Go to hell, $80 dollar sweater.

I used to be the supervisor of a fairly large language services at a local hospital. When my toddler was a tender three months old and I had been back at work for two days, my Veep asked me upstairs for a meeting. I don't remember the conversation after he told me he had to let me go because I was composing a mental symphony of four-letter words and smiling so I wouldn't get all stabby.

So here I was-previous primary wage earner, source of insurance, laid off with an infant and a tween at home and a husband whose job had frozen salaries three years prior, with no sign of unfreezing them any time soon. Sure I was worried about my house, the bills, the kids' health. I knew it would be hard, and I worried I wouldn't be able to contribute. I thought these were the types of concerns that would dominate my thoughts in the upcoming months. Some days, they were. Imagine my surprise when I also spent significant chunks of time mourning my quarterly trips to the salon, my pedicures and my shoe and Target budgets. I longed for my drive-through breakfasts at Dunkin Donuts and my Sirius radio. I had been so used to being economically secure. I had my youngest in my mid-thirties, not in my insecure twenties. I felt guilty for being selfish. I think that's what the extra X chromosome is for. I was sincerely grateful that like so many, I didn't lose the roof over my head but damn it, I worked hard for my middle-class lifestyle. I was past the stage in my life where I thought I'd ever have to give up my little luxuries. 

Enter the Boston Proper catalog. Props to their printers, who probably work day and night every 365 to churn out 3-4 catalogs a week, making sure I get my fill of new ways to wear faux fur, dusters and ample diet inspiration. Despite some very questionable items, every 2-3 catalogs there is one piece of clothing that I just HAVE TO HAVE. I dog-ear the page, toss it in the magazine pile and when my husband asks if he can throw it away, I wail in the negative and fantasize about how cute I will look in in that____________ once I have a spare $80 to burn. This is my version of window-shopping, except I save myself the exercise. By the time the seasons change, I have gotten bored of the fantasy and I toss out the magazine, therefore saving myself thousands of dollars and justifying my delusion.  Lately I became fixated on this stupid/awesome sweater:

My proportions may vary.

Except of course I don't have a spare $80. If I did I would like to think I'd stop using the boxed color that turns my hair black no matter what shade of medium brown I choose. I might buy rain boots instead of trying to run really fast with snow boots on. We're not on economic level orange like we were two years ago, but an extra child who eats like a middle schooler and a teen who eats like a T-Rex are really depleting my Imaginary Clothing Fund.  Because I'm a mother and I know now what it is like to scrape by, I sort of feel that spare cash could and should be used on winter coats and diapers. What IS that? The money is technically there, but I feel like I have to Judge Judy my reasoning for making such any frivolous purchase. Do men do this? It sucks. My mother's philosophy on money is that if you're able-bodied and still working, put it on a credit card and pay for it later. What if later, you are jobless and considering selling two pairs of shoes on ebay to get a stupid sweater you don't need? I don't want to develop a Depression-era mindset.

I think, "We're doing better. I can afford a bit of a splurge." I even apply the Secret, lest I be accused of negative thinking. The sweater is already mine, I just have to lead it home! I am almost resolved to go for it when I see this on Ravelry:

The "Tatiana" pullover from Interweave Crochet

I think, "Hm, I could do that." I look up the cost of the pattern and yarn, and it's about $35. Of course when all is said and done the time I invest would mean this sweater costs me roughly in the neighborhood of a night on the Mayan Riviera, but I think I'll make the sweater instead. It would be nice to pick the color and it would look good with jeans, which is always a plus. The baby has some hand-me downs from a generous friend. The eldest has told me he doesn't need anything just now. Hubby needs shoes. I can spend the $80 there just as easily, and he never gets himself anything. Maybe we'll eat out on our anniversary.

So I'm interviewing for a new job and if I get it, I hope to be comfortable once more. I hope that someday, I will be able to buy a Coach bag with impunity. I hope to pay someone way too much to shellac my tips with some sort of metallic nail art. Being laid off was a wake up call, but not in the way I thought. I thought it would make me hungry to go back to a power job, be a big earner again. Instead, I listened to the Yoda of Frugality, and I am a better wife and mother for it. He reminded me that the frills I miss are just that, that when times are rough you eat ramen again so your kid can have organic milk. You buy your kid a $50 game because his grades were amazing. You buy your husband shoes because he was loving and supportive during a really sucky time, and you tell the $80 sweater to go to hell.

For now.