I’m a bad, shameless Mommy

Heads up! I’m going to be losing my Internet due to being an idiot and getting on a family plan where half the other people are weak willed idiots and the other half are dishonest, thieving idiots. That means goodbye blog until I can find access to the Internet. Yep, I own my idiocy.

Anyways, I’m a bad mommy and I should be ashamed of myself, according to everybody.

It started when my baby was born… Well no. Actually it started well before that. Being of “low socio-economic status” which is fancy talk for “undesirable” I procreated. And I’ve never used a condom, much less (cancer causing, hormone screwing) birth control. And then I didn’t kill my unborn baby. And before all that? I married an honest to God Mexican, who is as broke as I am. My worst offense are after the baby though…

I signed a “contract” of dubious legality at the hospital saying I’d never ever bedshare, because my alter ego will rise in my sleep to smother my baby. They also offered the helpful suggestion of sleeping upright in a recliner with the baby because baby dropping is healthy. If I didn’t sign that contract I wasn’t “allowed” to leave the hospital and go home with my own daughter.

Yeah, that lasted all of a week and a half. Blame it on me trusting my motherly instincts and my third world husband. We are still bed sharing and I’m only now considering stopping it because baby thinks its awesome to snuggle up to me, sigh, and then try to rip my nipples off with her cute chubby fingers.

And while sacrificing my huge, king size, comfy bed has been hard I still miraculously have sex pretty much everywhere else in my house. And out of my house.

In addition to doing something that isn’t even bad (check out Dr.Sears on bedsharing) I’ve apparently committed a faux pas that those with my level of education find appalling.

You see, my baby is a girl. I know, shameful right? How dare I say that aloud? What if her baby brain is confusing her vagina with a penis and she thinks she’s a boy??!? I think all the presumptuous crap about “cis-gender” is so clever it’s stupid. God created male and female, and my daughter isn’t going to be given only gender neutral toys and clothes that are actually just boy stuff with more yellow thrown in. Why? Because as a woman I’ve had it up to here with the implicit suggestion that anything strongly feminine is verboten and that anything strongly male is obscene. Bring on the pink and blue! And yes, I do know that pink used to be a boy color. 100 years ago. See all the fucks I give?

Other stuff I do that proves I’m evil or at least inadequate?

I’m raising my child Catholic. Latin, lace, incense, and rosaries. Not to mention excellent literature. And a veil.

I let my baby eat solids at 5, not 6 months. The horror! I also introduced a fruit first and I’m pretty sure it wasn’t organic since I didn’t have to take out a loan for it.

I swear in front of my kid. I try not to, but this is probably the proof that all Catholics are hypocrites or something. I just pray that her first word is something other than most of the words I say when driving. I don’t feel comfortable saying “God bless you” when my decidedly unsaintly mind is hoping God goes Sodom on you and that you end up in a ditch. If I’m going to be evil, I should be honestly evil.

I let my 6 month old baby watch a movie with me. Terrible!

I let her sleep on her stomach. Like her daddy, she flips all over the place when sleeping, and loves her stomach.

I don’t have a vendetta against all things Disney. I do plan on letting her see anything Hayao Miyazaki, because his art is better.

I don’t allow baby girl to see her maternal Grandparents. Sure, they’re abusive and dangerous people but they’re faaaaaaaaaamily! How dare I expose my kid to better examples!

We teach about the real Santa, who punched heretics and and survived prison, and was Turkish- not European.

There’s a host of things I do that are apparently borderline child abuse. Her bouncy chair is a torture device. The baby carrier I have doesn’t support her hips well at all, because poor people can’t afford the one for the low price of 155.99. I don’t have a savings account for her and my house is far from baby proof.

But I can accept that. And just when I think the sanctimommys of the Internet can’t possibly judge me for anything more I learn something new. I start reading this thread about annoying gifts from people, and it starts out innocently enough. Baby clothes that are stained and smell like smoke, toys that look designed to murder you as you sleepwalk via 1000 tiny, sharp little parts, and passive aggressive toxic grannies buying too small clothes for “fat kids”. But then came other comments, comments that denounced all other lesser mothers.

Do you let your kids wear clothes from Walmart? Did someone have the gall to buy you baby clothes from there and actually give them to you? BAD MOMMY! And if you bought them yourself, there’s no hope for you. CPS should definitely rescue your child, you trailer trash excuse for a human being!

Do you let your kids play with electronic toys? OMG you’re going to give them ADD! They will find a way to eat the batteries! They will have seizures and Rumplestiltskin will steal them and probably be a pedophile! Your children’s imagination will shrivel up and die just like your sex drive and common sense! Arrrgh! You are a terrible mommy!

Do you let your kids play with anything other than wooden, Hipster toys? Do you let them associate with kids who play with (shudder) plastic toys? YOU ARE OBVIOUSLY A HELLSPAWN OF SATAN! Plastic toys are cheap, and cheap is evil! Anything in your modest price range is evil, and so are YOU!

Seriously, the more I slip into my mother role (complete with lactating boobies, spanx, and improving cooking abilities) the thicker my skin gets. I’m almost gleefully anticipating the next rich white judgmental mommy comment. I’ve already been judged for buying a Graco seat instead of a Chico one, even though both do a good job. I also bought a ton of second hand things, and even yard saled for baby stuff.

At least I’m exclusively breastfeeding, so I guess I win in that department lol.

Any moms out there, especially fist time ones reading my blog- remember this phrase “Look at all the fucks I give!” That is a helpful mantra. Use it often.


What They Tell You

Most amazing corn on the cob recipe ever: Elotes

You will need:
Lots of shucked corn, or unshucked if you want to heat it right on the grill
Queso Oaxaca (smells like a farm tastes like paradise)
Or Butter
Cayenne pepper (ground. Look for the bright red color- that means its fresher.)

Boil or cook the elotes.
Grate some Oaxaca cheese in the meantime.
When the elotes are done, sprinkle queso all over the corn and add squirt able butter. Top with cayenne pepper for some oomph.


When the elotes are done, slather in mayo, sprinkle the queso, and add whatever you like on top, or nothing more.

I used to think the Japanese had the best recipe for corn on the cob ever. Then I met my husband. Mexico wins!

On to my post! Continue reading


777. That’s the number of times you are supposed to forgive someone. Well, not literally. Much like 144,000, or 7 days of creation, 40 days in the desert, and 40 days and nights of rain, 777 is a metaphorical number signifying completeness. Sorry, numerous heretical Christian and pseudoChristian sects, but those Biblical numbers are more than just black and white.

I thought I had forgiven my parents. I had. But the number 777 implies a process. You keep forgiving until the job is done. Sometimes things come to light that you didn’t know before, or ignored because it was too psychologically painful to handle.

It must be that my brain started to open up, or God revealed to me something that I hadn’t realized and was not ready to realize until now. I still don’t want to believe its true. It would feel better to not know what I know.

My biological dad runs his own business. Business, while I was in college, was very good in spite of a terrible economy. He got audited by the IRS every year I was in college. He claimed it was because he had his own business and kids going to college at the same time. I always accepted that lie, even when friends with parents who had businesses told me that that sounded odd. While I was in college my parents had money to go out to nice restaurants on a semi regular basis. They bought nice things for my brother and gave him cash. On rare occasions I would get very little cash for something I really needed. It usually wasn’t really enough but I am great at being frugal and thrifty. Plus, I never felt entitled to anything. Their money, their rules, right?

The thing is during college I practically lived in my van. Home was an unsafe place to be so I was back at midnight and out by 6 am. I barely had enough gas money to make the commute, and always drove praying that something else wouldn’t break down on me. My van even had a name “Deathbox on Wheels” because it was infamous for doing crazy things like turning off in the middle of traffic, or deciding that a left turn would really make a great right turn at the last second, or it would suddenly charge forward like a demon possessed transportation nightmare- usually about when I would be stuck behind an old driver or some other vulnerable person.

My van was finally sold to the junk yard after the breaks went out going down a steep hill during my “honeymoon” in my home town.

During college I relied on myself, my husband, and kind friends for food. It was embarrassing and some days I would maybe just eat a yogurt (75 cents). I actually did eat some food someone just left once, feeling ashamed the whole time and hoping nobody saw. I couldn’t eat at home because my mere presence would enrage my mother, and any leftovers were saved for someone else until they rotted and she could throw them out.

One semester I worked 2 jobs, did well over 100 hours of classroom supervising (obviously no pay) and volunteer work, and 18 credits, most of which were not in my native language. I did that to get out of college quicker so that my debt would quit climbing.

Speaking of debt, I had barely enough money for books. In fact I went part of the semester without books in almost all of my classes. Thank God for helpful students who let me photocopy pages. It goes without saying that I didn’t have enough for nice clothes. I still wore what I had from high school- raggedy, stained, full of holes clothes. So I used a credit card to get books and gas and food…and I’m still paying that off due to usurious interest rates.

Don’t misunderstand. There are people in the world that have it FAR worse than I ever did. I at least had clothes, and could eat something, and had a lot f friends to help me. Many people don’t get to go to college- my husband never made it last elementary school due to poverty. So I am thankful for what I did have. No thanks to my biological parents.

The point is, during my entire time at college I had little food, almost no access to healthcare, was stressed and living in my van, and just at my wit’s end tryin to make ends meet and my biological parents meanwhile, lived very well.

They stopped living well after I graduated and began to pay back loans. The thing is, they had taken out loans too, to “help out”. And it was understood that I was going to owe then for being so “gracious”. They took out PLUS loans. I covered all of my tuition. I had scholarships am loans to cover what I couldn’t pay outright, and there was rarely enough left over for anything- not one dollar.

The PLUS loans were supposed to go towards gas and living expenses. They were supposed to be how parents help their kids- that is their original purpose.

I must not have wanted to accept the facts. I remember going in and talking with a Sister about getting a loan so that I could get an apartment. (My college was “Catholic” in a very loose way) I was told I couldn’t, since PLUS loans had already been applied for and granted. The Sister seemed alarmed and confused that they weren’t enough for me to live independently.

After a certain point I didn’t hear what she was saying. I am convinced it was because my brain knew but my heart did not want to accept.

My parents were taking the loans in their name that were supposed to be applied to me and were pocketing if not everything, then close to.

That part isn’t what hurt me so much. After all, I just realized this a couple of days ago. This is after learning that my biological dad tried to use me to lie to the IRS, and he’s always lied about the amount of money he gives to charity (zero).

What hurt me is remembering how I was in his office, crying my heart out because I couldn’t get an apartment and had to stay at “home” with an abusive mother. No matter how I stretched my dollars, I had no money to escape, even with a roommate or two. Even with the money I could save by biking to school, and I was willing to walk through snow too.

That bastard knew what I was going through. He knew I had no food, no clothing, was driving a van that had already almost killed me, and was at my wit’s end. And not only did he stand by and fail me by letting me be abused, he took away what should have been there to support me. And then he watched me sob and pretended to feel bad for me and just sighed and said “I’m so sorry that’s how life is”, all the while living nicely off my misery.

And then he and my biological mother had the gall to try to make me pay for their misuse of money that was intended to help me with college. All so they could use me, all so they could control me, all so they could continue to abuse me. Oh and money, which they blame for abuse they claim they can’t remember. And they want thanks and money for what they did.

That’s sick. That is an onion of sick- layer upon layer of sick and wrong.

I keep wishing I am delusional. I keep praying that I am the “bad daughter”. I don’t want to believe my parents are that sick, and yet here is the ugly truth. They are sick. I have to forgive them.

Before, I still had a sliver of hope that someday, maybe when they were old and dying, I could see them again and they would have somehow had a conversion that made them into better people. Now, I don’t. I don’t. It’s like a pedophile- they’re unsafe and highly unlikely to reform. Can a pedophile reform and not molest children? Yes. Is it remotely likely? No. Have I ever seen a pedophile try or succeed? Never, and I have known a few pedophiles, because my biological parents left me open to abuse (thanks be to God, I was never molested).

Right now I don’t know if I’m capable of forgiving. I haven’t properly grieved yet. I’m still running from it to an extent. All I can think is “why?”

My best friend asked me if I would try to sue. I wouldn’t know where to start, and I don’t want to. I feel like being the demon in the Porky Pig cartoon- “So it’s MONEY you want, eh? WELL HAVE ALL THE MONEY YOU CAN HANDLE!”

Besides. They’re already not well off. All that thieving and scheming has left them pretty much where they started. I don’t want to punish them- God is much better at punishing than I am. Even if I were to sue, they wouldn’t be able to pay me back and have enough to live. They will be elderly soon, and I am not the sick person they are. I hope they will live as comfortably as their spoils will allow.

I just never want to see them again. Ever.

So I broke up with my parents

First, a recipe!

Tacos from the Heart

1 dead cow
Skills in butchering animals for food (serial killers need not apply)
1 cow heart from said dead cow.

Boil the heart slowly over a few hours, in water and salt. Beef heart is big, so you might need to cut it to fit in the pan. Let it cool, make sure it’s tender, and cut off the excess fat. Then cut it into long, thin strips.

Heat up some oil in a pan and throw in onion and garlic to taste. Then throw in some cut hot chiles. And salt. Salt is good. Throw in more onions if you love them like I do. Let it all simmer.

Serve with your favorite non store bought salsa, beans, and tortillas. (Corn tortillas, or even flour ones but avoid the nasty wheat tortillas. Them’s nasty.)

Now, on to the break up. I find it highly ironic that my first big break up was with my parents. My only boyfriend is now married to me, and by the grace of God our marriage is doing well so far. So my first big break up is not a boyfriend, or even a fiancé, but my parents.

Oh sure, I’ve told old “friends” to hit the road before. But that is less a break up and more because of our ages and maturity levels. It was mostly mutual, except in the case of a genuine stalker I had that took YEARS to remove from my life.

In any case, this is awkward. Who breaks up with their parents? I might even try writing a book about it, because it feels that weird.

So a few nights ago, after taking a long break from the crazy people I call my parents, we met at a local restaurant. My husband went with me for support. Right away, as soon as I let them know what was up, they tried to attack me by getting through to my husband. Classy.

There was a lot of gas lighting. Gas lighting is when one person flat out denies, minimizes, or ignores the experience of another for the purposes of getting the other under control and questioning their own memories, experiences, or even sanity. In their case, my parents claimed not to remember anything that I said. When I pressed, they said I must have an incorrect memory. Because I am a human blood hound for lies and half truths, I kept pressing relentlessly until my mom blamed her conveniently faulty memory in anti-depressants.

I looked at my father, and asked him “So what is YOUR excuse?”

“Stress”, he replied. He didn’t even acknowledge that I called my mother out on her excuse, and his.

What followed was nothing that interesting, just lots of implying that I was the crazy one, conveniently recovered memories that were very sharp concerning my perceived faults, and finally dwindled down into telling me that I was a terrible person, wrong, that this was all “bullshit”, and that I was being “vindictive”.

In short it went about as crappy as I thought it would. I did come into the break up meeting offering an olive branch. What it boiled down to was either they acknowledge the past, take responsibility, and apologize, or I no longer have contact with them. What was more important- their pride and emotional self preservation or their relationship with their daughter?

As always, the former won over the latter. The closest I got was a “sorry for whatever the hell we did, but we don’t remember”.

Here is the reason apologies are important. Many people would say I should just accept that my parents are who they are and that I should lie flatter so they can happily keep walking over me. I would say those people are ignorant. An apology doesn’t fix hurt feelings, or heal broken pasts. What it does, is show that the person making the apology is aware of how they have failed. If you can see where you have failed, you can avoid doing the same failure again. It also shows that if you don’t avoid that failure, then you are responsible enough to continue taking responsibility. An apology is humility which is a necessary ingredient for friendship.

That is why apologies are important, especially in cases of abuse.

I’ve already forgiven my parents, but reconciliation is not possible. In their minds I’m “vindictive”, crazy, and “punishing” them. They aren’t mature enough to examine the reasons why their daughter is so ready to leave them in the past. Forgiving them I can do, but the power of reconciliation is out of my hands. I can be willing (reluctantly, but I could try) except that it isn’t possible on their end.

If I were to try reconciliation with these people who still see me as their bad little scapegoat, reconciliation would not happen. Instead, I’d be volunteering for abuse, sadness, anger, frustration all on my part. Instead of being a victim I’d be volunteering.

Their pride and egos are far more important to them than making a real, healthy relationship with me. I am not willing to teach my own daughter that that sort of unhealthy dynamic is acceptable.

They want me to come back and be a better doormat. I want them to be the parents they never were.

So I broke up with them.

Task List Woo!

Well, since its clearly useless to try looking for a job (thanks would be employers. I can’t wait to watch your businesses crash and burn so I can hear you whine about being “poor”) I am turning my attention to running the house as well as I can.

Granted, the damn landlord never fixes anything, and there is some stuff we just can’t do (or maybe we can, if the landlord won’t send anyone other than a couple of drunks to fix things) but other things I can do.

This past week I’ve had it. My husband, though he works hard outside of the house, is a total slob inside of it. I have a tendency to get disorganized. Both of us together at our worst equals disaster. To top it off, I grew up with conditions that if they weren’t worthy of an episode on Hoarders, they were close.

I’m talking dishes not cleaned for weeks, potatoes left to rot so long they had maggots (I almost threw up on that one) dead ants in various foods, and always a mysterious stench you didn’t want to know the source of. And that’s to say nothing of the piles of junk. When I left for Useless University, I was determined to never live like that again.

I’ve succeeded for the most part, but my house is ridiculously disorganized. The dishes never seem to get all the way done. Almost all our floors are tile because the landlord is cheap, so dust accumulates. The bathrooms aren’t gross but they aren’t pretty either. My husband’s problem is being lazy. Mine is letting my ADD take control.

House cleaning with ADD is a pain in the ass. About a third of the dishes get done and suddenly it occurs to me that I should really dust the surfaces. Halfway through dusting I remember some clothes need cleaning so I put them in the wash, and forget to turn the knob because I remember that I was supposed to be done with the dishes already! By the end if the day none of my projects are finished, it looks like I was lazy, and I’m cranky and exhausted. Oh and the laundry has dried soap on it. Ewwww.

So yesterday I managed to force myself to sit still long enough to make a list of all the chores that need to be done, dividing the rooms and days they needed to be done. I also assigned my husband tasks because if I didn’t, he would not be compelled at all to do them. It’s domestic abuse, but I really want to slap him when he says “but it’s so easy when you do it!” Haaaa haaa haaaah. Then I went to search for a free app to manage my tasks.

Astrid got bought up by Yahoo, and so they ruined it like they do with anything good on the Internet. Eventually, after going through many wastes of memory, aka “lite apps” I came upon Any.Do.

I’m in love. Cute, simple, quick and so far free of bugs.

Suddenly, shit is getting done. My house is looking more lived in and less like a hurricane, and I think just a couple says more and the routine will be down enough so that we will actually not have to do any serious cleaning if visitors come over.

This might not work for every ADD person out there but it works for me. Just having a list, even if its all over the place, makes me feel competitive. Plus, the Any.Do app sends me coupons. Sure it’s for stuff that I would never buy anyways because its either impractical or way too expensive…but dude…coupons!

Now to get out my off brand lemon pledge and make like Consuela from Family Guy.

“Afuera afuera. No, no, noooo. Shitty kitty go afuera.”

A New Job, Perhaps?

Two days ago, a friend told me of a possible job opportunity.

-60-70k per year.
-Benefits and insurance.
-Full time, not a temporary job scam.
-In another area that has better schools, fewer rednecks with that ubiquitous and disgusting confederate flag, and roads that are actually taken care of.

I could rent an inexpensive place with a landlord that actually uses professionals, rather than local drunks to fix the house. If we live frugally, I could pay off my loans in about 5 years. I could pay off my credit card in – matter of weeks. This job would even be helping people who are disadvantaged economically and physically, so I wouldn’t just be another monkey in a cubicle! And I’d be earning two to 3 times what we make now!

I am visiting the site everyday, waiting for it to be posted and yet…

There is a trade off. I do not like the trade off. I have a little infant and can’t stand the thought of her being raised by daycare or a nanny. We’d also be far from my husband’s supportive family. Mr. Sassafrass and I have thought that perhaps we could have him be a stay at home dad. However, we both know that he would go crazy.

He’s Mexican, and as much as he’s rejected a lot of the machista culture he does like to be the provider. He also does not like to be in the house for extended periods of time- he’s been working since he was a little kid and now can’t stand to do “nothing”! Not to mention his family will rib him about this.

And yet, if I were to get this job, we believe its te only way it would work. Neither of us likes the idea of a daycare or a nanny- we want to experience her first words, first steps. We want her to be with Mami and Papi. A compromise might be that he works part time. It would get him out of the house (and as a current stay at home mom, I know how important that is to sanity) and cover basic expenses like rent- freeing up money to get us out of debt and maybe enjoy some things for a while. That would still involve a nanny or a daycare, but at a much less intrusive rate. Even then, he has said he could probably only do that for a year, but at least we would have the first year.

Because I have so much more education than him, we’ve both known that it is far more likely that I would be the main breadwinner. Honestly, I’d love to stay at home and part time work to supplement our income, but it’s nearly impossible. My job opportunities on this side of the state are laughable. Between the racist attitudes of the idiots I would have to work with and the attitude that any bilingual can be an interpreter (NO NO NO!) it is already a dismal prospect. Add on the pitiful few hours and no benefits, no insurance, and being on call 24-7…

I really hope this works out. My husband and I might have to feel uncomfortable for a while, perhaps a few years, but if I were to get out of debt and save our money I could return to being a stay at home mom.

God willing it could happen.

Something New

I’ve been married a year, have a honeymoon baby, have had major surgery, and have generally just been through a lot in the past year. I’m also taking a time out from the “Americans”, aka my side of the family. If I had money I would totally be in counseling, just because this is all a little overwhelming! It’s overwhelming but worth it.

So because I am doing so many new things, I plan on doing some more! I have a couple of goals for my life- to be debt free and to never use birth control, especially hormonal birth control. So I plan on getting a hold of Dave Ramsey’s materials as much a I can for free for now, and I’ve already started down the path of NFP.

There are many reasons to eschew birth control, and you don’t need to be Catholic to understand them. First of all, birth control can and does prevent the implantation of a new little human being. When sperm and egg meet, that’s a whole new set of DNA in a whole new person. Yes, implantation can fail to occur naturally, but old people can die naturally as well. If I wouldn’t off my grandpa before he does naturally, why would I actively take something that could kill my little one before I know of his/her existence?

Another thing to consider is the sheer amount of hormones we consume everyday. Our milk, eggs, meat- especially chicken are laced with hormones. I’m not a total organic nut who thinks gluten is waiting to kill us all, but I do believe that all of these artificial hormones are changing humans for the worse. So if I try, even with my very limited funds, to buy local and organic, why should I then turn around and pop a pill loaded with hormones?

The birth control pill ups your chance of cancer, particularly breast cancer. It also suppresses a woman’s natural cycle, instead of working with your body. It can cause weight gain, mood issues, and ironically it can lower your libido. Studies have even found that it can influence women to be more inclined to seek out mates who are sub-par. Long term use if the pill can wreak havoc on a woman’s fertility, so when she DOES want children it can be very difficult to conceive.

Natural Family Planning involves no hormones. It does involve knowing your body, being aware, and learning a little science. It is a lot of work, and it involves math, something I hate. It is NOT the “rhythm method”. It’s not even just one method. I’m stating with the sympto-thermal method, which is great for women who may have irregular cycles. Not only can I avoid another child for a little while (which would be wise, considering what my body has been put through, not to mention the finances) I can also plan for another child. The information I gather on myself can even help me to see if I have a thyroid problem. It can certainly make my ob-gyn’s job much easier.

I have had friends tell me to “at least use a condom!”. The truth is, I hate the idea of condoms. I want to feel as connected as I can to my husband, and sex is not just a fun activity. It’s incredibly intimate and even spiritual. Hospitals encourage skin to skin contact for mother and child- why not between husband and wife? And this sounds vulgar, but if I wanted to use something plastic to get pleasure there is a sex shop nearby that has an entire wall of synthetic devices for just that. Using a condom during sex makes as much sense to me as insisting that everybody keep their clothes on during sex (those people do exist, and no, it’s not a fetish for some of them.)

Could I still have an “unintended” pregnancy? Yes, although the chance is low. Unintended or not, my husband and I will welcome every one of our children. But similar things happen with birth control. If they didn’t you wouldn’t be reading my blog. Honestly, i wouldnt mind having another child very soon, but we have quite a few things we need to get in order first.

I am slowly falling in love with NFP. I much prefer a philosophy that respects my femininity and supports an understanding of my body to a philosophy that treats women as if their fertility is a disease. Don’t believe that philosophy exists? Ask a pregnant woman what it’s like to search for a job, or inform her boss she is pregnant. Ask her how her coworkers treat her, especially if she has multiple kids.

This month is a month of new beginnings. I grew up in poverty, and I am quite poor now. I would like to change things so that when we need to fix our car, we can. If an emergency happens we can handle it. I don’t know if it would be wise to own our own home especially now that the American government has made it abundantly clear that we own nothing and our worth lies only in working, but I’d like to rent a larger space with less building violations. I was brainwashed to accept my parents’ views on finances, especially the mantra “follow nobody’s advice” and where are they? Still in debt, still paying for things they do not need, digging more holes. Like NFP I have seen people following Dave Ramsey’s advice…and they are succeeding. I want to see if that can work for my husband and I. Being independent appeals to us. No being dependent on paycheck to paycheck and no being dependent on a dubiously beneficial pill, or IUD, or condom to get us through another year.

I’m excited. I hope anyone reading this can get excited too. Learn about your (or your wife’s) natural gift of fertility, and take charge of your finances. Never say die!