I can’t put it off any longer. Tonight I must sit down and balance the checkbook. The receipts have been stacking up, the debit card is looking worn out, and the bills are starting to menace me from their shelf above the computer. I’m also a little scared by what I see on our online account balance, because, well, I thought we had more than that at the moment.

In our family, I’ve always been the money manager. Aaron will admit without any shame that he has a serious allergy to money: when given any, he will buy stuff as quickly as possible to get it away from him. He also dislikes the tedious task of entering each transaction into the register and tracking what has cleared and what hasn’t. I love balancing the checkbook, however. Thanks to the beauty of Microsoft Money, I can track when bills are due, enter transactions with ease, and run fun reports showing me just where all of our money is going. Well, mostly fun reports; seeing that much of our money goes to gas, fast food, and Aaron’s comics isn’t so much fun.

When we were living together in years BC (Before Cordelia), I’d sometimes balance the checkbook every day. I’d collect the day’s receipts, enter them, pay any bills that we got in the mail the day before, and reconcile everything with the online account summary. I’d check off each transaction as the bank processed it, smug in knowing that every penny was accounted for.

That doesn’t happen so much anymore. I’m not entirely sure how it happened, but suddenly managing the money is much more difficult. There are stacks of receipts in the little box next to my computer, waiting to be entered.

And then there are the receipts that never make it to the box, causing me to curse under my breath while adding an entry for a purchase I have no memory of.

The bills, which at one time barely left the mailman’s hands before they were paid, are now living a dusty life of days or weeks on the computer desk before they are given any attention.

In October, I (somehow) was late on 75% of our bills. Before this, I had never once, in my entire life, missed a payment deadline. Never! Not even when I was a drunk sorority girl in college!

How did one little baby cause me to fall so far? Well, my time is certainly more precious these days. I can no longer agonize over Microsoft Money, trying to figure out if tickets to wrestling should be categorized as Cultural Event or Sporting Event.

Any time that Cordelia is awake makes it impossible to balance the checkbook, since if I stopped in the middle of adding receipts, I’d never remember where I was. I’m now forced to do my financial duties at night, when she is asleep, but this often means I’m so tired that I don’t give a damn and put it off for another night. And so two weeks will go by before I’ll even glance at the receipts box again, which by that time makes the job a full-hour of entering data and marking off items that have cleared.

To add to the “joy”, we also don’t have nearly as much money coming in now that I am working part-time, which makes it even more important to keep a close eye on our account balance.

Oh how I miss those days of running reports and casually balancing the checkbook each day. But thanks to my lack of time and forgetful mommy brain, I consider it a good month when we make most of the bill payments on time and don’t fall into the red in the checking account.

In January, we’ll be packing up the family and making our annual pilgrimage to Chicago. We have no family there, but every January there is a stage combat workshop help at Columbia College and Aaron attends to learn new ways to pretend to kill people on stage. I go along to visit the Field Museum, the Art Institute, and the Mecca they call Ikea.

Why they have this thing in winter, in Chicago, is beyond me. Do they laugh at those of us who pray for good weather, hoping we don’t have to drive the five hours in a blizzard? Our luck over the years has been so-so: three years of good to decent weather, two years of snow, ice, and subzero weather. Last year was the best year yet, which means we’re likely doomed this year.

This is also the first year we’re taking Cordelia with us. Last year my mother convinced us at the last moment that taking a 4 month old to Chicago was a bad idea. She stayed at our house while we were gone and cared for Cordy. Now my mom is coming along with us; with Aaron gone all day each day, I’ll need all the help I can get, and mom’s a great mother’s assistant.

However, I realized that I need a new stroller for the trip. Aaron thinks I’m insane. OK, I’ll admit it: we have three strollers. But each has a very distinct purpose.

The first: the Graco Quattro, or as I call it, our “SUV Stroller”. It held the car seat when Cordy was tiny, and now it’s the ultimate in cushy comfort, with a huge basket as well. But it’s also heavy and enormous – not something to cram into an already overpacked car, and not easy to carry up and down steps.

Next, the $12.99 Babies R Us umbrella stroller. Very lightweight, folds down to nearly nothing. But it’s also just barely off the ground (if there’s snow, it would never move), has no basket, and it’s rather uncomfortable for Cordy to sit in for long periods of time.

Finally, our Graco CitySport. It’s the medium stroller: not too big, not too small. But it was a garage sale purchase, and it’s starting to show its age. Wheels that squeal, a recline that doesn’t work very well, and the basket is tiny. It also folds down thin, but it’s still wide and hard to carry.

So, I’ve decided that I need another stroller for Chicago. Something lightweight, but also roomy and lightly padded for Cordy’s comfort. Preferably easy to carry and easy to fold. It has to have a basket as well, and be able to recline for naps. The seat needs to be decently high off the ground if I’m pushing it over snow. And it needs to have good steering and wheels that can handle uneven pavement. A tricked out sound system would be nice, too. Wait, I’m kidding on that last one. Maybe.

Finally, it can’t cost too much. We’re a little cash poor right now, so I’d prefer nothing over $100. Actually, Aaron would prefer nothing over $100.

And now the stroller hunt begins. I’m realizing that this stroller probably doesn’t exist, but it’s not going to stop me from scouring the web to find it. After all, if you can find a ghost in a bottle for sale, you can find anything on the web.

Cordy’s first experience playing in the snow:

Last week we noticed that Aaron’s brake lights had gone out on his car. We realized that driving with them out was, well, illegal. But it seemed silly to pay someone to put a lightbulb in the car. Coming from a family of all women (feminists, too!), most of whom are well-educated in not only cooking and gardening but also car and home repair, I figured this would be a simple fix. After all, they had done this type of thing dozens of times! I looked in the owner’s manual, found the light bulb part number, and bought the bulbs for him to replace them.

Aaron wasn’t sure about it, but I reminded his that he can change a tire, and, well, this is far easier than changing a tire. He braves the cold to make an attempt at this. Fifteen minutes later, he comes back in and asks me to check and see if they’re working. I check. “Well, dear, there’s no brake light, still. But now there’s no turn signal either.” He erupts into cursing (his normal response when he’s angry and Cordy isn’t around).

My mom came up the next day and took a look at it. Having replaced headlights, tail lights, etc., she hoped to find what he did wrong. She couldn’t. Aaron then told us that we should have taken it to Wal-Mart to begin with, since they fix car lights.

OK, fine. We take it to Wal-Mart last night. They take a look at it and tell him it’s not the bulbs. Well, hell. So now we have to take it to the dealer.

We then take his car to the dealer today. Turns out it was originally just the bulbs, but Aaron managed to screw up the wiring and broke the socket when he tried to replace them. Damn. He was right – we should have just taken it to a professional. But it was a friggin’ lightbulb! How can you screw up a lightbulb?

$189 later, I have learned my lesson. I will never again assume that my husband can do minor repairs on a car to save us money. It will, in fact, end up costing us even more if I urge him to try it. Keeping this in mind, I think I will refrain from asking him to do any home repairs as well.

Today my friend Lisa and I decided to take our children out to see Santa at the mall. Bad idea? Obviously. I suppose we were suffering from some delusion that our toddlers would happily waddle up to Santa, sit on his lap, smile a big toothy smile for the camera, and gladly get back into their strollers afterwards. Heh, right.

My first clue that this would be a disaster should have been when Cordelia decided to abort her nap in the morning. Normally I have the rule that we don’t leave the house until she takes her nap, but I blissfully decided that she seemed fine even though she refused to sleep.

We met at the mall, and there was no line to see Santa. Fabulous! I thought, Now at least if they take some time to warm up to Santa, we won’t be inconveniencing anyone else. We go up to see Santa, and the “elf” (twiggy blonde teen girl in a skimpy elf costume – do her parents know she’s wearing that?) tries to sell us a package. I take Cordy out of the stroller, and she immediately twists herself out of my arms onto the floor. Just when I think she might crawl right over to Santa and make a mommy proud, she bolts for the exit ramp and I have to chase her down. I tell Lisa to go first, while I wrangle with my now shrieking, thrashing monster child who is clearly pissed that I won’t let her crawl down the exit ramp.

Lisa has no better luck. While she has the most gentle, mild, well-behaved child I’ve ever seen, he’s also very sensitive. And the thought of getting close to the big man in red with the big white beard, sitting in the massively oversized chair made him burst into tears. Lisa sat with him in the chair with Santa, and Twiggy Elf snapped several shots. Meanwhile, Cordy had decided that now Santa was cool, and she stood up and walked right into several of the pictures. She again resorted to her tazmainian devil impression when I tried to pull her back.

I glance around me and see that somehow, out of nowhere, there is now a line of 7-10 mommies with their beautifully dressed children waiting to see the big man. And the eyes of every single mother were fixed on me as I wrestled with Cordy and tried to bribe her to be good with Goldfish and Gerber puffs. Apparently God hates me for some reason. But I was determined to go through with this, because, well, I guess I’m a glutton for punishment.

Lisa picks the best pic of her son (the pouty-faced one, where he was at least looking at the camera), and Twiggy Elf informs me that we’re next. I can feel the heat of the moms in line staring at the back of my head, probably using all of their mental powers to will Cordy to cooperate. I decide not to even risk handing her to Santa, knowing that not even her grandpa can hold her if I’m in the room. I sit down with Santa, and Twiggy Elf, clearly tired of dealing with us, starts shaking her jingle bells to get Cordy’s attention while I shove one more goldfish in her mouth to keep her happy. My friend Lisa, with her son back in the stroller, sits under the camera and does a song and dance to also attract Cordy’s attention. Cordy sees Lisa and laughs. Twiggy Elf snaps several pics in rapid succession and says, “Well, I think I got one of her smiling.”

We get out of the way of the next kid and view our pics. There’s not a single one that’s good overall. I’m torn between two: one where I look decent and Cordy looks retarded with her mouth half open, or one where she’s smiling (although looking away from the camera and from Santa), but I look, well, drunk. I decide to be the selfless mommy and choose the good pic of Cordelia, while adding this to the list of Things I Did For You to present to her whenever she’s a rotten teenager someday.

I thank Santa (that man surely does not get paid enough), and we move down the exit ramp to the cashier and to wait for the pics. Cordy thrashes and screeches until I nearly drop her, and then tries to crawl as fast as she can towards the Origins store (I had no idea she was so interested in skin care). I drag her back to the Santa station, which results in her frantic “I’m being tortured” screaming. Plopping her into the stroller, I attempt to strap her in while she does her best to resist my efforts.

Once she’s strapped in, she wails and arches her back and shakes the stroller. Now all of the moms in line, along with half of the mall, are staring at us. My face begins to turn red from embarrassment as hers reddens from anger. People walk by, staring at Cordy in a mix of horror and amazement at the sound she’s producing. I try to offer her snacks, but she smacks my hand away.

I wait for what seems like an eternity (about 5 minutes), get the pics and make a hasty retreat. Aaron then calls as we’re walking out of the mall, asking how things are going. “Well,” I respond, “I think most of Easton now thinks we are either the parents of a demon or the worst parents in the world.” “Oh, OK,” he responds, “Well, I’m going out to get some lunch. I’ll talk to you later.” Sure, great.

After the Santa fiasco, we rest at Lisa’s apartment for awhile, and then I meet up with Aaron. As we’re heading home, the snow begins. I knew this was coming. It had been on the news all day. I just didn’t realize how fast it would come. The roads are covered in snow, the visibility is squat, and, as usual, Ohio drivers are being stupid. I watch a man take a left turn far too fast and plow his car into a lightpost. I quietly pray to anything that would listen to get us home safe. I’ve always been annoyed with stupid drivers in bad weather, but Cordy is in the backseat, and the thought of someone hitting us and hurting her is terrifying.

When I was a child, my mom and I were in an accident due to icy roads and I was asleep in the back of the car – the hatchback flat part of the car (yes, no car seat!). I was lucky that it was a slow speed accident – it could have been much worse.

So, we’re home now, and the snow is still coming down, and the fireplace is on. I’m pretty sure I earned my glass of wine tonight, along with a nice chocolate and almond bar.

Oh, and the Santa pic? Here you go, but remember that I normally look much better than this: