Because we live in a big house out in the country with an addition that once housed a swimming pool, people who don’t know us often assume we’re higher up the income ladder than we really are. Sometimes, just to shock people, I’ve joked about how we live “just above the cut-off line for reduced-price school lunches.”
Well, guess what? Between Bob’s pay cut last year and my recently shorn part-time hours, we’ve now crossed that socioeconomic barrier. All we have to do is fill out the paperwork, and our kids could be eating lunch for 40 cents a day.
That’s not likely to happen anytime soon, because our three youngest kids are still home-schooled and Rowan, who’s in high school, prefers to pack a vegetarian lunch unless it’s potato-bar day at the cafeteria.
But it’s a weird feeling to wrap your head around. Should you tap a government program if it helps you save money? Is it cool to shock people with how low your family income is if your income is no longer a matter of choice but of circumstance? Should we go into emergency financial crisis mode because of our change in status, even though we don‘t rely on my income for day-to-day living expenses? Should I get another part-time job?
We’re still sorting out the answers to these questions. But in the meantime, it’s a handy way to say no to things I’m not interested in doing anyway: Sorry, can’t. Didn’t you hear? We’ve been demoted to reduced-price lunch.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Saturday, March 6, 2010
The rainbow on Gilligan's Island
Today we’re going to play the marooned-on-a-desert island game, only instead of deciding which movies or books or members of the opposite sex we wish to be stuck with for the rest of our lives, we’re going to pick one fruit or vegetable from each stripe of the "nutrition rainbow."
This isn't as hard as it sounds, because the latest iterations of this concept -- popularized by David Heber in his 2002 book, "What Color is Your Diet?" -- break the rainbow down into so many prism gradations that you don't have to do all that much excluding. You could take both broccoli and spinach, for instance, because spinach is a green-stripe veggie, whereas broccoli falls under the "green-white" stripe, whatever that means. Nor do you have to pick between tomatoes and strawberries, since tomato is a "red" and strawberry falls under "red-purple." (I think these gradations have something to do with what you're trying to promote -- whether you're pushing cancer prevention or memory enhancement, for instance.)
While it would be interesting to see what would happen to Morgan Spurlock (of "SuperSize Me" fame) if he ate nothing but rainbow foods for a month, our purpose here is frugality. Choosing one food from each stripe and then educating yourself about that food -- both in terms of pricing and all the different things you can do with it -- could be an interesting way to economically enhance your family's nutrition.
Take the orange stripe. Carrots, sweet potatoes and pumpkins all contain decent amounts of vitamin C and beta carotene. But carrots are cheaper, and unlike the other two, can be eaten raw as well as cooked. Not only that, but the carrot can also do a decent impersonation of its orange buddies in baked goods like pie, bread, cake and even cookies.
So, much as I love pumpkin bread, I'd pack carrots on my trip to Gilligan's Island. And that's what I keep in the fridge. I'll buy sweet potatoes or pumpkin, but only when the price is right.
This isn't as hard as it sounds, because the latest iterations of this concept -- popularized by David Heber in his 2002 book, "What Color is Your Diet?" -- break the rainbow down into so many prism gradations that you don't have to do all that much excluding. You could take both broccoli and spinach, for instance, because spinach is a green-stripe veggie, whereas broccoli falls under the "green-white" stripe, whatever that means. Nor do you have to pick between tomatoes and strawberries, since tomato is a "red" and strawberry falls under "red-purple." (I think these gradations have something to do with what you're trying to promote -- whether you're pushing cancer prevention or memory enhancement, for instance.)
While it would be interesting to see what would happen to Morgan Spurlock (of "SuperSize Me" fame) if he ate nothing but rainbow foods for a month, our purpose here is frugality. Choosing one food from each stripe and then educating yourself about that food -- both in terms of pricing and all the different things you can do with it -- could be an interesting way to economically enhance your family's nutrition.
Take the orange stripe. Carrots, sweet potatoes and pumpkins all contain decent amounts of vitamin C and beta carotene. But carrots are cheaper, and unlike the other two, can be eaten raw as well as cooked. Not only that, but the carrot can also do a decent impersonation of its orange buddies in baked goods like pie, bread, cake and even cookies.
So, much as I love pumpkin bread, I'd pack carrots on my trip to Gilligan's Island. And that's what I keep in the fridge. I'll buy sweet potatoes or pumpkin, but only when the price is right.
Friday, March 5, 2010
The capitalist and the miser strike a bargain
We don’t watch much TV, so when the HD converter we got with our government-issued coupon failed to work, we just set it aside and went on with our lives. But yesterday I caught Ben fiddling with the converter again. I knew what he was thinking: I said I‘d probably buy a replacement converter before the NCAA Tournament begins -- but then that’s what I said about the Olympics. He had to settle for watching highlights of Shaun White's snowboarding run on Youtube.
“Hey Mom,” he said, “what would you give me if I fixed this thing so you don’t have to buy a new one?”
Hasn’t happened, as of this writing, but we did negotiate a fee: four bucks. Ten percent of the replacement cost, about what I‘d be willing to pay if I found one at a garage sale. (I suppose the average 12-year-old would scoff at such a pittance, but then the average 12-year-old probably has had cable TV since birth.)
We’re working on a similar deal with his mattress, which listed to one side. I was planning to buy a new one -- really, I was! -- when he carried his box spring down the stairs the other day and announced he’d solved the problem. Turns out the box spring was deformed, not the mattress. So he‘s been sleeping on that in supreme comfort the last few days, at least compared with his previous discomfort. And it doesn’t sit so low on his bed frame as to be either too inconvenient or too odd-looking. He thinks he can live with it -- especially if he earns a fee for saving me the cost of a new (or even another used) mattress.
“Hey Mom,” he said, “what would you give me if I fixed this thing so you don’t have to buy a new one?”
Hasn’t happened, as of this writing, but we did negotiate a fee: four bucks. Ten percent of the replacement cost, about what I‘d be willing to pay if I found one at a garage sale. (I suppose the average 12-year-old would scoff at such a pittance, but then the average 12-year-old probably has had cable TV since birth.)
We’re working on a similar deal with his mattress, which listed to one side. I was planning to buy a new one -- really, I was! -- when he carried his box spring down the stairs the other day and announced he’d solved the problem. Turns out the box spring was deformed, not the mattress. So he‘s been sleeping on that in supreme comfort the last few days, at least compared with his previous discomfort. And it doesn’t sit so low on his bed frame as to be either too inconvenient or too odd-looking. He thinks he can live with it -- especially if he earns a fee for saving me the cost of a new (or even another used) mattress.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Putting the dishwasher on a diet
We made the switch to homemade dishwasher detergent a couple of months ago, but it turns out I hadn’t shed a habit that’s pretty much the equivalent of the old shampoo marketing gimmick skewered on a Trivial Pursuit card: Filling the entire detergent compartment is really not that much different than “lather, rinse, repeat.” In both cases, you’re using more product than necessary, sometimes with detrimental results.
I’m all over this with laundry detergent. The more companies “concentrate” their so-called formulas, the more careful I am to stop pouring at the lowest line on the measuring cap.
At any rate, yesterday I took some anonymous internet advice and measured out two tablespoons of my borax-and-baking soda mixture. That looked to be about half the amount I normally use, but I didn’t notice any difference in performance.
I’m all over this with laundry detergent. The more companies “concentrate” their so-called formulas, the more careful I am to stop pouring at the lowest line on the measuring cap.
At any rate, yesterday I took some anonymous internet advice and measured out two tablespoons of my borax-and-baking soda mixture. That looked to be about half the amount I normally use, but I didn’t notice any difference in performance.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Perpetual soup: The next generation
Way back when I was a newspaper feature writer, before all these kids came along, I did a story on perpetual soup. This was before our plunge into frugal living, I was just intrigued by the concept. (Running a photo with that article probably wasn’t the best idea, in retrospect. The soup, which absorbed everything in our fridge that previously would have been tossed out, wound up looking like a brown gruel.)
That batch of soup lasted us a few weeks, then faded from our lives. I wasn’t cooking much then, and I was never tempted to start it up again when the kids were little. They wouldn’t even eat Campbell’s soup; I can only imagine what they would have had to say about mommy‘s gruel.
Now, thanks to my weight-loss regimen, I’m once again tending a batch of perpetual soup, with about one-tenth the calories of the original model. Based on a Weight Watchers recipe, it consists of bullion broth, chopped tomatoes (though I use salsa for extra zing) and veggies like cabbage, carrots, green beans and zucchini -- basically anything that doesn’t surpass the calorie count of your average finger-nail clipping.
This less polluted soup both looks and tastes better than its predecessor. I think it’s going to have a much longer life span, especially since Ben, now 12, loves it.
Weight Watchers cost-analysis update: I’m approaching an embarrassment threshold here, both in terms of money spent (not quite $70) and weight lost, because I wish I could report that 19.2 pounds was all I needed to lose. But I’ve still got a ways to go, unfortunately.
That batch of soup lasted us a few weeks, then faded from our lives. I wasn’t cooking much then, and I was never tempted to start it up again when the kids were little. They wouldn’t even eat Campbell’s soup; I can only imagine what they would have had to say about mommy‘s gruel.
Now, thanks to my weight-loss regimen, I’m once again tending a batch of perpetual soup, with about one-tenth the calories of the original model. Based on a Weight Watchers recipe, it consists of bullion broth, chopped tomatoes (though I use salsa for extra zing) and veggies like cabbage, carrots, green beans and zucchini -- basically anything that doesn’t surpass the calorie count of your average finger-nail clipping.
This less polluted soup both looks and tastes better than its predecessor. I think it’s going to have a much longer life span, especially since Ben, now 12, loves it.
Weight Watchers cost-analysis update: I’m approaching an embarrassment threshold here, both in terms of money spent (not quite $70) and weight lost, because I wish I could report that 19.2 pounds was all I needed to lose. But I’ve still got a ways to go, unfortunately.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Crunching munchie numbers
Salty snacks, like human beings, are often more alluring with their clothes on.
Take tortilla chips. Some sultry packages tempt you with a night of bliss, practically offering to pour you a margarita to wash down that cheese dip. Others -- the store brands we tend to buy -- wear the packaging equivalent of stretch pants.
Strip them of their vacuum-sealed duds, though, and the differences disappear. We’ve done this type of research at our house, using four brands and one giant chip bowl. Only one chip seemed to distinguish itself from the others, only two of us perceived the difference before it was called to public attention, and even then, once its identity was revealed, there was disagreement among the testers as to whether this pricier chip was, in fact, superior.
In short, the test only buttressed my resolve to never pay more than 10 cents an ounce for salty snacks. Here’s a shortcut to in-store calculating: Note how many ounces the package contains, then add a zero, and that’s your target price measured in cents. So a 10-ounce bag of tortilla chips should cost 100 cents, or a dollar, whereas a 15-ounce bag should cost $1.50.
Note: You can't always find tortilla chips at this price, even store brands, so when you do, stock up.
Take tortilla chips. Some sultry packages tempt you with a night of bliss, practically offering to pour you a margarita to wash down that cheese dip. Others -- the store brands we tend to buy -- wear the packaging equivalent of stretch pants.
Strip them of their vacuum-sealed duds, though, and the differences disappear. We’ve done this type of research at our house, using four brands and one giant chip bowl. Only one chip seemed to distinguish itself from the others, only two of us perceived the difference before it was called to public attention, and even then, once its identity was revealed, there was disagreement among the testers as to whether this pricier chip was, in fact, superior.
In short, the test only buttressed my resolve to never pay more than 10 cents an ounce for salty snacks. Here’s a shortcut to in-store calculating: Note how many ounces the package contains, then add a zero, and that’s your target price measured in cents. So a 10-ounce bag of tortilla chips should cost 100 cents, or a dollar, whereas a 15-ounce bag should cost $1.50.
Note: You can't always find tortilla chips at this price, even store brands, so when you do, stock up.
Monday, March 1, 2010
The easiest cookie recipe ever
If you want to save money on food, at some point you’re going to have to start cooking from scratch. Here’s the perfect recipe to get you started: These peanut butter cookies have only three ingredients. You don’t even need a measuring spoon!
Just mix one cup of sugar with one cup of peanut butter and an egg. Drop spoonfuls of batter on a cookie sheet and pop it in a 325-degree oven for about eight minutes.
Note: These cookies are tasty, but they don’t travel well, having a tendency to crumble in transport. (Recipe from pg. 73 of "Wells County Specialties," the 1996 cookbook put out by the Wells County Extension Homemakers, based in Bluffton, Ind.)
Just mix one cup of sugar with one cup of peanut butter and an egg. Drop spoonfuls of batter on a cookie sheet and pop it in a 325-degree oven for about eight minutes.
Note: These cookies are tasty, but they don’t travel well, having a tendency to crumble in transport. (Recipe from pg. 73 of "Wells County Specialties," the 1996 cookbook put out by the Wells County Extension Homemakers, based in Bluffton, Ind.)
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