fat Cat and Rude Cat near Nice Midsize City, USA. She wears Supergirl underwear every day, considers Coffee her best friend and spends many mornings dancing her financial troubles away with her other close friends -- Moby, Beck, Madonna and the UDO (Unidentified Disco Object) in their living room.

Despite reading a stack of financial books and listening every week to all those money-realted programs on public radio, she and Husband seem unable to apply knowledge to their own situation, think home equity lines of credit are Magic Money and feel honored when banks and credit card companys increase their spending limits.

FrugalJo is a full-time stay-at-home mom and also works from home as a freelance writer. Husband works in the world of architecture and much of their family debt can be attributed to the fact that "you can't put a price on good design." FrugalJo can be contacted at [email protected].*

* Emails from Amy Grant, Oprah, or other wealthy people with TV shows are especially welcome. Emails from those that don't have TV shows -- and those who don't allow TV in their house -- are also welcome. Those who want to tell me about all the bad financial moves we're making should instead contact the producers of those money shows on NPR -- they always seem to feature people who have it soooo together and just can't figure out where to best put their extra $4000 a month. Besides, I'd rather mock you under my jealous breath while listening to you on the radio while driving to the mall than have to craft a thoughtful reply.

Menu Planning and Mustard Greens

Through our many financially-frugal phases, we've learned a lot about reducing our grocery and food bill. We tried shopping loss leaders at all the big stores, using store coupons with manufacturer coupons on double coupon day, comparison shopping to make sure we were getting a deal, cross-referencing with our detailed price book, and menu planning based on these items. But we grew tired of living on tuna, cans of mystery food from the sale cart, pasta and one pound of free grapes per week.

And we saved some money, but WOW, did we become cranky despite our best efforts. Nope -- no microwave popcorn for us: we'll pop it on the stovetop and save big! After three months of our apartment smelling like burnt popcorn and tuna, we caved to this plan, knowing it just wasn't in us.

And then we met Susan. Susan is a syndicated columnist and creates the 7-Day Menu Planner.** Susan outlines what to eat everyday, has busy families in mind when creating the menus and provides a grocery list to boot.

Her menus are as varied as my family's eating habits: Twin A is allergic to eggs and peanuts, Twin B has some mysterious feeding problems, Husband is like a garbage disposal and will eat anything -- the meatier the better -- and I prefer no meat at all. So, we customize Susan's plans. A lot. But, aside from some of her super-weird-to-me-meaty-weeks-featuring-lamb, it seems to be working for us.

Susan's plans probably aren't always the most frugal -- we try to take out the expensive food days and replace with them tuna, pasta, a mystery can of food and free grapes, but for us, planning does help reduce impulse spending and eating on the fly. Generally, the plans are diverse, healthy, fairly simple, and realistic despite every Saturday for her being "entertaining Saturday" usually featuring some fish item that we've never heard of. It also begs the question: just WHO is entertaining EVERY Saturday. And why aren't we invited?

This past week the plan called for White Bean Winter Soup with the usual soup ingredients: broth, beans, carrots, onion, bay leaf and what's this? -- garlic and teriyaki marinade? Mustard greens or kale? In soup? What in the sam hell are mustard greens, anyway? And what are they doing in soup?

But ever since Susan told us to make Strawberries Supreme -- something we reluctantly prepared based on ingredient bias (balsamic vinegar, Splenda and strawberries over ice cream??) and it turned so heavenly that Husband and I flipped a coin to see who got to lick the pan, we both agree to just do whatever the woman says. Susan wants marinade and kale in a soup? Sign me up!

So I head off to Big Grocery Store and start poking around the produce section. What IS kale? Aren't vegetarians supposed to inherently know this stuff?

After doing a dozen laps around the produce isles, convinced anyone watching a store security camera has me marked as suspicious, I look at my cart. I already have the majority of the ingredients and I remember that Husband invited a co-worker and her baby over to go through some toys that were bound for the thrift store the night soup was on the menu. My understanding was that Husband had already told her she was welcome to join us for soup, so I should at least try... Besides, I had to give Husband credit for looking at -- and remembering -- the menu plan. But then again, isn't this why Campbell's is in business? Adding up the cost of the ingredients so far, I could have bought four cans of bean soup, throw in some lettuce stuck to the bottom of my produce drawer at home and called it fancy.

Remembering the Strawberries Supreme and that, more often than not, Susan's concoctions turn out pretty good, and with a stubborn determination that borders on unhealthy, I head off to the canned veggie section. Carrots, beans, spinach... getting warmer... something called Mixed Greens...

I call Husband, tell him I can't find Mustard Greens ask him to Google it. He reports to me that they are in stock at Whole Foods, to which I remind him, we don't have in Nice Midsize City. Next, he discovers an organization called the Leafy Greens Council** and said that they have mascots for different greens -- so for Kale they have Kal-O-Don, Cabbagesaurus, Lettuceratops etc. and even have trading cards for all the Green characters. We discuss the "who knew?" factor for Greens Council. What must their annual conference be like? Does the event coordinator need to work in as many leafy greens as possible into their menu? What happens if they serve a pesticide and herbicide enhanced iceberg lettuce salad? And just how many trading cards are really out there? Are the kids of the members of the Leafy Greens Council swapping with each other or is it just the kids at the Waldorf school**? Or are they the same kids?

Eventually, he suggests the food coop, which is 10 minutes away, and we determine that it would NOT be frugal to drive 20 miles round trip for greens. Still online, he tells me all about Sylvia's Southern Cooking and that she has canned mustard greens. I look for Sylvia's Greens and figure that while Sylvia might make them, she didn't bother to deliver any to this store. Frustrated yet grateful to know that, during a future Greens Crisis I can turn to the Leafy Greens Council for help, I return to the can of Mixed Greens and this time take a minute to read the ingredients: mustard greens, kale...! NO WAY! HOORAY!

The next day, making the soup, I re-read the recipe. "Discard stems and center ribs from 8 ounces of mustard greens, cut leaves into 2 inch pieces, stir in and cook 25 more minutes." CRAP. After all that, the can of greens isn't going to work after all and Twin A is napping leaving me housebound with company arriving shortly. I call Husband asking him if he can run to the Coop and get the greens AND come home early. He bursts out laughing and tells me I've become obsessed with soup. No, I tell him, I'm frustrated that the ONE thing in my day that, in theory, I thought I could control, just failed.

I pull it together, decide to forge ahead with the canned greens and ask Husband what time his coworker will be stopping by. He says he wasn't sure, but probably around 6. And by 6:30, with the soup simmering, slimy greens and all, no company in sight, and a very hungry family, we dish up the soup. And just as the spoons hit the bowls, the doorbell rings. It's Husband's coworker, with a pizza in one hand and a baby in the other, apologizing for being late.

Surprised, but delighted, I dumped the soup back in the pot, trying to shoot Husband a look that says "what the...??" Later, with company gone, Twin A and Twin B dreaming of Cabbageasaurus, and me content with a tummy full of cheese pizza, we're cleaning up and putting lukewarm soup in individual containers. I calmly ask Husband if he knew she was bringing pizza. "Well, she mentioned it but it wasn't for sure, so I didn't say anything to you." I casually tell Husband to be sure to check out the menu plan for next week when he gets a chance.

"It says I'm eating the Winter White Bean Soup everyday for lunch next week..." "Well," I tell him, "You know the rule -- whatever Susan says."

Recipe for STRAWBERRIES SUPREME
Melt 1 tablespoon butter in a large nonstick skillet on medium-high. Stir in 1 quart halved fresh strawberries, 1/4 cup granular no-calorie sweetener (such as Splenda) and 1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar. Cook one minute until mixture is thoroughly heated. Serve immediately over vanilla ice cream.

Link to Susan Nicholson's 7-Day Menu Planner
http://www.uexpress.com/7daymenuplanner/?uc_full_date=20060115
Hint: use the "next date/previous date" link to view all menus. Don't be turned off immediately if you're a veggie. On average, we can use 3-4 meals per week, which is better than pasta (again).

Link to the Leafy Greens Council Cruciferous Crusaders Trading Cards
http://www.leafy-greens.org/tradingcards.html


**Susan is not a relative of mine and I am not receiving a lifetime supply of strawberries supreme for mentioning her. MommySavers and FrugalJo cannot be responsible for helping find any odd ingredient at any time for any recipe and cannot be responsible for the outcome. Personally, I didn't care for the greens in the soup, but maybe had I driven 20 miles for the actual ingredient, it might have tasted better. MommySavers and FrugalJo have not fully evaluated the cost-effectiveness of her menu plans, but absolutely think that's a great idea. And, despite being a strong supporter of most things green, I am not a board member, a staff member, nor is anyone in my immediate or extended family connected to the Leafy Greens Council. Finally, I'm just bitter because we can't afford to send our kids to a Waldorf school.

Oops! We Did It Again: Refinancing with Dummies.

I wonder if there is a lifetime limit to the number of times you can refinance. I suppose not. The banks dig it. And they adore people like Husband and I. This week marked the third or fourth time we've refinanced, not including buying a different house -- in about eight years.

It's amazing, how, every time we have this great reason to do it. Only once, I think, it was done because interest rates were significantly lower. I've blocked out all the other reasons why we've done it because it's too painful.

And while the excuses may vary each time, one thing remains the same: every time it's the LAST time. But with the housing market the way it's been, it's surprisingly easy and oddly addicting for us. And when things get tough we actually consider refinancing as an option: "Well, we could borrow money from our parents, get out the frozen credit card or just refinance -- at least we'd get that one month where we don't have to make a payment, that would save us some money..."

This time, the goal was to roll in our home equity line of credit and Husband's student loan debt so we'd just have one tidy payment. And, without sharing all the gory details, this could seem perfectly reasonable, OR, if you knew all the details you might just want to smack us upside the head. Good, bad, or just plain ugly, we did it again.

But for sure, this is the LAST time we do any rolling, and from now on we are totally, for sure, not going to even touch the home equity line of credit again. The line of credit, that, Banker Chick somehow convinced us to leave open "for emergencies." I so wanted to say "Hey Banker Chick: Clinique Bonus Week is an emergency in my world, so no thanks," but held back.

Instead, we ARE keeping the line of credit open. It's a bad financial move, we know. But, we kept it open because we are Those People. We are those people, that:

If there is a 1.7% chance of having twins "spontaneously," that's us.

If there is a 1 in 5,000 chance that we'd not know we're having twins until we went into labor two and half months early, that's us. (Now, that's spontaneous!)

If there is a 1 in 50,000 chance that Husband would break his tooth on a Wint O' Green Lifesaver from a Val-U-Pak and need a non-covered crown, that's us.

If there is a 1 in 100,000 chance that I'd wake up thinking I had an ear infection, but it was really just an Asian Beetle that crawled IN my ear, died deep in the canal and had to be medically removed, that's us.

Swear to God, we are a Freak Show. And being a Freak Show ain't cheap.

So, we kept the line of credit open, knowing that lighting WILL strike us, we WILL spontaneously have triplets after a vasectomy, or, more realistically, we simply know that life truly is full of little emergencies. And sometimes Clinique's Three-Step Program is very Clarifying, does make me feel Dramatically Different, and little spending -- on an emergency basis, of course -- for some self-love now, just may save on therapy bills down the road.

Prison Food and Pasta Jars.

Near the top of the list for being more frugal is to reduce spending on groceries. Really, this is a perpetual goal and, as we all know, is always easier said than done.

I tried making us eat bulk-purchased oatmeal everyday, mixing up the routine with brown sugar, syrup, or -- and this was sure a treat -- almost expired jam, but Husband felt like he was in prison, asking if we could please just have cold cereal a few days a week.
Sure we can. So I bought mongo bags of generic cereal and made milk from powder and after a while, he confessed that, that's not exactly what he was thinking either...

And while I can tell you we saved an enormous amount on groceries during the Prison Food Phase and that we did manage to pay off a nagging credit card bill, I can also tell you that we'd never been so freakin' cranky in our entire life.

We learned a lot during the Prison Food Phase: that we really could save a lot of money by shopping and cooking in an orchestrated and organized manner and that having one specific financial goal -- not just "to save money" worked for us. Rather, eating bulk oatmeal while saying "Bite me, MBNA!!" was a much better motivator for us.

We also learned where to buy bread super cheap, mastered double bagging and reusing baggies, figured out a system that works for us for freezer cooking and learned how menu planning can keep the peace in our house. We learned that it did pay to shop at different stores, that sometimes coupons are a good deal and many times not. And most of all, we grew to simply appreciate what we did have and certainly to never, ever, waste food. Wasting food was practically crime-worthy -- worthy of more time in the slammer eating Prison Food.

And so the other day, fresh into our Latest Frugal (but not quite Prison) Food Phase, Husband was on duty while I was out and asked for suggestions as to what to make Twin A and Twin B for supper. I encouraged spaghetti -- again. It's cheap, they love it, and that way we'd use up the open jar of sauce in the fridge.

Or at least that's what I thoughtI said. Because, apparently, the jar of pasta sauce failed to sprout legs, move the cottage cheese to the side and do a little song and dance before leaping into the arms of Husband and shouting "TA-DA!!"

And so the next morning, grabbing milk for Twin A and Twin B, I notice a full jar of pasta sauce right in front. I study it. Hmmm, no crud forming under the lid -- that's odd. I look to the back of the refrigerator, behind the cottage cheese, and sure enough, an open jar of pasta sauce, the date marked in Sharpie when it was opened -- early January.

Something snaps in me. I remain calm on the outside for the benefit of Twin A and Twin B, who could care less, but for whatever reason I just FREAK about Husband opening a new jar.

Husband thinks I'm mad about the pasta sauce, but it's really not about the sauce at all. We have big financial goals and New Plan that we're trying to stick to, and in the meantime, we need to slash our spending to better live within our means, which means cutting costs and reducing spending on food. And to reduce spending on food means to use what we have. And to use what we have means actually LOOKING for might already exist!

Big sigh.

And really, it's not big deal -- but for me it was symbolic of how we differ. I would always look in the refrigerator -- and even move some things around -- before opening a new jar. And Husband just opens a new jar, without thinking too much about it. I tried to explain my view and he explained his: it was nutzo in the house, Twin A and Twin B were hungry, there was an emergency with a neighbor and he really, truly didn't see the open jar in the chaos of two kids hanging on his legs while he tried to make dinner.

Besides, Husband reminded me that starting and growing a garden this summer was part of The Plan. He successfully steered the conversation toward something far more positive than me reminding him of all the times he "truly didn't see" something practically staring him in the face. He agreed to start figuring out the best place for the garden, and I agreed to start planning what would be the easiest and most cost-effective for us to grow, items for pasta sauce a given.

We both acknowledge that this will be a great learning experience for us and agree that we want Twin A and Twin B to understand where food really comes from. We want them to appreciate the work that goes into the planning, the growing, the caring for and the canning of food. We want them to enjoy the simple pleasure and satisfaction of eating something they helped grow.

And we both agreed, that, if all goes according to plan, after all the work that will go into making and canning a gazillion containers of pasta sauce we'll both look twice before simply opening another jar.

A Planner A Day...

After getting Twin A and Twin B to bed, Husband announced he was heading to Land O' Office Supplies to buy a calendar, which was odd to me because I never see him use a calendar.

We have a family calendar, on the fridge, the same place it's been forever, but apparently the days on THAT calendar jump around because "it can't possibly be recycling again today because they were here JUST the other day..." Never mind the big green stickers, but whatever.

So, Husband was gearing up to go buy a calendar.

"Why are you buying a calendar?" I asked Husband.
"Seriously?" He shot back, wondering if I was joking or not.
"No, really. Why are you buying a calendar?"
"Well, NaziJo, I'm buying a calendar so I know where I need to be when. You might remember that it's 2006 now. Would you like to psychoanalyze this? Do you want me to reuse a calendar from 1986? What?"

My look must have spoke volumes. He sat down, sighed and knew that with the kids asleep he was trapped. We both calmed down -- I was annoyed that he wasn't going to think twice about buying something after we vowed to more thoughtfully consider all of our purchases, and Husband was annoyed, feeling like I had just accused him of wiping out the remainder of our home equity line of credit at a gambling casino.

We put our smart-ass selves on hold, and, without either of us flying off the handle, we discussed the calendar using the Cheese Puff Theory. Husband acknowledged that he may not need a calendar, since he does most of his scheduling through Outlook at work. I acknowledged that maybe, yes, he does need one. But without knowing, it seemed ridiculous to run out and buy a $15 planner that would likely be heavily used for about three weeks and then probably lost the remainder of the year. This we both agreed on.

Somewhere during our discussion, Husband grabbed a black, mini three-ring binder off the nearby shelf, and his wheels started turning. Knowing he could print a calendar from Outlook, he decided to see what the print options were for a calendar, punch it, and put it in the mini-binder.

At the very least, we thought, this would buy him a few weeks to see if he uses it, and if he did use it and didn't like it, then a new planner it was (hopefully further reduced further into the new year) and if worked, then great -- a free planner. So far, so good. Husband likes it, uses it and hasn't missed a recycling day since.

*****************************************

PRINTING OUT A PLANNER

SUPPLIES: Assuming you have access to Outlook and a printer.

• paper
• hole punch
• mini-binder (or binder of your choice)

TIPS FOR PRINTING LIKE EXAMPLE:

1. Open Outlook
2. Select Calendar
3. Choose your start and end dates
4. In Page Set Up, choose "Weekly Style"
5. From the "Paper" tab, choose "Letter Half" (this will allow you to double side the pages of your calendar)
6. Print.
7. Back to back the copies, punch and insert.
8. Customize as needed.

*****************************************

Dollar Store Delights: She's Got Breadhead.

I picked up a new magazine recently -- Budget Something Or Another -- and in there was an article all about dollar stores and how they shouldn't be underestimated.

Since our move last year from Big City, I haven't been to the apparently under-appreciated nearest dollar store, but thought this seemed like a reasonable time -- and a perfect excuse -- to check it out.

And so, justified by a magazine article to re-connect with dollar stores, I entered the store determined to stay on track. First goal: NOT getting a cart or a basket.

This was an exploratory trip. Just checking things out. I did have my purse with me, but a cart or basket makes it too easy to simply toss items in and then "think about it" as you shop and the next thing you know, you're lugging eight containers of almost-expired V-8 Splash home, with no place to store them, not sure if the family even likes V-8 Splash and not exactly how, even if the family does like it how it will all be consumed before, or even near, the expiration date in four days, but what the hell? It was A DOLLAR. This was the mentality I was determined to defeat. No basket. No cart. No large-scale juice purchases.

I wandered through and made mental notes of things that would be handy, were cheaper, would make great kid's gifts, smiled at some of the just plain goofy things, and wondered -- a lot -- "who in the sam hell buys some of this stuff?" I rationalized that if it was such a good deal, I'd remember what it was and would go back at the end and get it.

By isle 18, I totally caved to my plan and loaded up on glue sticks, some stationery, some kids books and three loaves of bread. The bread was near expiration, but was a kind that, at the grocery store, runs 2.99 a loaf, so this seemed like a rational purchase: it's edible, we'd buy it anyway, we all like it and it freezes well... After similar rationalization processes for the other items, I got in the checkout line.

The guy behind me was singing along with Mick Jagger and the Stones' I Can't Get No Satisfaction which was blaring over the intercom. Pretty sure he was drunk, I remembered that this is why I shy away from dollar stores on the fringe of town. I closed my eyes and repeated the line in the magazine article: "don't underestimate dollar stores, don't underestimate dollar stores" and reminded myself that drunk people probably shop at Target, too.

"Eleven dollars," said the cashier, as I handed her my debit card. "We don't accept cards," she said.
"Oh, ok... good to know," I said, relieved I had tossed my checkbook in my bag at the last minute.
"...And we don't accept checks unless your purchase is over 20 dollars, " she said. "There's a sign on the door as you come in."
"Oh," I said, "Um... well let me see how much cash I have."

By now the line is backing up, and Drunk Guy starts dinging the little bell on counter, implying he needs help, which he thought was hysterical. I rifled through the depths of my bag and pulled out all sorts of treasures -- broken candy canes, a fork that can extend to one and a half feet, a loose Milk Dud, a trial size Scope, napkins from some fast food place -- and in the end, managed to find six one dollar bills.

"I only have six dollars," I tell her, half hoping she'll announce that I'm the 100th customer and it's all FREE. Wooopee!! I weigh the pros and cons of just running out of there with nothing OR trying to pay for what I can. I push the glue sticks, kids books and super-cute stationery aside. It takes all my strength to not start telling the cashier about the article I read, and this really was just an exploratory trip and I hadn't really intended to purchase anything, anyway -- see I didn't even have a basket -- so this is all really not a big deal, and that I missed the sign because I focused on not getting a cart...

"Ok, I'll just take the three loaves of bread," I tell her.
"Restocking, to Lane 3," the cashier calls on the intercom, clearly annoyed with me. "Restocking to Lane 3."
"Bummer, dude," says Drunk Guy, pounding louder on the bell. "Oh, don't worry about the bell, he says to me. "It's an inside joke," he added, winking at the cashier, and singing aloud "hey, hey, hey, HEY... that's what I say... I can't GET NO.... sa-TIS-FAC-tion..."
"Three dollars," the cashier said to me while winking back at Drunk Guy.

As I was putting my stuff away, trying to shake the eebie-geebies I got by seeing the cashier and the Drunk Guy flirting, I asked the cashier for a receipt, thinking of my due diligence for the receipt basket. On the way out, I noticed the sign the cashier had mentioned, made note of where the carts were and, payment problems and drunk singing men aside, left fairly satisfied, wondering if humiliation was the reason to not underestimate dollar stores.

Dollars Saved: $6, minus cost of magazine, $4.95+tax
Humiliation Level: 7
Complete Lyrics to the Rolling Stones' I Can't Get No Satisfaction

I can’t get no satisfaction,
I can’t get no satisfaction.
’cause I try and I try and I try and I try.
I can’t get no, I can’t get no.

When I’m drivin’ in my car
And that man comes on the radio
And he’s tellin’ me more and more
About some useless information
Supposed to fire my imagination.
I can’t get no, oh no no no.
Hey hey hey, that’s what I say.

I can’t get no satisfaction,
I can’t get no satisfaction.
’cause I try and I try and I try and I try.
I can’t get no, I can’t get no.

When I’m watchin’ my tv
And that man comes on to tell me
How white my shirts can be.
Well he can’t be a man ’cause he doesn’t smoke
The same cigarrettes as me.
I can’t get no, oh no no no.
Hey hey hey, that’s what I say.

I can’t get no satisfaction,
I can’t get no girl with action.
’cause I try and I try and I try and I try.
I can’t get no, I can’t get no.

When I’m ridin’ round the world
And I’m doin’ this and I’m signing that
And I’m tryin’ to make some girl
Who tells me baby better come back later next week
’cause you see I’m on losing streak.
I can’t get no, oh no no no.
Hey hey hey, that’s what I say.

I can’t get no, I can’t get no,
I can’t get no satisfaction,
No satisfaction, no satisfaction, no satisfaction

Big City Free Weekend: I'll Huff and I'll Puff...

A new year and a clean slate.

After realizing that we're basically clueless as to where our money goes but very aware that we didn't have any, we implemented another common idea for those re-connecting with their frugal side: saving receipts. The plan is to save receipts for one or two months and evaluate our spending. We're not sure what to do after that, but this plan buys us two more months AND we feel like we're doing something frugal, to boot.

Five days into saving every single receipt and writing down everything we purchased, we were doing great. So great, that we decided we needed a reward for being so good at spending money and placing receipts in a basket.

Motivated by confidence in our plan, a new sense of frugalness and plain ol' post-holiday boredom, we decided to head to Big City for free-city theme weekend. An art center was having a free family day, we had coupons for three free loaves of bread at a favorite bakery, we had gift certificates to use at an art-house movie theater and, Husband's parents live there, so that would equal free childcare.

We packed our lunches, grabbed our coupons and gift certificates, and stragetically left at naptime, praying to the Nap Gods that Twin A and Twin B would sack out for most of the drive to Big City. After a quick stop for gas we'd be off. Husband went in to pay for the gas, and came out with not only a receipt for the gas, but for a bag of caramel corn, a bag of cheese puffs and a bottle of juice.

"Um, what's all that?" I asked.
"Oh, just some snacks for the road," Husband replied, closing the van door.
"But we packed lunches."
"I know, but what's a road trip without snacks?"
"Did you really just buy cheese puffs? We have a gigantic bag of them at home -- two blocks away."
"Oh, we do?"
"Seriously? You were eating them last night."
"Oh."

At this point, furious about the frivolous and very unfrugal cheese puffs, I started driving toward Big City. I found myself in my first frugal new year's dilemma. What in the world was he thinking? How do I refrain from making him go right back in and return the puffs? Was I going to let salty snacks ruin our trip? Can you even return cheese puffs at a gas station? What would we say the reason was? My wife is psycho? We have cheese puffs at home and we forgot we're trying to be frugal? Would they ask if there was anything wrong with the puffs? Then what would we say? Would they credit our Visa $2.39 or just give us cash?

I remained calm, trying to remember if I'd ever seen a return policy posted at a gas station. I didn't think so, and started thinking about what it would say. Would they also have to start printing receipts with the policy posted too? Have customer service counters? I'm not sure I've ever returned anything to a gas station before and wondered why not. We bought some almost-expired graham crackers there last summer that were terrible, and had they been from Grocery Store, we might have returned them, or been from the dollar store, we might have eaten them in the name of frugality, but we just gave them to the kids instead.

While thinking about what the time limit would be on returns at a gas station, I did something unusual for me: I kept thinking, calmed down and didn't start running my mouth. I took this as an opportunity to make our talking about money not a battle, not something that Husband did right or wrong or something that I did right or wrong, but as an invitation to discuss problematic purchases like puffs.

So, the puffs became symbolic of our spending as a whole. Even though Husband and I had both committed to being more aware of our spending, for some reason, awareness didn't translate into action -- it never even occurred to him to question this purchase at all. Why? Because every time we left for Big City we got snacks. Snacks that usually ended up under a car seat, stepped on, accidentally dumped in the bottom of a diaper bag or worse -- about one third eaten, left in the van until the next trip, and then promptly thrown in the garbage.

We discussed the Cheese Puff Theory all the way to Big City -- the Cheese Puff Theory being one that asks: is this a necessary puchase or just a Puff Purchase? Can we live without this Puffy item? Is there an alternative to the Puff? Why are we considering buying the Puff? Could we wait awhile and if we still "need'" the Puff later, re-consider it again?

We're not sure if the Nap Gods were present or if the Cheese Puff Theory was simply boring to small children, but Twin A and Twin B slept the entire way while their parents ate cheese puffs and caramel corn, licked their fingers, and discussed how this was absolutely, for positively sure a Puff Purchase and the LAST time that we get to have gas-station snacks on the way to Big City. Or, maybe we'll just return the bag, half eaten with the remaining kernels picked up off the van floor and tell them they didn't taste very good. One thing's for sure: we'll have our receipt.

Welcome to the Financial Follies of FrugalJo.

I heard about this idea that involved sitting down with your family at the beginning of each year, making goals, framing the list and then hanging the frame in a prominent place in your home. I suppose, in theory, the idea is to be super-inspired to achieve these well-planned, thoughtful and profound goals.

Although it sounded like a great idea and some people might be motivated by creating the list, the framing, the posting and having Goals As Art, I am personally motivated by being able to cross things off the list. And if they were framed, I would be the person that would have to take the frame down and remove the glass just to cross something off the list.

I realize, of course, the goals don't have to be framed, but the person who spoke about this idea was so persuasive in this framing technique that I felt like the whole thing would be for nothing and the Magic Goals wouldn't come true if they were just stuck on the fridge with a magnet.

But over the Christmas break, when there was no shortage of relatives around to watch Twin A and Twin B, Husband and I spent some much-needed time together and decided to give this concept a try.

We didn't plan to plan, and please don't mistake us for That Organized Couple that you hate, because it was truly uninspired the way it happened. Our spin on the idea came from a need to simply discuss our schedules -- we both tend to find ourselves a wee-bit overcommitted at times and wanted to figure out who got what night out of the house. It was either that, or go to a movie that started at 9:45, which is normally our bedtime, so pizza and planning it was. Besides, we were getting older. Getting wiser. It seemed like a responsible thing to do. We had kids for crying out loud.

We ordered adult beverages, found two pens and some paper, all coated in Goldfish cracker crumbs in the bottom of my bag and went to work. Personal goals. Professional goals. House goals. Vacation goals. Things-that-just-had-to-get-done goals. Goals for our kids. We stopped short of a family vision statement, but did develop action plans, to-do lists and a timeline.

Husband, who practices architecture, set out to start the grueling licensing process and even noted that he had to complete the first exam before our vacation to Colorado to attend a scooter rally. No test, no rally. He also had some hobbies he wanted to pursue and his goal for the spring was to finally part with the dozens of banker's boxes full of cassette tapes and empty CD jewel cases that haven't seen the light of day since grunge.

Pretty happy with where I was and finally feeling like I was hitting my stride as a stay-at-home mom, I set the usual goals: not lose my stride, exercise more, eat healthier, watch less Barney, read more books to the kids, read more grown-up books that had nothing to do with parenting, write more, throw out the Supergirl underwear that was getting a bit thin and get my bone spur on my toe surgically removed.

As for Twin A and Twin B, we talked about how we wanted to explore preschool options for next fall, get them signed up for a few activities to get us through the long winter, and discussed getting them bikes this spring. We also decided that a garden would be great and some type of deck-patio thingy was a priority too.

Making a realistic plan rather than our normal living in LaLa Land, for us, was a huge step. Anyone who casually asked "how were the holidays??", hoping for a generic response like "Great! How was yours?" instead got an earful. I took their question as an open invitation to tell them all about our plans and gushed about every detail, including the part about framing them and then revisiting them at the end of each year.

And then on New Year's Eve day, giddy with excitement about our goals and on a high that only a borderline compulsive list maker can understand, our little bubble burst. Our entire family got the stomach flu at the exact same time -- the achy-breaky, pukey-poopy flu. And it was during time spent in bed, watching a bad-we-don't-have-cable-tv-wait-I'm-gonna-puke-infomercial about how to get rich quick that it hit me. It was what we DIDN'T talk during our goal conversation that made another wave of vomit hit me: MONEY. Not once during our three-hour plan fest, did we ever consider the financial implications of our fabulously frameable goals.

Just how, exactly, were we going to pay for Husband's expensive exams? And where was the money coming from to pay for all these kids activities, bikes and possibly preschool for the boys? And a garden? We don't even know where a garden would GO, let alone have supplies to just "start a garden". And vacation? HI. Apparently, our van was like the Magic School Bus and it was going to sprout wings and transport us to our destination. And aside from spending, what about saving? How much would we be bringing in this year? What were our anticipated medical expenses? And how much does removing a claw from a middle left toe cost, anyway?

Realizing this spoke volumes about the way we live our life. And many might say rock on -- why talk about it if you don't have to? But we are the people that need to. We don't have a trust fund or an imminent inheritance. We live paycheck to paycheck -- or rather we should. Living paycheck to paycheck would be an improvement for us instead of accumulating more debt. We should not be trusted with home equity lines of credit. We are honestly surprised every six months when the auto insurance bill needs to be paid. Shocked when the car registration tabs are due and think it's downright rude to get a phone disconnection notice when it was really the fault of The Bank's automatic bill pay process.

It's not that we never talk about money, but I think, rather, it's that we ALWAYS talk about money. It lingers. It's ever-present and is easier not to talk about because why? Every conversation is painfully the same: how to reduce our spending, save more, afford a car repair bill, pay for birthday presents, provide for a few of life's little luxuries, etc. There is never resolution and it's exhausting. Husband and I both simply ignore the topic, assume that we're both doing something about it and hope that Amy Grant will have received our Three Wishes telepathically and do a tear-jerking concert in our cul-de-sac as I cry accepting full-ride college scholarships for Twin A and Twin B.

And with the sad reality of our bank account, our commitment to remaining home with our kids, and the renewed energy that comes with a new year, I re-committed myself to discovering and delving deeper into a world of frugality. First up: post our goals on the fridge and let them serve as a constant reminder of what we didn't talk about, but need to.