Don’t read this.
February 10, 2006Yesterday was one of the worst days Henry and I have ever had together. Truly, I have never seen him like that before. I’ve never seen me like that. We clashed on every topic (Are Dried Cranberries An Acceptable Dinner? Could He Watch TV For Just Another Minute? Why Couldn’t He Head Butt Me Repeatedly In the Groin While I Am Talking To the Mortgage Broker?) and each time Henry’s demands escalated into full-blown weepy hysteria; we went to our separate corners to enjoy our respective time-outs; we came back to each other to hug and declare our undying love; then it all started again. At one point I found myself yelling and clenching my fists and hopping up and down. Hopping. And I slammed doors. Twice. I am an excellent role model.
I could point to Henry and say IT’S HIS FAULT and say WHO STOLE MY CHILD AND REPLACED HIM WITH THIS MONSTROSITY? But the thing is, I know what’s going on. He’s reacting to me. I am distracted and frazzled and depressed and it’s making him anxious as hell.
We sold our place for more money than we thought we could, which is great. We’re thrilled. But our large margin of profit is not quite what we thought it was. Not quite enough for the house we want. Take the large amount and remove the $20,000 of closing fees and moving expenses, the huge tax bill we’ll have for 2005, the money we’ll need to put down for a car, the small amount of savings we’ll need in case any expenses come up with the house, and you have a much smaller number. Factor in the added expenses of owning a house—the insurance, the car, the heating bills, the inevitable repairs, the hefty real estate tax bill—and the number shrinks even further.
We could take more of a risk and put more down if, say, one of us had reliable employment. Without going into detail about my husband’s job, we don’t, not really. Not reliable in the benefits-and-vacation-time, check-every-two-weeks, severance-pay-guaranteed sense. It’s a great job for his industry, which is not known for its steadiness. We’ve been lucky for a while, but there’s always the spectre of the work drying up. If the work isn’t there, he doesn’t get money. So we have to be careful. We’ve been careful for years, we know the drill. But now we’re looking for a house, and being careful doesn’t jibe with finding a good and safe place for our family, and it feels like the air is being sucked out of the room.
We decided on this neighborhood in New Jersey; it’s close to the city, the trains are right there, the prices for the small homes with small lots (the kind we want, as we are city folk) are not unreasonable. We have friends nearby. But now it seems that if we want to be in the parts of town that have good schools, we have to extend ourselves past our comfort level. Last week we bid on a great house; we were right at the brink of what we could afford, and the taxes were astronomical, and we were stressed out and fighting about the expense. But the school there is wonderful, and I read the description of the school and I thought of Henry being at that school, and I wanted him to live there. I walked around that house and I thought, We will be happy here. We could just barely afford it, but we could afford it, so we bid. And then one other bidder came in at way over the asking price and swooped it up. This isn’t the first time this has happened; such is the market these days. Even if the numbers indicate we can afford it, we can’t really afford it.
We’ve looked at the less-fancy parts of town, that have relatively decent schools, at least we think, and taxes that aren’t so high. But every house we’ve seen in that area has low ceilings and dark musty kitchens and shag rugs and the neighbor’s windows so close you could pass cups of sugar back and forth, and I know this isn’t what we want. We’re not asking for a lot, but we’re asking for a little more than this.
So maybe I feel entitled. Maybe I’m a stuck-up bitch and I should get over myself and living in the cramped smelly house that after all we could fix up. That is probably a valid opinion.
But this is all symptomatic of the larger problem here. We don’t have enough money. We’re not making enough. Every optional expense has been cut out, and yet there’s still not enough. And it’s hurting us. It’s a constant source of tension; there’s no escaping it. Everywhere we look there’s a sign that we need more money. The dog is overdue for a vet appointment. We don’t have the money. Here’s the list of good preschools in Jersey. We don’t have the money. Let’s get food delivered because I’m exhausted and Henry didn’t let me even get near the kitchen all day, he’s been so clingy. We don’t have the money. Well, okay, maybe pizza. But let’s not go crazy with the toppings.
(We want another baby. We don’t have the money.)
Please don’t tell me I should write a book to make money. Or rather: tell me to write a book, and thank you for having faith in my abilities, really, but understand that such an undertaking takes years, years of nonpaid work, and also no one should write a book for the money. It just doesn’t work that way.
Do you want to know what I am wearing now, O Internet? (Especially those members of the Internet who send me hate mail because of my fabulous bloggy existence?) I am wearing jeans that have enormous holes in the crotch and across one knee. They are dirty, as I wear them every day. They are one of two pairs of jeans that I own; the others were pre-pregnancy and are now laughingly small on me. (Size 4! BLAHHAHAHAHA.) In addition to my crappy pilly too-small and too-old Gap sweater, I am also wearing ugly black leather shoes that I bought when I was pregnant, and thus are now one size too big. I trip in them every day. On most days I wear the too-big shoes and the ripped-up jeans. I could probably buy myself new jeans and new shoes, but the idea fills me with guilt. How can I buy something like clothing when we might not be able to pay for Henry’s preschool?
I know how whiny I sound here, I do. I know many many people have lives infinitely more difficult than this one. I know how lucky I am. Please don’t yell at me because I’m whining about my shoes. It’s just—I feel like I’m decaying, a little. I feel unattractive and like I don’t have the right to feel attractive. I feel like god there has to be more money somewhere, except there’s no time to get the money and no money (for childcare, that is) to get more money. I feel like my creative life is dying because all I do is worry and crunch numbers and do the little writing jobs that might bring in enough to pay the cable bill. (Yes, we still have cable. The indulgence! I know!) I feel like there has to be an answer somewhere and where’s the answer and aren’t I smart enough haven’t I been good don’t I have the education and the intelligence and resources to figure this out why can’t I figure this out?
I know, I know. I’m feeling sorry for myself. I should snap out of it, right? You can tell me.
(p.s. If anyone knows anything about the school system in the above-mentioned town—it’s linked to, right up there—please, please email me.)
Reader Comments (209)
I'm so sorry that it's so difficult right now. My parents walked that line for years and still managed to give me everything I needed and more -- much more -- love than most children ever get.
This is what you have in abundance. Henry knows it. Whatever else happens.
I know that sounds hippy-dippy and rather lame, but at 31, it's what I remember. Not a single other thing. They might remember how hard it was to stretch, but I just know they loved me and we had a hell of a good time.
PS. A new cute pair of jeans makes the whole world look better--not to mention ones ass.
I'm sorry things are so hard. Hang in there.
hope you feel a bit better soon. ;)
Whew. That needed to be said.
The one question I have is whether you are able to accommodate any more ads on your site. Because, if so: HAVE AT IT. What about swag of the Lulu, Cafe Press or Zazzle sort? I have to tell you, I would put Finslippy in the equivalent of speed dial on my Paypal account if you would sell any of that stuff!
This is where we differ, we every year or two spend a month or so on the island of denail (lovely place but the rates are nuts) and buy a couch or a computer or music camp for one of the kids, so we are always in debt and it takes forever to pay off.
I always think the fact that we don't have enough money because I am a shitty money manager therefore a shitty person. But maybe it's because it takes an incredible amount of money for six people to live. (or even three).
Oh and yes we have cable too. and Netflix. and a 40 year old pool that came with my house. So hang me internet. I know there are people in tons worse situations. And I am a whiner and a shitty person.
(Hey Alice, go ahead send me a bill, that's best therapy session I have had in 6 weeks).
Does Jersey have open enrollment ? Or can you petition for Henry to get in the good school even if you live out of area ?
So throw yourself a pity party, wallow around in it for a while, and eventually you'll find a way to get where you want to go. Sending happy vibes your way, and I hope an acceptable solution presents itself soon ...
as i sit here sifting through bills we can barely pay and lament the fact of our new and spiffy HSA that will cost us a minimum of $12,300 annually just to have health insurance i'm feeling you. but at least we *have* health insurance, right?
and i have some hole-y tshirts that will go oh so swimmingly with your hole-y jeans. my biggest clothing indulgence of late has been yoga pants from a major cheap chain and now that i think about it my mother paid for them.
woe is us of little fundage.
Have you thought about getting the money from the sale in some kind of tax shelter and renting in NJ for a while? Maybe that's not even possible. It has been a possiblity that has crossed my mind more than a few times when we review the monthly statement that reports how we have to pay something like 14x as much just to live where we live than to get by in my tiny home town.
All best for you and S and Henry. I hope things look up.
(i'm a must-do-something kind of gal. can't sit here hearing of alice in pain without action.)
okay, emailing NOW.
It's hard to see light at the end of that particular tunnel. I hope you find your way out as I somehow did (please don't ask me how, it just sort of happened and I'm still amazed about it all).
Money problems SUCK EGGS. Seriously.
Living on the coasts just sucks, there's no way around it. Some of us just can't live anywhere else.
Sorry things are tight right now. Go buy yourself a new pair of jeans. No offense but I don't want to see your undies.
Gah -- I used to be so cool & rock'n'roll...