It’s been awhile. You’ll forgive me, of course.

When I first moved out on my own, my mom cleaned out her cupboards: the odd mismatched bowl set, couple coffee mugs, placemats that didn’t go with her kitchen anymore, and a few cookbooks. One caught my eye: “How to Feed a Family of 4 on Less Than $5 a Day.”

She was glad to be rid of it, and I was glad to just have “stuff.” I used that cookbook. Flipped through it a few times. I recognized some of the recipes and realized how often that book had fed me. We often had canned corn, Kraft Dinner, and weiners (cut diagonally, no idea why) with barbeque sauce. It felt like three days a week, every week. But maybe my mother was on to something…

Lately I’ve been watching smut flipping through channels, and notice so many of the talk shows lately are discussing the recession and how it’s affecting so many middle-class people. Last week, for example, Oprah and her designer, Nate something-or-other talked about affordable, easy solutions for redecorating a livingroom. Couple pillows, couple pictures, some furniture throws, a new rug, etc. I heard Oprah exclaim, “Wow.. you can redecorate your whole room for the price of a new pair of shoes!”

How much do you pay for your shoes, Oprah?

Today’s Dr. Phil just.. well, floored me. Another show on the recession featuring an “average” family “struggling” to make ends meet. They complained about how they used to drive a Mercedes and take vacations in Hawaii and Costa Rica and Venus and.. (I may have missed some of the destinations. Was searching for my violin.)

Eventually, I will get to my point. This “poor” mother had 2 children to feed, no income, and couldn’t quite grasp that she didn’t need 40 pairs of shoes. And didn’t need to keep buying toys. And didn’t need the handbags and closets of clothes while still shopping for more.

What blew me away, was when their “expert” took the mother grocery shopping, and explained to her that she needs to purchase things when they are on sale. (This was a brand new concept.) And that $1.50/lb was a really good deal for asparagas. And how she should stock up on avacados since they were only 33 cents each.

May I interject?

You’re idiots.

Really? Thirty three cents is a good price for an avocado? Umm.. I’m thinking if you’re poor and your children are starving and you can’t afford the gas to get to the store to buy your groceries, asparagus and avocados are the VERY LAST things you should be reaching for. Dr. Phil kept stressing that “it’s math — not magic,” and I agree. He also stressed that this family needs to go into “survival mode,” and I agree. But I also firmly believe that avocados are one of those mythical beasts that are only purchased by people who live in penthouses and can afford drycleaning and cocktail parties with those tiny swords.

AVOCADOS. Gah! No! No! No! I say again, No! What does that fruit do? For thirty three cents, it has a big pit in the middle and you have to add it to something. For thirty three cents, it will not fill you up.

I’ve never been so insulted by thirty three cents.

So… here is my challenge. We’re in survival mode. Let’s pretend we have two kids to feed. Let’s pretend our grocery budget is $1000 / year. Let’s pretend we don’t want to die of scurvy, and we never, ever want to go to bed hungry. Let’s pretend it’s math, not magic.

My friends have asked me how I prepare meals for under a dollar. Here are some tips, because many people just don’t get it:

Survival Mode (no particular order):

1. Pick a few things — no more than 5 — that would lead you to a new level of insane if they weren’t in the house. For example, I pick milk, margarine, coffee, and one other condiment (ketchup or mayo or soy sauce.. something like that). If you run out of one of these, you are in trouble. Ask for help.

2. Perishables get you in nothing but trouble. This is a big one. I do a “big” grocery-shop three times a year. Not so coincidentally, this is how often I have cash .. When you have the money, stock up. Cans, cans, cans. And as exciting as canned peas are.. well, we’re surviving, right? Canned and frozen fruits and vegetables are actually better for you than the fresh stuff you find in the supermarket, anyway. (They get frozen or canned within 48 hours of picking.. and there’s some chemical.. half-life thing going on here. It’s not a chemistry blog.) We do almost always have bananas and one other fresh fruit on hand.

3. Buy in bulk. Get cases of vegetables. Pick 2 or 3 you really think you can get comfortable with. Maybe peas. Maybe corn. Maybe frozen carrots. Canned peaches — whatever. Pick a few. You usually get a deal and can pick up most things for 50 cents per can if you buy say.. a dozen cans. Store them somewhere.

4. Consider alternates. This ties in nicely with “perishables are evil” or whatever I called it above. For example, we cover pasta with tomato or mushroom soup. It’s bland.. but again.. Oh! And instead of sour cream — $1 for 250g if you’re lucky — try Ranch dressing… which, if you’re lucky, is $1.50 for 750ml, lasts much, much longer in the fridge, and tastes kinda the same. Ish. You’ll find you’ll use less.

5. No eating out ever, at any time. No junk food. Nuff said.

6. Buy food as close to its natural form as possible. Potatoes are a great example. Buy a 20lb bag (let’s say there’s 40 potatoes / bag) for $5 (kinda perishable, but kinda not really). Or, buy a box of dehydrated “mashed” potatoes.. should last 4 meals for $3.  Or swing by Mcdonalds, buy their fries.. the equivalent of one potato… you see where I”m going. It’s a little more work, but it’s math, not magic.

7. Pasta. Rice. Get used to them. Pasta is cheap. Cheap. And filling. You can get a kilogram of spaghetti for about a buck most days. Are you going to eat a dry kilogram in a sitting? No. And it lasts forever. (Til it starts to smell like paint. Notice?)

8. Get a deep freeze and a crock pot. Fill the deep freeze when you have the money. Buy bread. Lots of it. Seriously, Atkins be damned. A regular loaf of bread has 24 slices in it. Ugh. Let me get my calculator. At a respectable $1.50 / loaf, that’s about 6 cents a slice. And you can do what you want with the end pieces.

9. When you start to panic… make soup. Use that crock pot. Throw in some broth, diced tomatoes.. and then whatever you have left in the freezer. Rice, pasta, the lasts of the bags of frozen carrots, peas, potatoes, whatever. It should last you 4 days.

10. If you have to — HAVE TO — have that avocado.. buy it in season. And on sale. Maybe it’s on your list from 1.) *shudder*

11. (I didn’t want to have an 11. Ten was so nice.. like I had planned it or something) Two-ply is two-ply is two-ply. Go generic. Whenever you can. I do not recommend generic Cheerios.

12. (Ok, ok. Even dozen then.) This will be easier if you don’t eat meat, don’t eat a lot of meat, or can skip it for a little bit. Just while we’re surviving.

One more thing. I don’t buy expired — or nearly expired — stuff. And I never count milk in the cost. Milk is milk is milk. Kids need milk.. whatever the cost, and shouldn’t go without. Also, it’s first on my list in 1)… so nyah nyah

So, some examples? We should finish the chapter with examples, before I send you on your way. All we do is a bit of division. (Oh, we can do this, Grasshopper. We can do this well.)

Breakfast –> Buy 12 eggs at $2. Eat two = 33cents. 2 toasts = 12 cents (as above). Sausages.. $5.75 for 48 (Freeze them!) Eat 2 = 24 cents. Make your own coffee (Ugh. What.. 6 bucks for.. *running upstairs to check.. damn you!*…. ) 6 bucks for about a kilogram.. each cup needs about a scoop.. so what are we saying here? Coffee is free if you make it at home? Let’s say it’s 10 cents / cup.

Breakfast = 69 cents. Shall we do lunch?

Lunch –> 1kg spaghetti for $1. Eat 1/5 of the bag (I’m not good at fractions. Let’s just roll with it) = 20 cents. Cream of mushroom soup (we can skip rule 11 here and actually get the good stuff if we buy in bulk… 12 cans for $6) = 50 cents. Canned fruit (to stave off scurvy) for 50 cents / can. Eat 1/2 can = 25 cents. Milk.

Lunch = 95 cents. I hope we’re getting the hang of this. Let’s go all out on supper, just in case.

Supper –> Pierogies. (Don’t know what those are? You haven’t lived.) We can buy a frozen bag (because we’re lazy.. just don’t tell my mom) of 2kg — roughly 24 for $2. Let’s eat 3 = 25 cents. (Also, I wish there were better formatting options here. This is getting messy.) Grab your favourite bag of frozen vegetables. Carrots? Peas? Peas and carrots? It gets bland. You’ll get used to it. Ok. We have our $2 bag of peas. Let’s eat ohh.. 1/8 of the bag = 25 cents. Grab a can of brown beans for 50 cents  (good meat substitute) and eat 1/3 of it = 17 cents. Lastly, some Ranch (or whatever) dressing for the pierogies. Milk.

Supper = 67 cents.

There. We ate. We saw food groups. No one died.

Try it! Start with 10 dollars and see how long you can last. Let me know how you do. You’ll find the more people you feed (ohh.. that bulk thing again), the cheaper the meals get. I’ve been doing this 12 years, so I want to say I’m pretty good at it. But don’t mind me. It’s just.. survival

I’ve been following this story about a 23-week baby who survived her own abortion in Florida and was thrown in a bag by a staff member and left to die in a closet of the “medical” clinic.

First, do no harm.

I’m shocked. Not that this happened. But because the world is reeling. What did you think was going to come out of the 18-year-old mother? Were you expecting a lump of cells? Tissue? For the millionth time.. it’s really, truly, an honest-to-goodness baby. Just because you can’t hear her screaming, doesn’t mean she’s not dying. It doesn’t mean she’s not hurting. It doesn’t mean she’s not full of love, and it doesn’t mean she deserves to die in a bag in a closet.

First, do no harm.

Ok, I’ve had enough. I want you to think about the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. Now imagine the whole world knows about it. Seriously.

I’m not saying that Nadya Suleman did the dumbest thing imaginable. But for argument’s sake.. let’s say she did. Let’s say that having octuplets was the dumbest thing a person could do. Let’s say it was an insane, selfish, and irresponsible act.. mostly because I can’t find anyone to disagree.

So… now what? This poor woman is being publicly stoned for her choices. For going in for a seventh IVF treatment (good for her!) while being an unemployed, single parent who relies on student loans and government help to feed her children (ohhh.. this is starting to sound familiar).

Everyone is acting as though these children are the first 14 kids in North America to be raised on government dollars. Hey, it happens. If she lived in Canada, the money would be flowing. That’s just the way it goes. We pay taxes for salaries, school systems, roads, buildings.. and yeah.. we pay for other people’s kids. This is North America. We do not throw the poor children to the wolves. And we don’t publicly stone their parents for their choices.

Single or not, student or not, too many kids.. or not. She’s a human being.. and does not deserve the treatment she has been given. She takes care of her children. She feeds and bathes and plays with them. By all accounts, they seem healthy and well-adjusted. No one is accusing her of beating or murdering or neglecting her children. And because she chose not to selectively reduce / abort / murder any of her octuplets, she’s a monster?

On Judgement Day, when you are asked what you did to better the world, do you really think “well.. I wasn’t the one who had the octuplets” is going to cut it? Do you really think your soapbox is contributing?

If you can’t help, for heaven’s sake.. don’t make it worse. Pitch in, or shut up.  And be thankful you’re not the one needing the assistance.

When I had The Boy, I spent three days in the hospital. I was in a room with five other new moms, separated by orange curtains on two sides, and walls on the other two. I didn’t have many visitors, and spent most of the day sleeping, feeding the baby, and staring at my thumbs until a nurse came to check on us or mealtime rolled around.

I thought I’d go nuts.

On the second day, I took The Boy to the nursery down the hall so I could grab a much-needed shower. Something was different. The air was still stale. The lighting was still fluorescent. Even the windows were a decent walk away (well, when we consider I had just had a 10lb baby.. anywhere is a decent walk away ).

And then.. I realized what was different. The radio was on.

I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it. Sure, staying in the hospital for a couple days can be a chore. It’s boring. It smells funny. I’m pretty sure my cell roommates were insane. But.. hearing that music.. made me realize that I’d somehow lost touch with the outside world… if only for a day or two.

And here I am again. After a horrendous fall.. I’m back in synch with the outside world. I’m happy. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it a few months ago, but in some cheesy Sound-Of-Music way, I’m happy.. and all the little things I missed are back.

We’re already halfway through the semester. My schedule isn’t so rough. I have time to piss away an entire afternoon watching movies.  I’ve had time to take The Girl sledding and spend time with friends. The house is cleaner (sorta). The car hasn’t broken down in at least a month. I have time. Time to sleep and play and strum my guitar and get my homework done and read to the kids and spend an afternoon in the park. I feel like me again.

It’s remarkable how silly, cheesy little pleasures in life are taken for granted so easily. Stop and smell the flowers, I suppose.

Stop and play the radio.

In the last 100 days, I have slept less than 500 hours. I have pulled 7 all-nighters.

I have submitted 29 homework assignments and 39 lab reports. I have written 9 midterms in the last 100 days.

In the last 100 days I have been to the doctor’s 13 times and filled 12 prescriptions. I have packed 63 snacks for kindergarten and scrounged enough for 3 show-and-tells. I have given 5 lice treatments in the last 100 days.

In the last 100 days, I have made 300 bottles. I have changed 300 diapers. I have built 26 circuits and written 28 programs. I spent 6 weekends at school, and have done over 200 loads of laundry in the last 100 days.

In the last 100 days, I drank 300 cups of coffee. I was out with friends 3 times, and have watched 4 movies in the last 100 days.

I have had 2 complete meltdowns.

I want to say I survived. I want to say “it was tough, but I’m tougher.” And yet..

I don’t know how I did it. I don’t know how I look at the calendar now. And see all that’s left is 4 final exams in the next 10 days. Twelve hours of exams to determine how much I did or did not learn in the last 100 days. Do or die, I suppose. Next semester won’t be as bad. I look forward to the next 100 days.

I went to my second (never know when these things are happening) Life Chain, or Pro-Life demonstration.

Just as a reminder,

This is not ok. It’s not your “Choice.” And it’s not ok.

Last week, I left the house to take the garbage out back. I heard terrible cat sounds. Terrible. Now, remember.. this is the ‘hood, so there are cats everywhere. In any one day, there may be 4 – 5 loose in my backyard, and another taking a nap on my front steps. There are scraps and well, new litters being… created… and all kinds of feline sounds. I just tune them out.

But this one was different. It was urgent, not fading (that wacky Doppler effect!), and I decided to poke around my yard to investigate. I eventually realized the meowing was coming from the neighbour’s back shed. The house is vacant (the ‘hood again!) so I walked around the property to look for an easy in. I hopped the fence. Approached the shed, which I noted had a shiny new padlock and a tiny crack under the door. I made that hissy-kissy cat call. And out he came. Shaking and scared and alone.

I scooped him up. And brought him in.

So now we have a cat. As far as cats go, he’s alright. But I hate cats. I’m allergic, and I hate them. For some reason.. at that moment.. I didn’t hate him enough to call the shelter. They’re overloaded with cats right now, and would have put him down. I didn’t hate him enough to turn him back to the shed, where he certainly would have frozen to death. I didn’t h– Oh, hell. I think he’s growing on me

Dear Blog,

I don’t have time for you! We had such great expectations for each other, and now I sadly must promise nothing. If you get attention from me every 6 weeks, you’re doing well.

All the best,

Sigh. We’re mid-semester. Four classes, four labs, no time to do anything. I sleep little nowadays. I drink coffee in the shower and clip my nails in the car. Somehow, things are getting done. Somehow.

The Boy spent three days in the hospital a few weeks ago. He’d had an ear infection. We went to the pediatrician on a Tuesday and got antibiotics. Although his doctor recommended a two-week follow-up, we went back nine days later, as The Boy was still rubbing his ears. “He’s fine,” I was assured.

Saturday, the fever was back. Sunday, we headed to the emergency room.

Now, Canada has socialized medicine, and I don’t know it any other way. I know the emergency room is ideally for emergencies only (say, a sucking chest wound). I know walk-ins are for things that are pressing (a sinus infection, a flu, a rash), and family doctors are for everything else. But.. my baby was sick. His fever wasn’t going down, and I’ve heard that if you’re under a year old, it’s worth a trip to the emergency room.

I packed a bag. We bustled in, and I explained to the triage nurses how his fever wasn’t breaking. The took his temperature immediately: 98.6. On we went to the waiting room for who-knew-how-long. There were eight others there with similar life-threatening emergencies. They laughed and joked and did crosswords while waiting to see a doctor. While I wondered how sick they could possibly be, I bounced a healthy, 98.6-degree baby on my lap who laughed and played and drank his juice. (I never give him juice. But he hadn’t been keeping milk down!)

We were called in about a half hour later, which was not too bad of a wait, and perhaps The Boy got in sooner than the other “emergencies” due to his age. We sat in the next waiting room (I suppose it’s an observation room. But it always just feels like a smaller waiting room, really) and waited to see the doctor. The Boy’s temperature was up to 100.5. He napped. We waited two hours in that room.

And then The Boy got really sick.

His temperature jumped to 104 and stalled. (See? Mommy really wasn’t making it up!) We saw a pediatrician within minutes (his very same!) who decided The Boy was dehydrated, still had his ear infection (because clearly it was gone 3 days prior when he’d seen it last?) and had gotten the wrong medication. Which yes, was essentially like putting a Snoopy bandaid on a sucking chest wound. His bacterial infection had just gotten worse and worse, and had now spread. The pediatrician bustled off to get stronger antibiotics. The Boy had a dose, and roughly 10 seconds later, it was everywhere. All over him, me, the floor, and the medical equipment, along with the 10 or so ounces of juice he’d sucked back.

So… The Boy was admitted. Before I brought him up to pediatrics, two lab techs came in to take his blood. I noticed the one with the needle in his hand had the index finger of his glove cut out, exposing his bare skin. I asked why he’d done that. He said, “I can feel the veins better.” I said.. “Ummm.. but aren’t you supposed to wear gloves?” He said, “Don’t worry. I don’t have anything. And I know your baby doesn’t either.”

I snapped, really. He was taking blood. My BABY’s blood. He assured me that I was the only one in all his years who had ever raised a fuss. “So.. essentially you’ve NEVER worn gloves to take blood?”

He put on a fresh pair. Two more lab techs came in, this time to insert an IV in those tiny little veins. They bumbled around like the Two Stooges. They dropped butterfly clips. They missed — and dug for — those tiny little veins, all the while making my tiny, sick little boy scream.

We made it up to pediatrics. The Boy was placed in isolation, which meant he couldn’t leave his room for any reason, and everyone who entered had to wear a fresh hospital robe and take it off before they left the room.

Now, I’m all for 18 hours in the hospital. It’s fun. People check on you. You never have to cook. You get fussed over and are the center of attention for a few minutes in the morning when the doctors make their rounds. But once you hit that 18-hour mark, the fun runs out. It really does. So on day two, I left The Boy sleeping in his room and stepped outside for some fresh air. I chatted up a woman on the sidewalk, who also clearly needed a break from her day. She told me she was in to visit so-and-so who had surgery, etc. I told her my Boy was sick, and I needed some air. I told her how I was going insane on a beautiful day, and was angry he’d gotten the wrong medication that led to all this.

She told me about her friend. Who also had a baby on pediatrics. The baby, at 6 weeks old, had stopped breathing at home. Her parents rushed her in, but being first-time parents, didn’t really know how serious the situation was. And that baby’s 6-week-old heart stopped. Then her brain. She was on life support upstairs, and they were waiting to pull the plug. (I saw a couple leaving later that night. Empty carseat in hand. Heartwrenching.)

I put on my big girl panties and headed up to The Boy. Who yes, had an ear infection, and yes, it sucked that there was nothing to do and Mommy was missing 3 days of school that would take her 2 weeks to catch up on. But he would be fine. And most things are best in perspective.

On the second night, a nurse ran into our room. The Boy was crying on my lap. He was tired or feeling sick or otherwise unhappy. He still had his IV in, and couldn’t leave the boundary of where that cord reached, much less his hospital room. She said, “Hi, I’m just filling in for a few minutes.” (I will add, she was not wearing the isolation room signature gown.) “How is Hailey doing?”

I asked her to repeat herself. “How is she doing?” I said.. pointing.. “This is a boy.” She said, “Oh. How is he doing?” She snapped a syringe into his IV pole, and before she programmed it to course through his little veins, I said, “Umm.. did you say ‘Hailey?’ This is not ‘Hailey.’ This is a boy. And his name is not ‘Hailey.’”

She blamed me. Clearly it was my fault when she didn’t check his hospital bracelet, or even the name on the empty syringe she’d just removed from his IV pole. Clearly it was my fault that he almost got enough codiene for a 7-year-old CANCER kid, Hailey. Good. Lord.

The Boy recovered. He’s as healthy as ever, and has two teeth! Still not crawling, but I imagine it will come in the next 2 – 3 weeks.

The Girl? She’s loving Kindergarten. She’s learning more than I think I ever will. She’s great at math and is really working hard at printing and sight-reading. She has 30 minutes of homework every night: 15 minutes of reading in English, and 15 minutes in French. 30 minutes? I’m all for her education. All for it. But I don’t have 30 minutes at night to do ANYthing. So we read one story per night. And alternate between French and English. I do wonder what happens in those 4 hours she’s at school every day. 30… minutes? Sigh.

Oh yeah, and it snowed.

August is almost over, and what a month it’s been. I only had one class for most of the month, and while it was a reasonable amount of work, I was still able to enjoy much of the summer.

The Girl went to B.C. (or A.B.C., as she calls it) for 10 whole days. I didn’t want her to go — mostly for selfish reasons. I’d never been away from her for that long, and I wonder if she realized how long “10 sleeps” would really be. She drives me nuts most days, but when she was gone, I was distraught. I needed the break. But really, just.. distraught. I called her every day, and I know she had a great vacation. She came back with a fresh new haircut and was back to driving me nuts within a couple days

There is one more sleep til Kindergarten. One more. We’ve been counting down. The supplies are ready to go. We have our markers and pencils and glue sticks and paint shirt. We have a backpack and lunch kit and crayons and new shoes. The Girl and I went shopping for school clothes (she doesn’t need them, but it IS the first day of Kindergarten). Dresses were hard to find. All I could see in the 4 – 5 stores we went to were “sweater dresses” and leggings. Really? Cause I think I wore that on MY first day of Kindergarten in 1984. Perhaps I should have saved my lime green and pink track suit from Grade 3.

The Boy is getting bigger. It’s amazing how they do that. He’s almost 8 months old now. Not crawling, but sitting quite well. He doesn’t have any teeth yet, but the way he gums anything within reach.. they should start coming any day now. We are experimenting with more finger foods.

I picked up my textbooks for the fall semester. I managed to find them all used, which meant they were cheaper, and a little broken in, so I don’t need to feel guilty about the odd scratch or singe marks when I inevitably set fire to them halfway through the course. When I brought them all to the cashier at the bookstore, she announced my total: “Three hundred and eighty-four dollars and seventeen cents.” I expect that much, but it blows me away every time. Three hundred and eighty-four dollars and seventeen cents for USED books? That I’m probably not going to read? I was grumbling inside. Then she said, “Would you like to purchase a bag to put them in for sixty-nine cents?”

Now, for three hundred and eighty-four dollars and seventeen cents.. for USED books, a bag should be included. No? For three hundred and eighty-four dollars and seventeen cents for USED books, she should be coming to scrub my bathroom with a toothbrush three times a week for a year.

“No. No, thank you.” I loaded them into the bottom of the stroller — which almost collapsed from the weight — and went off to purchase my plastic parking pass for two hundred and fifty dollars and twenty-six cents. At least I’ll be using that.

After the car was loaded, I rummaged through the pile of books for my physics lab manual. I’ve been so worried about this class, and have actually arranged my last few semesters so that I can take it twice, if need be. A defeatist attitude, perhaps. I flipped it open — gingerly at first, then like a 12 year old with a new comic book.

I could not believe the words that came out of my mouth: “Well, that doesn’t look SO bad.. ” Did I really say that?

The next 100 days.. will be the death of me.