• Thou shalt never enter a Starbucks or Peet’s coffee.  Gourmet, whole bean coffee shalt be purchased at extreme discount from Costco and ground and brewed at home for 1/36 of the cost.

• Thou shalt never accept an invitation to a social event through which thou wilt incur a large bill.  The French dinner out with 70,000 friends splitting the tab shall be politely declined.

• Thou shalt not eat the flesh of an animal more than twice a week.  Those suckers art expensive and chock full of hormones.

• Thou shalt never buy an expensive, pesticide-free or sustainably farmed fruit, vegetable or potato chip.  Scoff at friends who suggest “you really should buy organic.”  Then state, “It must be fun being a billionaire.”  When they tell you that they are broke, too, scoff harder and louder.  Enjoy this.

• Thou shalt never freaking EVER unnecessarily free-load from friends or colleagues, lest you feel indebted or, worse, you be disrespected or condescended to.

• Thou shalt never enter a Nordstrom shoe department.  Ever.  Thou shalt not kill, either.

• Thou MUST covet thy neighbor’s home, bank account and trip to Club Med.  Then curse the rich heavily.  And repent with even greater ferocity.  But enjoy it before that.

• Thou shalt keep thy home spotless.  This is the quickest path to self-respect, and ordered humbleness trumps messy opulence any day of the week.

• DO NOT EVER attend a school auction or purchase a ticket from a turkey for a turkey raffle or let your child pressure you to purchase eight Self-esteem Bracelets at school.  Self-esteem is for the rich.  Don’t attempt to purchase it with your money for the water bill.  If thou art desiring to donate thine last cent to charity, choose someone less fortunate than thou art.  Someone always is.

• Thou shalt not ever do lunch.  Do coffee.  Then repent of the first commandment.  Or invite a guest to thine home.  Thou shalt be a gracious host and offer a tasty, affordable meal.  True generosity of spirit cannot be outdone or outspent.

Hey, Channa Masala and Naan Bread. Thank you.

I am not really sure what America has done to deserve Trader Joe’s Channa Masala and Naan bread, but I would beam, not run, to the nearest TJ’s to get some.  I am not a connoisseur of Indian cuisine, but after this dish I can’t see why I don’t always set fire to my tongue every night via the food of the biggest democracy in the world.

As if taste good enough to impress even your friends from Berkeley weren’t enough, the meal is VEGETARIAN.  Even your heart loves this!  How often do the tongue and the heart battle over possession of your mind?  Oooooooo.

But here’s the grand finale of good fortune.  THIS IS AVAILABLE IN THE FROZEN SECTION.  So for less effort than walking to the car that will float your healthy rump through the drive-thru, dinner can happen.  To people like you and me.  What a country!

So my recipe for a great dinner is to direct you to the icy boxes of that lovable little grocery store (I swear, not an ad).  Get some Channa Masala and Naan Bread, before you start doubting yourself and decide that you’re just not worth it, because I believe you really are.  Unless you are my brainless and hairless former boss.  In that case, I wish you an eighteen-course meal of all your clothing, accessories included.  That you must cook and eat by yourself.  Naked.

The I Love Trader Joe’s Cookbook: 150 Delicious Recipes Using Only Foods from the World’s Greatest Grocery Store

Quick and Healthy Meals from Trader Joe’s

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"Are you close, God? It's me, Greta."

What do you do when you want to save money on a child’s birthday?  You take her on vacation instead and spend three times what you would have on a party.  But then, in THEORY, you are off the hook for a summer vacation when rates are up.  Anybody buying this?  If so, I recommend you become a regular reader of the Alice In Wonderland-ish world that is this blog, where inverse reason reigns, and overdressed moms, who stomp their feet and talk about ‘pulling [THEIR] money out the public schools’ (OUT with my cash!), get likened to worms who poo out their mouths.  Which, by the way, is MUCH more plausible than the floating head of a Cheshire Cat.

Well, I sold this logic to myself and to my husband who is kind enough or tired enough to trust me since he doesn’t understand how lanterns from the dollar bins and some cake and market lemonade add up to a couple hundred dollars for a birthday party. So off we went (much to the birthday girl’s delight), and on half-a-tank of gas, we transported the five of us to Cannery Row of Monterey Bay.

Monterey includes an incredible intersection of some really great things:  dramatic shorelines (can you say:  blast, splash, foam?); a rich, albeit brief, history spectacularly told by John Steinbeck; a hub of oceanic research and activism at the Monterey Bay Aquarium; and a strong commitment to American tourism via numerous candy shops and a wax museum.  In the end, you can’t attract the masses without a wax museum.  But not me.  I come for the fudge.

More details on the trip as they unfold.  I invite you to check back tomorrow.

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"Gee, Rickie, it's funny to think that one day you'll grow up to believe that this kind of celebration is inadequate, unacceptable, and abusive. You'll even despise cake mixes."

This is a continuation of the previous post where I present  The Crisis that is planning the child’s birthday party.  If you are obsessed with spending, adorning and overdoing, read no further.  Read The Crisis and laugh heartily.  I would.  Unfortunately, I am the crisis, but like an organizational paramedic, I have devised some strategies, after several crashes and burns, to increase your chances of surviving the dangers of being alive in a society that really doesn’t have enough to do, yet is ALWAYS BUSY.

Unlike most life-saving techniques, I will not tell you what to do, but what not to do.  Instead of teaching you how to wrap a tourniquet, I’m teaching you not to get in a knife-fight at the mall.  It’s much easier to keep your arteries intact if you do not impale them with switchblades and broken bottles.  Gosh, I love a violent metaphor.

Below is a list of Do Nots.  In fact, it’s a list of Don’t Even Think Abouts.  Trust me.  I thought about it before, and don’t care to anymore.  Now I know why my mom is so obsessed with microwaved hors d’oeuvres.

• DON’T MAKE THE CAKE. Take it.  From a store.  Even a low-end high-profile one that will throw Elmo or Sponge Bob on it.  Most kids take one bite and then run down the hallway to spill their lemonade.  If you like to bake, send cupcakes to school for the Halloween Party or the Cake Walk.  Don’t take on baking masterpieces unless it’s the only duty you have.

• Don’t Prepare The Food Yourself. Order Food.  You think it’s expensive, but doing it yourself adds up too.  Don’t have the entire thing catered.  Have the central item prepared for you:  3 pizzas, one thousand potstickers, a three-foot long sandwich,one million chicken nuggets.  You can fill in the extras on your own:  chips and dips; crackers and veggies with hummus; fruit; chocolates.  Don’t feel you have to offer ten-thousand varieties of food either.  Caterers usual offer less than most of the do-it-yourselfers.  They’re being paid.  They don’t have TIME to represent all 194 nations at the buffet table.

• Don’t YOU DARE chop fruit and vegetables. You can order a platter from a store, though they tend to be pricey for inexpensive ingredients.  Make your own, but don’t include every vegetable that Chile ever harvested.  Pick the ones you don’t have to chop:  baby carrots, broccoli florets.  And okay, I will let you chop TWO or THREE red peppers for color, that’s it.  If it must be cut, it must be cut (from your list).   As far as fruit goes, embrace strawberries.  Just rinse and call it decor.  Walk right past the melon like you would an abusive ex-boyfriend.  You don’t have the energy for all that drama.  Of course, children will eat none of this.  This food is for the parents who stay to supervise their children because they think you just might allow them to play pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey in traffic.

• Don’t trip out on entertainment. Kids like to yell and scream.  And they actually like opening presents.  They like to play with them and grab them from the birthday kid.  And if you try to avoid that, there will just be another crisis, like, the birthday kid hitting someone in the face with her sparkly shoes over the toys that she got last year.  If your kids are older, consider some old school games:  hot potato, musical chairs, pin the tail on the whatever you want (you can tie it in with the theme, if you’re crazy:  pin the tail on the princess, Sponge Bob, Eric, Lightening McQueen or pizza).  If you have boys, find something for them to run on or into:  a park, a basketball hoop, a backyard, a trampoline, a ball.  There is ALWAYS WIFFLE BALL.  Never forget this.  Give older girls some glitter and nail polish and kiss your carpet good-bye, or throw some decorative oil cloth on the designated primping area.  Or let them run around a park.  Or a beach.  They like to hang out.  Just give the kids space to run and be loud.  An ordinary art project works wells, too.  Drawing, cutting, pasting, molding.  Oh, and don’t forget the simple joys of a treasure hunt (for craft store jewels or trinkets or things or gum).  You can even make a map for them.  If all else fails, have Wii wars.  Or beat a pinata, or go to a pizza place with video games.  Are there any of those left?  Above all, RELAX.  As long as kids have larynxes, they will have joy.

• Don’t not give wine to the adults. You can buy some good, inexpensive bottles, and no one will ever hold anything against you since you gave them wine.

If the theme of your party doesn’t match your outfit, you will survive.  And your kid will not necessary lose the fourth grade election, though I can’t PROMISE this won’t be part of the fallout of not hiring a clown.  So I beg you to relax a bit and let it happen.  And if we as parents all unite in celebratory mediocrity, our children will not beg us to bring Cirque de Soleil to our living rooms.  Let them eat cake, and rejoice in it even if they don’t get to pet llamas and reptiles.

Birthday photo is courtesy of http://www.webweaver.nu/clipart/.

Greta requests your vote for her blog on Babble.com.  She thanks you, too, as she wonders why she always asks for your vote in the third person.

So You Think You Can Bake

Every child has a birthday.  And for parents it’s a wonderful celebration of the most important beings in our world.  Who doesn’t love their babies even once they’ve learned to talk back and they need rides to softball practice?  They are our pride and joy.

Unfortunately, beyond the second birthday of the first child, the romance of throwing parties that cost $400, that have color-coordinated themes followed through to every Dollar Store trinket that will soon have its own eternal celebration in one of the landfills of our world, wears off.  The planning is exhausting.  Why do you think the gymnastics parties and the jumpy Hell parties are so popular?

I am a firm believer in the at-home, old-school party.  The kind where the kids actually open the presents, a practice which has become basically unacceptable in the mommy circuit via a trend started by one very loud person with a nice handbag, I’m sure.  That is the key to being heard in the mother community.  No one will listen to what you have to say if you don’t sport the proper attire:  “How could she really know, anyway?  (pause)  Did you see her shoes?”  No.  I am not kidding.

The old-school parties, however, in the wrong hands can be overdone and exhausting.  For the doer.  The guests enjoy themselves at the expense of the doer.  Oh, the poor doer who gets stressed and broke and funny looks from her husband, the doee, who just might also say, “What have you been doing all week?”

It is at this moment that the doer curses the day they met and considers applying for every job known to man so that she can bring in a paycheck and not have to have an answer for her husband that sounds like one or more of the following:

• I swept the same pile of dirt seventeen times this morning.  It kept coming back.

• I went through the pile of eight days of bills and junk mail that you gifted the entry way table.  At one point, I almost fell in and died.  I might have been happier there, in the stranglehold of Costco coupons, than having to hire a snowplow to have them removed from our home.

• I told the kids to get dressed.  Eight-thousand times, just before 8 AM.

• I fought exhaustion from boredom all day long.

• I drove the car to every crevice of town.  It sucked.  I did it.  And I will do it over and over again until the three-year-old is twenty-two.

• I thought about folding the laundry.  To even contemplate folding the laundry takes a full day.  To actually do it ALL and put it away, would take an estimated eighty-one years.  Which, frankly, I just don’t have this week.

• I did have seven outstanding cups of coffee, though.  And got hugged by the kids.

So, now that the doer has spoken and the doee stares off into space, the party still has to be planned.  There is a child to celebrated.  And you do feel like celebrating.  Just not the kind of celebration that involves too much chopping, money, and staying up past 3 AM.  Yet, PEOPLE WILL COME and they must be fed.  It’s time to GO THE DISTANCE.  It’s time for Mom to start cutting back.  The little voice in your Kevin Costner head should say, EASE HER PAIN.

If the voice says Martha Stewart.com, call your therapist and ask for a medical referral.  DO NOT LISTEN TO MARTHA.  NOT IF YOU HAVE CHILDREN UNDER FORTY.  DON’T LET HER DO IT.  PERUSE HER MAGAZINE IN THE OFF-SEASON, FOR ONE OR TWO IDEAS, BUT DO NOT GET ANY IDEAS DURING YOUR CHILDREN’S BIRTHDAY SEASON.  YOU ARE IDEALISTIC AND, THUS, VULNERABLE AT THIS TIME.  LOOK TOWARD THE LIGHT AND LISTEN FOR THE VOICE OF TRUE PROPHETS.

Please check back tomorrow, for some Party Planning CPR.  You still need time to digest the crisis.  At least I do.  All in good time, most wonderfullest readers.  All in good time.

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This weekend we are doing the unthinkable with our children, something that no one I know would ever dream of doing.  We are attempting an excursion in a way that I am told “can’t” be done.  We are setting out to do the impossible, improbable, the unforgivable.  We will be traveling to southern California to see a championship football game played by the institution that is my former albatross (my former employer), and on the following day, we will go to Disneyland.  For one day.  That’s right.  My husband, my young children, and I will visit the happiest place on earth for ONE DAY ONLY.

I’m still not totally certain that this is permissible, as I have yet to find a source online for a one-day ticket purchase.  I spoke with a friend about this who said the “logic” is that if someone stays in a hotel near Disneyland, they will go to the park one day, spend the night, and then visit the park the next morning for a few hours before going home, and thus, they will need two-day passes.  I don’t understand the “logic” that you HAVE to go for at least two days.  What is wrong with one whole day?  When a day’s tickets for a family of 5 costs $250, why do you have to double your expenses to go for a few hours on the morning you leave?  When did Disneyland become a days-long grind to the palace of happiness?

But you won’t be able to see the whole park, they say.  And now there are two parks! Why must we visit the ENTIRE PARK and see every attraction and crappy film that isn’t even good enough for VH1 or Sundance?  I can’t tell you one detail about Captain EO other than the fact that Michael Jackson wore white and that they probably pulled it after he was accused of abusing children.  (I believe he was innocent, but let’s save that for another blog.)  Who would want to absorb every moment of the park?  That would be like buying every item in the home decorating section of Target (which has actually crossed my mind) or seeing every movie ever made by NewLine Cinema.  Or actually communicating with every one of your Facebook friends.  JUST BECAUSE IT EXISTS doesn’t mean it has to be experienced.

How much painted fiberglass and plastic can a person’s soul truly take?  The rides are cute and fun, as are the original loveable characters, but how is seeing these images for a series of days satisfying or edifying or not absolutely crazy-making?  To me, vacation requires land, maybe water, some good food and the people you love.  Why can’t we just talk to each other or make snow angels or hike the wussy, touristy terrain or learn boring things about the locale we are visiting?  Why are the doodles born of Walt’s now frozen head so superior to these simpler and (cough) cheaper experiences for which we don’t have to stand in line for forty-five minutes to an hour?  But the children! Actually, they don’t give as gargantuan a hoot as you might imagine.  Mine were kind of upset at having to choose between the trip to Disneyland and helping their grandmother out with her Christmas party.  Unless you’ve had your children hopped up on a constant feed of Little Mermaid, they should be able to endure a day in the sand without her and in the creepy company of non-cartoon beings.

The fact that no tickets are available for a single day reminds me of just how gouge happy the rapingest place on earth is.  When I worked at Chevy’s Fresh Mex, every time someone ordered a margarita, it was my job to pimp the top-shelf offering, with the float of Grand Marnier that the less expensive one lacked.  That’s actually a true upgrade.  I don’t see how five days of eating poor quality fried chicken for $87 is better than one day of such mousal abuse.  No wonder he’s so giggly.

But a little romp in decadent, pumped in, manufactured fun can be a good thing.  I am by no means a purist.  Life is, after all, a parade and as I recall Disneyland has a pretty good one.  I would just like the comfort of knowing that we will all be okay after this scant, one-day experience, or, if you prefer, the four-day denial of what “everyone else does.”  I need to know that my children won’t hate me, that my husband and I won’t hate ourselves and each other, and that none of us will attempt suicide upon our return.

P.S.  I know all the lyrics of The Little Mermaid, and I regularly attempt to sing the soundtrack with vocal virtuosity in mind, and, if that’s not enough, I cried at the ending of Beauty And The Beast, when I was 23 and really screwed up.  I don’t lack an appetite for magic and joy.  It’s the swindling:  Buy 10 days in the park for the price of 9-and-a-half; and the saturation:  Disney store, Disney cartoons, Disney rides, Disney princesses, Disney bulimia, Disney movies, Disney pajamas in a charming, fire-proof synthetic, which, incidentally, gave my 2-year-old a rash (wait, that was Sponge Bob), that I can do without.

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• Small is the new big.  Get a small Christmas tree, those little ones available in nurseries and even drugstores.  Prop it up on a table, throw grandma’s nativity scene beside it (or a few stuffed snowmen from the bottom of your child’s toy chest, if you are looking for a secular vibe), and make it a festive, but little, focal point of the room.  Little children will be sold on this, especially if they watch Charlie Brown.  Mine are always asking for the little tree.  A small tree is not only cheaper, but is easier to decorate since you need fewer ornaments.  This is especially important if you fall victim to the decorating trends imposed on you by magazine editors, who clearly convey that the blue balls of yesteryear are out, and that silver bells are the new now.  You can swap them out without going broke, and your husband will appreciate the change in metaphor.  (Confession:  We bought a big tree this year.)

• Make paper chains and snowflakes.  I’m not kidding.  What better way is there to remember the joy of first grade?  Use red and green construction paper or other colors to complement your décor.  This will keep the kids busy for hours, and is an inexpensive and festive alternative to garland.  Snowflakes can be made from ordinary white paper, and can be taped to the windows or hung on strings from the ceiling.  You don’t need to bury your home in paper crafts.  Place them in prominent areas (around a doorway, mirror, window, buffet) and they will make an impact.  Use recycled paper if you want to impress your progressive friends.

• Employ the Scrooge Rule.  Agree with friends and relatives in advance to not exchange gifts or to have a gift exchange.  Call it the Scrooge Rule so they think it’s a trendy recession move.  If you are uncomfortable with that name, call it the Bob Cratchit Rule.  He was nice, but broke.

• Play the Green card. Justify to yourself and anyone else that the overloading of closets with underused Christmas toys and gifts is ecologically unsound.  Give edible gifts, and know that they can be happily excreted.  Above all, convince society that Christmas, as we know it, is not green.

• Have a potluck.  If you must have Christmas party, promise to get everyone drunk, and ask them to kindly bring an appetizer to share.  If you can’t bear the idea of a potluck, have a party with appetizers only and avoid lunch and dinner hours.  Call it an open house, and greet them with some well-priced bubbly and snacks from, say, Trader Joe’s.  (They are not a sponsor.  I wish they were.)

• Know that you will fail your children.  No matter how much you give them, they will inevitably want more.  Remember Veruca Salt?  Make peace with this.  You will tell them how lucky they are, how they have so much more than most people across the globe, and then their eyes will glaze over as they wait for you to finish so they can ask you for the $50 Baby Alive that eats and takes gelatin dumps.  Don’t get this, especially if you have a cat that is already urinating on every blanket in your home.

• Avoid commercials. Watch PBS.  It’s civilized, intellectual, and commercial-free.  Nothing makes my kids want more than a Saturday morning Nickelodeon marathon.  Imagine the team of well-dressed people with masters’ degrees that are on the production end of these commercials, machinating over jingles and set designs that will teach your children to want.

• Fleece your family and friends.  Go to the fabric store and check out the bolts of fleece.  The colors and designs range from whimsical to sporty to, yes, tasteful.  Cut strips and make some scarves.  Fleece is warm, and the splash of color will dress up any outfit.  And you can let them have Spongebob!   Or John Deere.  Or plaid.  Since the edges don’t fray, no sewing is necessary.

• Double dip with clothing.  Kids always need clothing.  Give them that as presents.  This is an easier sell with girls than boys, but everyone, even little ones, feel fabulous with a new, comfortable outfit.

• Resist the PotteryBarnization of your family.  That is, resist the urge to dress everyone in matching formal Christmas outfits.  Why does the birth of Jesus compel dads to dress like their daughters?  And you don’t need formalwear if on Christmas you ride 2 hours in the car to Lodi to have $6.99 a plate Super Buffet with your aunt Cathy.  And don’t talk to me about the family photo.  Years from now, you won’t even remember the adorable Rudolph outfit with matching North Pole accessories for which you shelled out $80.  (Hi, Gymboree.)  Buy clothes they can wear in February, too.  Rudolph is for rich people.  Let them have him.

• Fight Christmas card oppression.  Everyone is sick of these.  The overproduced family photo is becoming the yawner of the season.  People are now jonesing for the pretty artwork with sparkling glitter.  When did our families become more beautiful than Currier & Ives?  You can always pop in a photo.  If the photo was taken at home with your camera and reproduced at Costco, you will be all right, and your friends, if they are true, will call you again.

• Make a joyful noise.  Are my ideas too obvious?  Watch some Christmas classics as a family.  Read some stories.  Make a gingerbread house together.  Play Bing Crosby.  Decorate the tree while sipping hot chocolate.  Make Christmas about more than just stuff; your kids will remember this.  Stuff has to be organized; your kids will not do this.

Fight the power, good people.  Leave the plastic in your wallet or, better, your garbage can, and may all your Christmases be in the black.

Please let me know if you have a triumph in frugality to share. Post a comment.  Please.

The good news, ladies and gentlemen, is that the savings on day care and other work expenses has made the monetarily unimaginable somewhat imaginable.  And I’m now committed 100% to the game (and I do call it a game) of stretching dollars.  Additionally, not being employed by “the man,” I now actually have the time and energy to play the game, which takes innovation, training, and a fair amount of stupid optimism, which is tough to employ when you’re weary from work.  I’m even, believe-it-or-not, finding the fun in trying to live as richly as possible, on a not-so-hefty income.  Since I am audacious enough to believe that EVERY human being deserves to FEEL wealthy, this undertaking is, to me, the pursuit of justice, to prove to myself and the world that we can all live abundantly, though not wastefully, by being mindful of our choices.  Rest assured, my quest is not in the name of virtue, but decadent, self-satisfying indulgence.

Here are some of my latest discoveries (which you undoubtedly have already discovered, but you might appreciate some reminders).

• Buy good shoes, but less of them, for everyone in your family. They will last longer, redeem the mediocrity of any bargain-bought outfits, and will save you lots in of money in co-payments to the podiatrist.  I learned this after 3 pregnancies and 11 years of working on my feet as a teacher.  My husband made me buy those expensive Danskos.  The sense of pampering and indulgence goes for miles.  Make up the price difference by owning fewer shoes.  Carrie Bradshaw lives too indulgently.  Don’t try to keep up with her or Chase Manhattan will come to get you!

• Get a good haircut, less often.  I don’t know if I would have Suze Orman’s blessing to spend a lot of money here, but you need to go to a high-end salon and drop some cash.  You will not get a good style, but a great one, which is important since you’ll be wearing it every day.  Of course, don’t spend too much, as there is still a price disparity in the high-end salons.  Shop around.  Please don’t keep going to your “lady who works out of her garage” or you’ll be wearing your 70’s perm or 80’s claw a full decade into the new millennium and trying to fix it in the Nordstrom’s handbag section.  Now THAT is pricey!  Of course, there are always exceptions and hidden treasures anywhere, so if your “lady in the garage” does a great job and takes pains to keep her skills current, please support her or him, even though he or she probably doesn’t pay the taxes that you do.

• Let Martha in.  Martha Stewart is famously hated, not so much for her felony trading behaviors, but because she and her staff of 1100 shame us, the women of industrialized societies, into believing that we are losers for not baking, lacking holiday spirit, and absolutely sucking at decoupage.  What we lose, in this mire of intimidation, are the many low-cost, fussy nuggets of wisdom that she can offer us.  The good people of the wealthy class are miners and stewards of fussy detail, only they have others provide it.  Indulgence is in the details.  So if we can get over the fact that every task in her magazine will not be present in our poorly designed homes, we can take a few, attainable, inexpensive elements that make us feel indulged:  snowflake-shaped marshmallows, vanilla paste instead of extract (which is like a spa treatment for the taste buds), or tissue paper bat garland.  If you exploit Martha’s exploitation of your dollar in small, manageable doses, she will kick your home-life into high gear, as she does her under-loved minions.