When John and I decided that he would open his own practice this year, we knew we would be living off our savings for a while. Because, contrary to popular belief, neither “owning your own” anything nor “lawyer” actually equal instant riches (much to my dismay). This decision should have been easy for me for a couple of reasons. First, because I’m good at saving money. (According to my mother, I still have every babysitting dollar I ever earned sitting in a bank account accruing interest at a slower rate than inflation. This is not entirely true. I actually spent most of that on my first laptop in 2000. I do, however, still own that laptop.) Second, and good for John, I happen to be an eager and lucky investor. This season of my life, like working through his law school education, to me, is another investment. I vowed, therefore, neither to worry nor complain about money this year.
I’m going to praise myself for a moment here because beginning January 1st, I believe I’ve held up my end of this personal bargain. This is despite the fact that our November financial planning session and predicted budget (conducted through the brilliance of an Excel spreadsheet + Google doc’s) did not account for some unexpected monsters. The first and biggest beast looming in our financial shadow is the fact that we still own our condo in Burlington. Another, unsurprisingly, is our transportation situation. When Arnie the Accent finally chugged his last “I think I can” in October, John and I were actually blessed to be gifted the use of my sister’s college car while she is in Hawaii. And while John holds his head as high as he can from the white Chevy-Baylor-Women’s-Lacrosse-Cavalier, we both know the time is coming to move onward and upward in the ranks of family automobiles. I shudder as I imagine shopping for mini-vans, but have resigned myself to the inevitable and its quick approach. Last, but not least, has been the beast known as health insurance. I will say right now, I never once took it for granted that enduring abuse from public high-schoolers on a daily basis came with pretty good health benefits. Those of you in a similar situation will completely understand that I live in far greater fear of an ear-infection than I do of back surgery or cancer. Praise the government for the wonders of preventative/catastrophic health insurance and dear God help us if we accidentally get pregnant again.
This is not complaining. This is free therapy.
On the flip side, my effort to avoid complaining about finances has probably created in me an obnoxious habit of celebrating savings. Again, my mother wonders exactly where her cheapest child could possibly manage to cut further corners (“You refuse to get cable or a home phone and I bought you your first microwave!”). I like to tell people that I’m unofficially employed by Rite Aid through three magical little words: single check rebates. In the past year I’ve become a bit obsessive about reducing our grocery budget through the systematic (and somewhat psychotic) use of coupon and sale shopping. I’m not about to give away my secrets here (it would only add more stay-at-home-mom-style competition to my Sunday and Wednesday mornings) but I will say that I’ve effectively reduced our spending on food, paper products, medicine cabinet items, and toiletries by $25 a week. I count this as my $1300 a year salary.
All of our dates this year have been mostly funded by Groupon referrals, a new GPS was paid for through Amazon gift cards, and I can’t remember the last time I actually spent money on diapers. A few days ago I received a $45 check in the mail from Bacardi Rum and I’m expecting a $15 check in a few weeks courtesy of a diabetic device – a disease I don’t even have.
My sincere apologies to friends and family who are sick of my savings celebrations. All of this is really to say that it has been a little difficult moving from a position of primary financial contributor to my family to living at the mercy of my husband’s brain and God’s grace. I am admittedly still learning how to measure my worth in something other than dollar signs. Because at 5:30 every evening, when John asks, “How was your day?” I rather prefer another random savings announcement to, “Well, the children are still alive, aren’t they?”
The UnderToad 