frugality

You Can’t Take it With You: Spending Money in my 30s

Juli

Spending money?
Say what?

spending money in my 30s

I’m usually all about saving money, but I think in some small ways I’m starting to change my tune.

I’ve been straight up miserly since childhood – I was the kid with several piggy banks stuffed full, who never spent my birthday money on anything.

I had so much cash that in high school I became the go-to friend for a loan.  And I didn’t mind at all.

In college, I rode a skateboard to work because I didn’t own a car. I stretched restaurant gift cards by ordering nothing but muffins and tea.  I made my friends all birthday cakes, with 88 cent mixes and a 50 cent can of soda.

When we first got married, I could make dinner for four adults with a single chicken breast and Knorr Pasta Side.  No exaggeration.

Pre-owned clothing.  Pre-owned furniture.  Flipping a house.  Craigslisting.  Putting off car repairs.  You name it, we do it super frugally.

But today, I spent $30 on Christmas wrapping supplies, and I realized something.

We have been so careful with our money, for so long, that we deserve to spend a little of it on making our lives easier.

My husband got a sort-of promotion this year (he went from teacher to principal, but not the fancy kind of well-paid principal) and so far we haven’t really taken advantage of that whatsoever.  We’ve been saving up for a big vacation next year for five years, and we have some home remodeling we’ve budgeted for, but our day-to-day spending remains super tight-fisted.

Until I stopped in the Christmas aisles of the store today, and bought the first wrapping paper I liked, and the fancy name tags, and the nice ribbon.  Most years, I wait until I can get to the bigger store (an hour away) with the BIG rolls of INEXPENSIVE wrapping paper, and spend hours DIYing decorations and tags for the packages.  It takes forever.  I enjoy it at the beginning but then it majorly stresses me out.  So this year, I just paid for the fancy stuff right now, in early November, and can leisurely wrap my presents at will.

Definitely worth $30.

There are other things I’ve recently decided are worth the money or cupboard space after years of refusing them.

A griddle.  I always felt like owning an electric griddle was a kitchen-space extravagance; after all, can’t I just use a pan on the stove.
But I’ve got a pretty large family now, and making pancakes two at a time in a pan was taking more time than it was worth.  I asked for a griddle as a gift (a practical one – it flips over to become an indoor grill) and have used it multiple times already in only a couple weeks.

Good pens.  Sure, I could stick it out with the free or very-inexpensive ballpoint pens, but I do a lot of handwriting and every single time I touch a ballpoint to paper I’m irritated.  (I have a problem.)  Flair pens, always, regardless of the extra $.

Better hangers.  YEARS of slipping clothes, followed by years of breaking hangers, and I’ve finally landed on all-one-piece metal hangers coated in something.  Worth the extra.
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Essentially, if I use it every day and it’s not too extravagant, or if it will save me serious stress and effort, it has become worth it to me.  After all, I’ve spent 25 years being careful with my money – and you can’t take it with you.

Reflecting: Making Tortillas

admin
The other night for dinner, I decided to make homemade tortillas.
That sounds uninspiring, maybe.
I remember when I first “learned” to make tortillas.  I use some quotes there because my attempts were awful.  But I “learned” to make them during our first year of marriage.
(A little background: We got married at 21 and were both full-time in private college for an additional three semesters.  Picture a historic, falling-apart apartment above a crafts&gifts store, with no internet and a leaky kitchen ceiling.  And heat controlled by the city, in Minnesota.)
Back then, I made homemade tortillas because we were, frankly, broke.
I had no aspirations of being a homemaker.  I didn’t even think I wanted children, and I certainly had no interest in giving up my (future) career.
But honestly, most of our groceries came from a food bank run by volunteer ladies in our college’s basement.  God bless those ladies, and the people who sent donated food.  We ate well, considering: cereal for breakfast, ramen noodles and bagged pasta sides and farm fresh eggs.
But I was determined that we would have tacos.
Tacos were a very important food to my (new) husband.  His family had big taco feasts when he was growing up – lots of chopping and grating and heating up in preparation for a big spread around a huge oval table with lots of siblings, nephews, significant others.  I had experienced these family taco dinners firsthand, and I knew how much he loved the whole atmosphere.
If we were to have tacos, those tortillas had to be free.  And free meant making them myself, with flour and oil from the food bank.
I remember investing $3 in a crappy grocery-store rolling pin to make my husband a pie on his first married birthday.
I remember taking our iPod touch down to the local coffee shop to get some WiFi, to look for a recipe for tortillas.  Then writing it down to bring home, because the iPod wouldn’t save webpages.
I remember them tasting like oily flour, and being strangely transparent, and way too thick to actually roll into a taco.
I remember my sense of accomplishment at having made a family taco feast out of nothing but sweat and stubbornness.
Then my thoughts turned to more recent years, where our financial state has been more secure.
Years where I never gave a second thought to store-bought tortillas, where I had the luxury of being picky about the percentage of my ground beef, where my complaints about taco feasts mounted because “I didn’t feel like washing up all those dishes” or “it was too much chopping to bother with.”
And here I was, in my beautiful new kitchen, stepping around my toddlers, scattering flour everywhere, making tortillas.  Almost a decade after that first time.  A completely different woman, a completely different wife, living in a way I would have never imagined back in that leaky kitchen as a college student.
Making tortillas because I thought it would be a fun culinary adventure.  Because I could.
 
And they turned out beautifully.
What I mean to say, friends, is these tortillas remind me of how blessed I have been in my adult life.
And of a time when I put significant effort into homemaking without even realizing it.
And that now that I have the luxury of time and money, how much more should I work toward creating that “taco feast” kind of atmosphere.
Grace.