We're broke. Flat broke. This makes me crazy. I hate panicking about groceries and bills and daily life. I'm so tired of watching my age advance but my pockets stay empty. Not only could we use groceries, but Jacob's birthday party is this weekend (15 kids at Chuck E. Cheese, G-d help me) and I have to go on a business trip on Monday. For a week. With $3 in my wallet. Casting about for a way to improve our immediate situation, I pulled out the robins-egg blue card in my wallet.

When Benjamin was born, my well-intentioned, much wealthier cousin sent me a sterling silver baby spoon as a gift. Since that's simply not our lifestyle and I figured we could use the money, my mom and I went to Tiffany's with baby in tow so I could return the gift. They gave me a merchandise credit; they don't do actual refunds. Wealthy people don't use cash, ya know. I walked around the store to view the small handful of things that I could buy with $100 plus tax, but they (a) really aren't my style, and (b) seemed so wasteful. You're talking to a gal who really loves diamonds, but has no problem with cubic zirconia. So I just can't see wasting the money.

So I kept the merch credit. I figured maybe our fortunes would increase and I'd use it for something, or find someone else who'd buy it off of me. Well, the former sure as heck hasn't happened, and the latter is a joke. Who the heck has reason to shop at Tiffany's -- at least, who the heck do I know? I posted to Craigslist -- twice -- offering up the card along with the receipt verifying the amount. I said I'd love to trade it for equal (or at least close to equal) value in something more my speed (ie Target or something), or cash. The best offer I got was $50.

Why would I give up $110 worth of credit for $50 cash? Am I that desperate? Frankly, yes, but not enough to do it. I'm too outraged by how useless this is. So today, I called Tiffany. I explained the situation -- lovely gift, not my style, really could use the money, no chance of being a Tiffany Lady Who Lunches anytime soon -- to no avail. The robot on the phone just intoned the company's policy.

"I worked for [Big Machine] for five years," I said. "They would allow someone to return merchandise credit for a check refund, at least. They understood extenuating circumstances. Isn't there any chance Tiffany would do the same?"

Nope. Not at all.

"You don't understand. It makes me crazy that I'm carrying around this useless plastic card that to most people is worth what I could spend on groceries for my whole family for over a week."

So sorry. No dice. We don't care.

"So there is nobody at Tiffany who can overrule this policy. No way to make an exception."

Nope. We don't do that. We're rich. You suck. I'm bored with this conversation. I want to go count my cashmeres.

"You know, if I ever did get the opportunity to be a regular customer of Tiffany's, this is exactly the reason I'd go somewhere else. I can't believe the company wouldn't rather make a potential customer happy even if it means making an occasional exception. You're saying Tiffany's would rather risk the bad PR of this than bend a rule."

Yep, pretty much. Sucks to be you. Poor people smell funny.

"Well, I'm extremely disappointed. I hope you'll please tell the powers that be that this is a really unfriendly way to treat people. It's practically discriminatory. [Okay, I even realize as I'm saying this how stupid and wrong it is, but can't stop myself.] If people can't afford to shop there, they shouldn't be allowed to get gifts from Tiffany."

Really sorry you feel that way, really. Oh, wait. No, I'm not. Can I help you with anything else?

"Why start now?"

Have a nice day. *click*

Hey, Valentine's Day is coming up. Anyone want to buy their sweetie some overpriced jewelry with my credit? I'll let you buy me baby food in trade!

Really it's about choice, so my blog for choice could be about anything, right? Not just a woman's right to choose? "Just" a woman's right to choose; listen to me.

Being completely honest here, I have been on both sides of the coin. I've been a little suprised by pregnancy, and I've been assaulted. When I was surprised by pregnancy, I chose to keep my baby. (Frankly, it wasn't even a question to me.) But I was married and had expected to try again anyway, so it was really just a matter of the timing taken out of my hands. The other one -- the assault. That's the kicker for me. Nobody has the right to tell me that, should I survive being sexually assaulted, I might have to love and raise a genetic reminder of that crime.

Now, I was lucky (if you broaden the meaning of the word). The guy who raped me did not get me pregnant (I was on the pill for endometriosis at the time, which definitely helped), but did give me chlamydia. I found out pretty quickly, so hopefully there wasn't any lasting damage. But that was bad enough.

I don't take the negative result of abortion lightly. I'm a mother and I believe in G-d -- two things that greatly add to the impact of anything happening to a developing life. I can't even watch movies or read books where women lose their children -- before or after birth. But if you haven't been pregnant and you haven't been assaulted in a way that effects your ability to be intimate for the rest of your life, you have no right to tell me that I can't save my own body or sanity.

PastorDave will probably not be pleased with me, but barring unforeseen circumstances, I'll be participating in Blog For Choice Day.

On to the next... did I mention Jacob has his first loose tooth? He's over the moon. He showed it to me last week and it is, indeed, very wiggly. I called my mom so he could tell Nana the news, and she asked him if he was going to leave it for the Tooth Fairy. He asked me how much the Tooth Fairy would leave, and I asked my mom the going rate... which she said was a quarter.

My kid believes in the Tooth Fairy, but not that his tooth is only worth a measly quarter.

DH's family had a tradition where they would leave a note for the Tooth Fairy and ask for something. He remembers asking for a "gem," and was left a fancy marble, which he cherished for a long time. DH wants us to do that with our kids. I like the concept, but I'm skeptical; when I mentioned it to Jacob, he sort of made a face at the marble story. He said he'd ask for a light saber.

"The Tooth Fairy won't bring you something that your mom and dad don't want you to have," I said. Sorry, Jake. (I'll get into the whole psychological experiment we inadvertently did by allowing the kids to watch Star Wars in another post.)

So that night, Jacob came skidding back to my room while he struggled into his pajamas.

"Mommy, how does the Tooth Fairy know to come?"

"We have to make an appointment," I said.

"So I'll know what night she's coming and I can wait up for her?"

"Nooo," I said. "She won't come if you're awake."

"How do you make an appointment?"

"I call her secretary," I said. "The Tooth Fairy could be anywhere in the world, so she can't just come like that."

"You call her secretary?"

"Yep," I said. "I let her know that your tooth is loose, and they look you up in their database and compute when it will fall out, and then set an appointment for the Tooth Fairy to come that night. It's very complicated."

"How did you get the Tooth Fairy's number, then?"

"Oh, they give you that when you have a baby. We got it in the hospital -- there were all these forms to fill out, and that was one of them. Ya know, birth certificate, social security number, immunizations, Tooth Fairy. We had to sign saying we'd never give out the number. And when people adopt a baby, they get the same form when they do the adoption papers."

"Wow. So you called the Tooth Fairy already?"

"Daddy and I will do it tonight, after you go to sleep."

Jacob stood there a minute -- over four feet tall, in his crazy flannel footie pajamas, pondering the mysteries of the Tooth Fairy. And I thanked G-d that we had one way to keep a little magic, however silly, in his world.

In some ways, I'm a good mom to boys. I'm definitely not the girly-girl type, so all the Pepto-Bismol-pink Barbie and Princess crap would drive me out of my tree.

On the other hand, I'm so freakin' tired of hearing siren noises and having boys running up and down the hallway. I really don't care about pod racers or who always wins. I don't know the difference between a space explorer and an astronaut. I'm tired, too, of boy clothes that all look exactly the same so you don't know whose crap is whose. I hate the fact that all TV shows, movies, and toys for boys involve fighting in some way -- and that if you don't allow your kid to eat it up, you may guarantee his lack of popularity. What points can my kid score on the playground if we won't let him watch Power Rangers or have even the smallest light saber?

There are days -- like today -- when I'm so incredibly desperate for peace and quiet and solitude I want to cry. In addition to being outnumbered chromosomally, finances are typically tight and my therapist is putting her foot down about my bill. She has every right to, I'm not fighting that. But unfortunately, resources don't exist. I haven't had savings, or extra money at all, since.... well, definitely before we had kids. And things won't be better this month -- remember DH's Husband of the Year Award? He spent a full week organizing and tossing and cleaning our apartment, which is a week for which he will not get paid.

Bummer, eh?