Sneaky money

April has been a pretty frugal month, with few purchases other than consumables (food, personal hygiene products, gas). A handful of other small items — a birthday gift, a shovel for my garden — but that's about it. And for good reason: some large and unavoidable expenses in late March ate up most of our April income before we even had it. By mid-April, we were really scraping the bottom of the barrel (though we do not, in fact, keep our money in a barrel). Then, a few days ago, we received a check for a sizable sum of money that was owed to us. "Sizable" is relative, of course; for us, it was a nice chunk of cash. Now, this really wasn't "extra" money, and it was badly needed to help us through the rest of the month.

And yet....

Once it was in the bank and that balance figure was back to a comfortable level, I realized how quickly one's mind drifts toward dirty thoughts. Come on, baby, spend me...you know you want to. Example 1: I drove past a Target store and blithely wondered if there was anything I needed to buy. Before the check was deposited, and spending simply wasn't an option, I'm certain I would not have had the same thought. Example 2: We ate out tonight because I didn't feel like cooking. Nothing fancy (a generic Mexican food restaurant), but we both ordered margaritas, adding about 25% to our usual tab. It was easy to justify: we were treating ourselves after a day of yard and garden work. But I wonder how much produce I'll have to grow in my little garden plot to make up for the dinner bill? Again, pre-check, we would have eaten in.

What amazes me is how easily this happens even when I am trying to be vigilant about expenses, trying to evaluate needs vs. wants — trying to be a conscious consumer. No wonder so many of us are just squeezing by month to month (or worse, living on credit). Now, I'm not agonizing over the fact that we went out to dinner; I just want to feel like I'm making choices rather than blindly following momentary wants while under the illusion that money is plentiful. Because (not-so-)easy come, easy go...

The Car and I: A progress report

A couple of weeks ago I decided to try relying less on my car and more on my feet and public transportation (read about my rationale here). Now almost halfway through the month, I thought I'd evaluate my progress...and I've actually done pretty well.

Week 1: Used the car two out of five weekdays, rode the bus, walked about 6-7 miles.

Primary lessons learned: 1)Full-size stroller + public transit = major hassle (but the kid loves the bus—no carseat! Freedom!). 2)Need better walking shoes.

Week 2: Used the car two out of five weekdays (I had only allowed myself one driving day this week; I did carpool on one of those days...does that still count?), rode the bus, walked about 3-4 miles.

Primary lessons learned: 1)Smaller strollers are still a (minor) hassle on the bus, and will leave dirty tire marks on your pants as you try to maneuver child, diaper bag, and stroller up the steps. 2)Walking in the rain is not as romantic as you might think.

As I look ahead to weeks three and four while checking the 10-day weather forecast, I am not terribly excited about the prospect of more rainy/cold/windy/dreary walks. While some people may find a brisk walk on a wet and blustery day to be refreshing, perhaps cleansing, I prefer the comfort of my enclosed, heated automobile. But, living in Seattle, committing to driving less requires a willingness to accept the rain.

I believe I still have several stages to go through, however, before reaching acceptance.

Leave me alone.

In my last post I mentioned feeling "on call" with respect to my freelance work. This feeling, I realized, creeps into my non-work life as well: to be unreachable in this era of instant communication is considered, it seems, to be at least undesirable, and perhaps even rude.

I find this situation to be a major obstacle to simplification.

[Dear friends and family, please do not interpret the following thoughts as a response to our communications. I enjoy talking to you all, really.]

Because I have a cellphone, at any given time, during any activity, I am expected to be available (and willing) to take a call. If I am online, then I am also expected to respond to emails immediately and acknowledge IMs. If I've been away from my house, I feel compelled to check my voicemail as soon as I get home and return calls promptly. My time does not belong to me, or at least not to me alone. I am not a luddite — my husband and I depend on technology and efficient avenues of communication for our work, and I enjoy the convenience of having quick access to the people I wish to contact.

The problem, for me, is the expectation: if I did not give up the right to my own time, or if I were to set limits on my availability, I would be perceived as breaking some modern social contract. I'm not entirely sure when this new contract came into being; it seemed to establish itself quietly yet firmly over the past two decades. People now feel that a cellphone is a necessity because employers, among others, need to be able to reach them at all times. But was that "need" always there, or did it develop because technology made it possible? And how does that "need" effect us as humans? Are we a little more anxious knowing that we might be interrupted at any moment, that our free time isn't free anymore?

Maybe it's just me.

Lately, when my daughter is napping (oh, those precious periods of silence), I have started taking the landline off the hook and turning off my cellphone. I don't even want to hear it ring, to concern myself with who might be calling and whether to answer. I usually catch up on a little email initially, but then close my computer and read, rest, or otherwise bask in quiet solitude (even the mundane household tasks I do during this time feel more pleasant when they are uninterrupted). Why should this seem like a luxury? Aren't we all entitled to time alone?

I'm thinking about doing a once-a-week communication technology fast: no phone calls, no computing (if my computer is open, I can't help but check my email). My anxious inner dialogue pleads, "But what if someone needs to reach me?!" Well, they could probably wait a day. "But what if I'm expecting an email, or need to look up a vital piece of information online, like the name of that guy in that movie I saw last week, or that funny YouTube clip my friend mentioned?!" Well...yeah. I'm an internet junkie. Sure, some of it is educational and enriching, but a lot of it is pure time-sucking. When I don't have the option of being online (while staying at the family beach house, for example), I really don't miss it — but having the computer right there, tempting me...choosing to resist would be a bigger challenge.

Still, having one day a week of unreachability, of freedom from instant access — the thought alone seems to relieve some of the tension in my brow, the stress in my shoulders....

Ah, yes, that's much better.

The Freelancer's Dilemma

The advantages of freelancing: I don't have to follow a set schedule; I don't have to take jobs that I don't want or can't manage; I am my own boss; I can charge what I want and get to keep all of the money I earn (minus the what I get to share with the IRS, of course, though there are some tax benefits).

The reality of freelancing: I work all hours (evenings and weekends); I feel compelled to take any job that comes my way since we could use the money; I have no one to whom I can delegate tasks — if there is work to be done, I've got to do it; I frequently charge less than the market rate since my clients tend to be small business people or non-profits with tiny budgets, and I want to cut them a break (or, often with these clients, charging more = losing out on the job, so I'll choose to charge less).

The aspect of freelancing that I find most incompatible with living simply is being (or at least feeling) on-call. I don't want work to pile up, and I do want to keep my clients happy, so if they need something done I make every effort to do it as soon as possible. As a consequence, I am in a constant state of thinking either "I need to take action x on project y" or "I should check my email to see if I need to take any action on projects x y or z." In addition, my work is sporadic, so I cannot predict from week to week (or sometimes day to day) how many hours I will need to set aside for my projects. I'm sure that some people can handle (or even enjoy) the on-call/irregular work schedule, but I can't say that I love it. It might be different if I wasn't also a full-time mom trying to balance work and parenting. A typical scenario:

Daughter, wanting attention - "Want to read this book?"
Me, trying to catch up on work during the day - "Give me a minute, I just need to finish this one thing..." or some variation on that theme.
D - "Want mom close the computer?" or "Want mom move the computer and sit on your lap?"
M - [sound of my heart breaking]

The alternatives? I could not work at all, but the extra income (albeit small) does make a difference in our ability to save and manage expenses. I could get a regular, part-time job (one with a set schedule and no take-home work), but the hourly pay would probably be much lower than what I can charge as a freelancer, and I would have to put my daughter in daycare, cutting into both my income and my time with my child.

Hence, the dilemma.

So long, TV

Well, not really. But the beast is out of the living room, and I'm amazed at how different the space feels without the big black altar in the corner. The room seems more open, warmer, quieter — even though the TV was usually off.

Once the TV corner, now a reading nook.

And talk about out of sight, out of mind...my husband asked me last night if a certain, um, reality singing competition was on, and I hadn't even thought about it without the visual reminder (after a brief moment of panic, I determined that it was not, in fact, an American Idol night).

Did I just lose all credibility by mentioning American Idol? So be it. I have weaknesses.

Since we don't have cable, my viewing options are pretty limited, but I do enjoy a few shows. We also like to watch movies, so tossing out the TV entirely would not have made sense. Removing the television from our main living space, however, will likely reduce the amount I watch, slow my daughter's interest in finding out what the big box is all about, and has already had a humanizing effect on our home.

Speaking of kids and TV: people, what's going on here?

My 2-year-old daughter doesn't watch TV. I'm not militant about it (for example, if we're over at someone else's house, I don't ask that the TV be turned off), and I can't say that I even gave the issue much thought. There was no researched-based decision to keep the TV out of my girl's life; I just don't turn it on during her waking hours — why would I? Now, I realize that my kid is pretty independent and plays well on her own; if I had an extremely demanding child I might be more tempted to use the TV as a way to give myself a break. I don't know. But I think any child can find sources of entertainment that are, dare I say, even more interesting than TV. I won't cite the many statistics related to kids and TV viewing, but they are appalling. Yet, no one else in my circle of friends has made the no-TV choice; these are educated, progressive people, but many of their 2-year-olds already have favorite animated characters. Can someone make sense of this for me, because I just don't get it. Will I ever allow my daughter to watch TV? Sure. I don't think it's the root of all evil, and mindless entertainment has its place. We can't all be philosophers, and I'm not sitting up on some cloud of virtue judging parents whose kids watch TV. But is my daughter missing anything right now? Absolutely not.

The elephant in the room.

So, we've reduced grocery expenses considerably, we've cut way back on eating out, we're more conservative with our household energy use...in other words, the easy stuff.

Have you hugged your car today?

But what about that BIG energy consumer sitting in the driveway, you know, the one that accounts for our largest debt (after our mortgage)? Ah yes, the car.

We recently acquired a second car, and, as car purchases go, I think it was a pretty smart one (a 10 year old, very fuel efficient, low miles commuter car). My husband had been taking the bus to work for the past several months since his much older, less reliable car died a tragic death, and it wasn't an ideal situation for a number of reasons. Well, for my husband, at least — since I wasn't often affected by the lack of a vehicle, I was not as sold on the idea of a second car. "Why not just take the bus," I thought, "What's the big deal?"

Of course, I drive daily, even short distances that I could easily walk if I just allowed myself a little extra time. And I drive a larger "family sedan" that doesn't get the best gas mileage. We bought the car new about a year and a half ago after bad luck with our last used car. We shopped around and determined that a mid-size new car (with a great warranty) made sense for our family — and it might. Or maybe the $450 or so that we pay toward the car payment, gas, and insurance could be put to better use.

But am I willing to give up my car? Is it even practical? Toting diaper bag, stroller, and child on the bus isn't as appealing as hopping in the car. And the public transportation in our area isn't particularly convenient — I'd have to allow about twice the travel time. So, there would be sacrifices...or perhaps I should put a more positive spin on the idea and call them trade-offs. When I mentioned the notion of going back to one car, my husband said it seemed "extreme," which is kind of funny considering that for at least half of the time we've lived together we've shared one car (though much of that time was pre-child). I cannot claim to be ever-virtuous, however, as in the back of my mind I had the same thought. "Good lord, only one car!?" — talk about distorted ideals.

Here's my personal challenge for the month of April: I will drive only on Thursdays and every other Monday (I have ongoing commitments on these days that I cannot reasonably get to via bus/walking), and in the evenings, to simulate the experience of having one shared vehicle (assuming my husband would be willing to take the bus to work on those days should we decide to keep just one car). This will require some big adjustments on my part, particularly better time management, considering my tendency to cram too many things into too little time before rushing to my destination. But I want to try. I know I can make it work if I decide it's worthwhile — and I think it is. Check back at the end of April to see how I did!

The best thing since....

Two loaves of freshly baked honey wheat bread are cooling in the kitchen, filling the house with a warm, homey smell. Bread is one of the many things that I've routinely tossed into my grocery cart without thinking twice. It's convenient, relatively cheap — why would I invest the time and effort to make my own? I love to bake, especially when the end product is quickly realized (cookies, brownies, biscuits); for some reason bread always seemed too intimidating and finicky to be bothered with.

But that satisfying smell alone is worth a lot. Plus the significant cost savings (compared, at least, to the middle-of-the-road, not artisan but not

The local food critic seems to like it.

insubstantial-as-fluff bread that I usually buy). Plus it's really not that much work. Plus it tastes better, fresher, chewier. Okay, at least that's the goal. For my first batch I used the wrong flour (WW pastry), didn't let it rise long enough, and my loaves were short dense bricks. It made for good toast, and I sliced some of it very thin, brushed the slices with olive oil and sprinkled with parmesan or coarsely ground sea salt, then baked. These little crisps were good dippers for hummus. Batch number two rose a little higher, but was still stunted (tasted great, though).

Today's loaves look almost like real sandwich bread. At least I'm making progress.