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3
April
2008

Hey mamas. This is where it all started for me. Twelve years ago I managed to talk my editor into letting me write my own newspaper column. I was only 23 years old. Boy, what was he thinking? But I sure am glad he gave me the chance because the column has become a big part of my life. It has given me the opportunity to connect with readers in my own community and beyond, thanks to the magic of e-mail. The column runs in a few newspapers in Arkansas and Missouri and a few of the pieces have appeared in the Chicken Soup for the Soul book series.

I’ve compiled a few of my favorite columns on this page. Some are recent and some are oldies but goodies. If you’re in the mood for a love story, check out the Valentine’s column. If you’re a dog lover, click on “Good Dogs.” If you’re having one of “those days,” you’ll want to read “Isolation Booth.” If you’re potty-training a kid, then you can commiserate with me by reading “Naked Nuggets.” And if you’re feeling embarrassed about something stupid you did recently, then you must read “Laid an Egg” because you will feel infinitely better about yourself after you read it. I promise that whatever you might have done is not even a half as humiliating as what I did. Guaranteed.

If you like what you see, drop me a note. It’s always a pleasure to hear from fellow mamas.

A few Rockwood Files

My funny valentine

Second time around

When good dogs get old

The sound of silence

Today I laid an egg


6
March
2010

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By Gwen Rockwood, newspaper columnist and mama of 3

When I was in my mid-twenties, I went to work for an ad agency and learned an important truth: “Money ain’t funny.” It was something my boss always used to say as a way to remind us not to make errors on billing and to treat our client’s budget with the utmost respect.

I did always respect my client’s budget. I just wish I’d done a better job of respecting my own. It’s embarrassing to admit it, but I’m in my mid-thirties and I’m just now learning how to respect my own money.

The lights started to come on a few weeks ago when Tom and I started attending this class through our church called Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University. Ramsey is a well-known radio personality, best-selling author and motivational speaker. We took the class because becoming debt free seemed like “a good idea on paper.” But I wasn’t convinced it was necessary or even practical. Our generation has come to see debt as an inevitable part of life. We’ve got a house, three kids, two dogs and debt. Doesn’t everybody have it?

I found out the answer is “no.” Some people actually live debt-free, and they do it quite happily. They don’t have a big, scary credit card bill waiting to kick them in the financial rear at the end of the month. They have some money in the bank, in case of emergency. And they manage their money the way our grandparents used to manage theirs. Sounds crazy, I know, but it’s true.

Tom and I started talking about how great it would feel to be totally debt-free. And we agreed that this kind of financial security is exactly what we want for our kids as they grow up and what we want to teach them to do in their own lives.

credit-card-cutting-up.jpgSo, hesitantly, we ditched the credit cards and are now on a cash-only system – what Ramsey calls the “envelope system.” In the class, Ramsey says paying with cash automatically helps control spending because it’s more painful to let go of actual cash than it is to slide a credit card through a machine. During the past two weeks, I’ve definitely felt that difference.

Truthfully, I miss the convenient zip-zip of my credit card. I miss the way I never really had to think about it as long as the credit card was there in my purse.

Yesterday I went grocery shopping with only the cash in my envelope. Suddenly, I noticed the price of everything and made a shocking discovery: THINGS ARE REALLY EXPENSIVE. Can’t believe I didn’t notice it before. But knowing I’d have to part with all those twenty-dollar bills made me use a different set of criteria for what went into my shopping cart. Anything in the cart had to rise to the level of “really need it,” and not just “kinda want it.” It’s easy to get a bunch of “kinda want it” when a credit card is picking up the tab and the actual bill is coming by mail 20 days from now.

When I checked out at the register, my bill came to half of what it typically is. I was amazed because I still managed to get the essentials we needed. I guess all those “kinda want it” items had been inflating the bill more than I’d realized. As the checker counted the cash I handed her, the man behind me in line jokingly said to the young clerk “Those bills and coins make it hard on you, don’t they? I’ve got a credit card so I’ll be easy.”

She laughed a little at his joke as I pushed my cart full of groceries and kids toward the door. And I laughed a little, too, because it struck me as ironic. In our culture, the money pendulum has swung so far in the credit direction that “paying as you go” suddenly seems like a fresh idea.

I also thought about the last word the man behind me in line had said: “easy.” He’s exactly right. The great thing – and the dangerous thing – about credit cards is how they make everything so easy. Easy to spend, easy to ignore your own financial reality, and easy to make smaller payments instead of paying it off (even when you promise yourself you will). It’s all so easy. And that’s why it’s also easy for families to end up living paycheck to paycheck – regardless of whether they make $20,000 a year or $200,000. Debt is an equal-opportunity mistake.

I’d be lying if I said there haven’t already been a few times I’ve wanted to dig through the trash, find the pieces and tape that credit card back together. For so long now, I’ve thought of it as my financial safety net. But perhaps that net was really a trap all along. And I want out. I want a taste of the freedom those debt-free people have.

The plan for getting out is simple and ridiculously unsophisticated. You don’t even need an “app” for it, and there’s nothing “creative” about this kind of financing. It’s just about counting money, paying bills and borrowing nothing. It feels true and honest, and I like that.rockwoodheadshot2010compressed4.jpg

Money definitely ain’t funny. But if we can get completely out of debt and build up a cushion to protect us in this bumpy economy, I think we’ll definitely be the last ones laughing – all the way to the bank.

Gwen Rockwood is a mom to three great kids, a newspaper columnist and co-owner of nwaMotherlode.com. To read previously published installments of The Rockwood Files, click here.  

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27
February
2010

By Gwen Rockwood, newspaper columnist and mama of 3

This morning I woke up, shuffled downstairs for caffeine and glanced out the kitchen window. What I saw woke me up faster than the Diet Dr. Pepper. It was snow. Let me rephrase that. It was MORE SNOW!

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I said to no one. But if it was a joke, Mother Nature was the only one snow-falling.gifsnickering.

I turned on the small TV in the kitchen to catch a local forecast. The weatherman said the snow flurries wouldn’t accumulate and would, at worst, leave only a dusting on the ground. But the wind chills, he added, would be brutal.

“Ugh,” I said, exasperated at the thought of dressing in layers once again. By the time I get the kids dressed warmly enough to go outside these days, they look like three little Michelin men in varying heights.

Even though we’ve only had 56 official days of winter so far, it feels more like, oh, I don’t know, 56,000 or so? Experts say this is the coldest, snowiest winter on record for most of the country. One day last week, there was snow on the ground in 49 states, with Hawaii being the lone hold-out. (Is it just me, or does a trip to Hawaii sound fabulous right about now?)

It’s not that I have anything against snow. I love snow – the first two or three times it happens. After that, I’m over it. I want to run an errand without wearing a parka. I want to stop driving down slushy streets that re-freeze overnight. I want to see the sun!

Perhaps the worst part about the unusually cold weather and the all-too-frequent snowfall is what it’s doing to my energy level. The gray skies and bitter winds make me gravitate to the sofa across from the fireplace. I spent a few hours lying there last Sunday afternoon, dozing while the kids watched the Winter Olympics.

(By the way, at the time of this writing, it is 24 degrees warmer in Vancouver, Canada than it is here at my house – in the SOUTH. There’s something very wrong about that.)

After I’d been lying there a while, 8-year-old Adam nudged me awake and said, “Mom, are you going to wake up from your nap now?” He was clearly a little irritated with the day’s lazy agenda and he was ready to do something, anything. His impatience gave me the strongest sense of déjà vu. Suddenly I remembered feeling the exact same irritation when I was that age. Why were my parents so tired, I wondered. I didn’t understand why they’d want to spend their day off doing something as boring as reading the big, fat Sunday newspaper and sleeping on the sofa. It was SO boring. I swore I’d never be like that when I was a grown-up.

(Note to all 8-year-olds: Never swear that you won’t ever be like your parents because it’s the quickest way to ensure you will be.)

Reliving that memory was one of those full-circle moments that made me realize I’ve now become the newspaper.jpgboring grown-up – the one who wants to be left alone long enough to read the newspaper, the one who falls asleep if she’s given a semi-quiet room and a chance to get horizontal. No wonder the kids were miffed.

Perhaps my motivation will increase when the temperatures do. Many of us just need some reassurance that spring will come again. We need to see a tulip poke its pretty head out of the ground. We need a few sunny days in a row and temperatures warmer than those at the Winter Olympics in Vancouver.

The good news is that there are only 33 days to go until the first official day of spring. And when it does, the kids and I are going to shoot hoops on the driveway and plant flowers and eat popsicles on the front steps. And I promise I won’t waste one minute of the summer complaining about the heat.

But until then, I’m nothing more than a sleepy Mama bear, hibernating in her warm, dark cave.rockwoodheadshot2010compressed3.jpg

Wake me when it’s spring.

Gwen Rockwood is a mom to three great kids, a newspaper columnist and co-owner of nwaMotherlode.com. To read previously published installments of The Rockwood Files, click here. 

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20
February
2010

By Gwen Rockwood, newspaper columnist and mama of 3

I fell off the diet wagon last weekend – and, oh, what a spectacular, delicious fall it was. I know I should take responsibility for it. After all, no one had a gun to my head, forcing me to go for that second or third helping. But I did have an accomplice in the crime, so let me just say this: “My mother made me do it.”

Okay, maybe she didn’t “make” me do it, but she did make the food during her visit last weekend, and that’s what triggered the fall from grace.

Before they arrived, I’d been doing pretty well on my pledge to eat right and stop pretending I still have the metabolism of my teens and twenties. Because I don’t. To stay accountable, I’ve been keeping a daily running total of my calorie intake by jotting the number down in my cell phone, and I’ve lost nearly five pounds since Christmas. Pretty good, huh?

You know what else is pretty good? My mother’s food. In fact, it’s REALLY good. If you grab your Webster’s dictionary right now and look up the words “Southern cook,” you’ll see a photo of my mother crisco.jpgholding a skillet in one hand and a can of Crisco in the other. Once you spot her, close the book quickly before she has a chance to ask if you want some fried potatoes and cornbread. Because trust me, nobody can turn down an offer like that. Nobody.

Mom is the kind of cook who makes enough food for about 12 people, without even intending to. And she doesn’t trust ingredients that are labeled “light” or “fat-free.” She swears it messes up the recipe.

Before the kids got home from school on Friday, she’d already whipped up a pan of rice crispy treats, which are 5-year-old Jack’s favorite. Later that day, she made a cheesy potato casserole because she knows how much 3-year-old Kate loves it. The next morning, before I was even awake, she was pancakes.jpgdownstairs frying blueberry pancakes and crispy bacon for 8-year-old Adam.

Then Tom got a creamy batch of chicken and noodles, and I got a huge pot of boiled cabbage with polish sausage. Did I mention the Reuben sandwiches? Yes, those were incredible, too. Everyone got a big helping of their favorite foods.

And when all the food was prepared, she used her magic skillet to warm up the scraps and drippings as a special treat for our backyard dogs, who truly love her visits. (If my dogs had to choose who to defend in a home invasion, I have no doubt they’d protect my mother before me. I give them dry dog food. She gives them warm chicken liver. There’s really no contest.)

Of course, the obvious thing to do would be to ask my mother not to cook during her visit. But that’s ridiculous. It would be like asking her not to love us for a few days. It’s impossible. It’s what she does. And we like it that way.

The problem is me – my own weakness for all those foods that not only taste wonderful but also bring back good memories of home and childhood. I can say “no” to a lot of junk food and fast-food and even chocolate treats. But my mother’s sweet tea and cheesy potato casserole is like dieting kryptonite. It breaks my will. I crumble under its powerful smell. And I end up eating way too much and telling myself I’ll just exercise it off later.

Of course, to burn off the extra calories I ate last weekend, I’d probably have to swim the full length of the Mississippi River. Then I’d have to run to Alaska wearing ankle weights. Then I’d have to ride my stationary bike to the moon and back. And you know what? It’d be totally worth it.rockwoodheadshot2010compressed2.jpg

Long live the Southern cooks!

Gwen Rockwood is a mom to three great kids, a newspaper columnist and co-owner of nwaMotherlode.com. To read previously published installments of The Rockwood Files, click here. 

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