“Pulling a Veruca” – that’s what my daughter and I call it when someone whines and pouts like the mink-coated brat, Vercua Salt, from Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory. Trouble is, I’m the one doing it these days. You can hear me sing this obnoxious tune every time I look at my worn-out couch: I want a couch
I want a new couch
One that is more chic than it is shabby. Don’t make me batty.
Give it to me
Now!
And cue the Oompa Loompas to cart me and said furniture away….
I can’t get a new couch now, can I? Not with a four-year-old and her unrefined four-year-old ways (and the unrefined ways of her four-year-old friends). Not even though I really, really, REALLY want it. I don’t get to be a mom, and an almost 50-year-old one at that, without recognizing bratty behavior when I see it. I’m fully aware I’m exhibiting a classic case of Wants Vs Needs, and getting a new couch doesn’t make the Needs List. It’s not like when the dryer suddenly stopped drying. That’s a Need in my book.
My Couch Money would be better off spent by not spending it at all. Better to put it towards my IRA, or the emergency fund that never quite gets funded past a certain amount. I’d say put a portion into my daughter’s 529 College Savings Plan, but I’m a bit miffed at her for not allowing me to get my new couch. (Big foot stamp.)
Don’t care how, I want it now!
I know, total brat. Don’t worry, I am sitting in the Time Out chair as I write and rein in my temper tantrum. Long before Suze Orman entered my financial world, there was my dad, Ronnie Herel and his “Ronnie Herel Money Management System (RHMMS).”
Here’s the RHMMS in action: When I got ten dollars for my birthday, Ronnie would say, “Are you going to bank half of that, babe?”
“Yes!” I’d happily respond as he beamed his approval. This is how I learned to enjoy saving as much as spending.
The RHMMS has served me well throughout my life. I have it to thank for keeping me, and now my little family, out of debt all these years. After all, there’s a real financial cost to raising a kid.
Once my husband and I decided we wanted to become parents (by way of domestic adoption), we took a look where the money was going and asked some tough questions: Was Japanese takeout every Monday something we needed? And so began the mental and financial shift of our family life. I’m happy to say that we continue to cultivate our financial serenity in this way – and feel far richer than any bank account balance could ever show.
Okay my Time’s Out over, back to the question about my couch. So what to do when every microfiber of my being is screaming out for new furniture?
Don’t care how, I want it—
Oh, shut up Vercua.
I’d do what Ronnie would do – start a New Couch Fund and focus and give thanks for all that I do have right now, like my sassy, beautiful four-year-old girl with sticky fingers.
And I’ll be sure to pass along my dad’s legacy to her so she’ll always be able to keep her Vercua Salt in check.