Day 1
My initial plan for the week was to spend no money. It seemed a perfect way to imitate Charlie Brown and enjoy Christmas without the over-commercialization of the holiday season.
It's also a great way to get out of buying my wife a gift.
To make my week even more challenging, though, Linda suggested I completely remove the idea of money from my life.
No talking about it, no paying bills, I can't even hold money. I also can't ask someone to buy me something I may want.
I don't see too much middle ground for how this will play out; it's either going to be enormously easy, or harder than selling beach umbrellas in Alaska.
On the first day, I realized I didn't plan well in advance by stockpiling my weekly necessities. My potato chip supply has shriveled like Shrinky Dinks, and I can't ask for more.
Hopefully, Linda will recognize my forlorn puppy-dog look as I stare at the closet whimpering and she'll realize she needs to make a chip run.
Or, she may take advantage of my misfortune and stock the house with grapes and apples and bananas and wait me out like a hostage negotiator.
Eat healthy or don't eat. Hmmm, tough call....
I had a Monday morning meeting in the city, so to avoid paying a turnpike toll, I took the long way. I also went out of my way to find a free parking spot.
In the office building, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a tiny alcove with a vending machine full of cheer. The candy was nestled all snug in its place, while visions of Doritos danced in my face.
Shaking off the machine's siren call, I finished my meeting and returned home. With four days until Christmas, I'd already finished what little shopping I needed to do.
My final trip late last week typified why I really shouldn't be allowed to shop.
My 17-year-old daughter Caitlin likes music and she loves to cook, so her Christmas list included items listed this way: "Live at Piedmont Park" by Dave Matthews Band, "Live Trax Vol. 6" by Dave Matthews Band, mandoline, straight rolling pin, citrus juicer, etc.
The problem for cooking-clueless me was the placement on her list of mandoline, near the music.
I'd never heard of a mandoline slicer, so I went to a music store to price out the mandolin I thought she'd misspelled.
I decided against spending $179 for the mandolin, even though the owner was willing to throw in a free lesson.
When I told Linda about my experience, she gave me the frightened look I often get when I say something to her, the look that says, "Some days I wonder how he finds his way back home."
Day 2
My dad was a banker, so I should know so much more about finances than I do.
However, my mom was a nurse, so I also should know more about science and medicine, but nope, I'm 0-for-2 following in my parents' footsteps.
The concept of compound interest makes me as woozy as having blood drawn.
I write, something they both learned to do as first-graders.
I've never liked money because I was told repeatedly as a kid that it wasn't important in life. It can't buy me happiness.
It can't buy me love (this wisdom from the Beatles, who backstroked in money and then toweled themselves off with thousand-dollar bills).
And, silly me, I believed what people told me.
The fact is, money could have bought me happiness Tuesday around lunchtime, when I was craving Burger King fries.
I'm realizing I don't spend much on big-ticket items--not exactly shocking news to Linda--but I dribble away money on little pleasures.
A post-dinner ice cream run for the family, or a mid-day Cheese Puffs pick-me-up, or a few iTunes songs. I've played "Viva la Vida" more often than Coldplay in concert.
Much as I wanted the fries, I stuck to my plan. That's why Tuesday night, I pulled into a gas station, drove to the side, and switched seats with Linda so she could pull up to the pump and pay for gas.
In my wallet, I've got one dollar--less temptation--and a $50 restaurant gift card that was an unexpected early Christmas present from my brother Paul and his wife Lisa. Does using it this week count as spending money?
I'll know I'm conflicted if the card starts singing to me in my dreams: "I want my baby back, baby back, baby back/I want my baby back, baby back, baby back/Chili's baby back ribs."
Days 3 & 4
For most of my life, I waited until Christmas Eve to buy the last present I needed. I liked the excitement and energy of last-day shopping, the customers' panic, the crowd swirling like storm clouds in ever-changing directions, the general chaos all around.
I get that same rush now on Christmas Eve by bowling with six other families and our 20 combined kids from age 2 to 12.
Shoppers' have nothing on the pure chaos resulting when a 5-year-old starts to swing a 10-pound ball facing the wrong way.
One youngster held the ball to his chest and shotput the ball and himself down the lane. And I still just barely beat his score.
Of course, since I couldn't spend any money, Linda treated me to the bowling but she turned into Scrooge after that. Halfway through, I asked her leadingly, "Do you think a Coke would taste good now?"
"No, I'm okay," she said.
"You could get one right over there, if you thought someone might drink it," I pleaded.
"Oh yeah, you could. I mean, someone could buy one, but you can't."
I think my dehydration led to my bowling woes, which is why my score was under 100 but just ahead of a 4-year-old.
My pride over besting the little dudes was nothing compared to Phil strutting around the lane after beating the four youngters he was paired with.
And he needed a tenth-frame strike before he could celebrate the win. "Sadly, that's among the highlights of my athletic career," he admitted.
We made our traditional post-bowling fast-food trip, this year to McDonald's. Without money, I feared I'd have to wait to eat until I got home, but Linda treated me to something without my asking.
The freeloading life is easy. No money, no problems. Though I'm beginning to feel like I'm part of Linda's personal posse along with Daniel as we follow her around and rely on her for handouts.
Am I becoming Kevin Federline?
Day 5
It's hard to spend money on Christmas day. Most places are closed and, unless you're traveling to visit family and need to buy gas, most people are too content or too stuffed to move.
Buying something December 25th is as tough as getting off the couch after dinner.
Ah, but where there's a teen, there's a way.
I accompanied Caitlin to pick up Chinese takeout for lunch since a fridge full of food to satisfy Fat Albert just wouldn't do.
I, however, found enough for three Meals O' Meat: bacon for breakfast, leftover Christmas Eve steak for lunch, and a Christmas dinner roast to complete the carnivore carnival.
And with leftovers a-plenty, my consecutive Meals O' Meat streak might last until the chair collapses beneath me.
My wonderful cash-free Christmas featured one minor meltdown.
Seven-year-old Daniel, at times, can have the mood swings of a pregnant elephant. Contagiously laughing one minute, ready to fight the world the next.
Throw in the build-up of Christmas day and his 3:30 a.m. overly excited wake-up, and you've got a combustible mix ready to go Jekyll & Hyde at any time.
That moment arrived as soon as he opened his last present.
The one thing Daniel wanted more than anything was something no one could buy: his long-lost stuffed animal, Puppy, which vanished last spring. In his letter, Daniel asked Santa to find
Puppy and return him.I had no idea how much Daniel missed Puppy until he opened his last gift--a Lego set he wanted, but it wasn't Puppy.
The tears flowed, perhaps also because Christmas was "over," and the look on Daniel's face was devastating.
And, thanks to Caitlin's camera work, the moment was captured for all time.
Someday, Daniel may get a good laugh over the picture--not anytime soon (unlike his big sister), but someday.
Of course, in fairness to Caitlin, Daniel drew a picture for a Silly Sentences assignment that's hanging on our fridge that reads, "My sister drove off a cliff. Big boom!"
The great thing about kids is their resiliency, and 45 minutes later Daniel was elbow-deep in Legos and as jolly as Santa Claus himself.
Who needs money when kids give you everything you need--and sometimes a little bit more than you need....
Days 6 & 7
The first time I earned money working a regular "job" I was 10 and I delivered an afternoon daily newspaper that cost 10 cents.
I'd ride my bike all around the neighborhood, or when it rained, my parents would drive me--clearly a losing proposition for them considering 1976 gas prices.
I'd collect from the subscribers once a week--I still remember an older woman who always gave me a 10-cent tip--and I'd store the money in a kitchen cabinet until my boss came around every two weeks to collect.
Seeing the cash pile grow was the highlight of the job.
How much have times changed since 1976? Afternoon daily newspapers don't exist, most papers publish free versions online, and I suspect most papers now don't rely on 10-year-olds to handle billing.
I recalled my first job yesterday after I realized I couldn't spend any money to buy the Sunday paper.
It turned out to not be a problem: I read much of it online without spending the $1.75. No wonder newspapers are going the way of the Pony Express.
I managed to remain cash-free for the week's final two days until late Sunday. We were out of milk and Linda wasn't able hit the store.
I gave in and drove out to buy it. Of course, I had to walk by the chip aisle--Linda hadn't replenished my now-depleted supplies, so I missed the chips and I know they felt the same.
I was right, they did miss me. A sign on the racks offered free dip if you bought two bags of chips. I was only gone a week and they're already hard up for business.
Their deal worked, though--I know exactly where I'll be and what I'll be buying first thing Monday morning.
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