Defining Wealth

"What's on your mind?" Husband asked as we walked along the shore of Seven Mile Beach.

"Oh, nothing!" I replied, a little too quickly.

Husband knows me better than that. "Out with it," he responded.

"Oh--it's really nothing. I was just worrying about Maria a little bit. I think she's having financial problems. I mean, her cell phone's been cut off..."

Husband groaned outwardly, knowing all too well what was on my mind.

"Don't worry," I assured him, "I'm not going to do anything about it."

The truth is, I was at that very moment planning exactly what I was going to do about it. I was going to find stuff to sell on Ebay in order to help her out.

"We can't save everyone, you know."

Husband was right. We can't. Still...if it was money that I earned from selling something of mine, then it wouldn't impact our family. Six months out of work and I still feel bad about blindly spending the money that Husband works so hard to earn. One day I will get over this, but for now...

"I was thinking about finding some of my stuff to sell on Ebay!" I blurted out. I can't keep secrets from him. "Then I could give her the money as...as a bonus, or something!"

"A bonus?" husband asked.

"Yes, I mean, she's done a fantastic job as our housekeeper so why shouldn't we give her a mid-year bonus. Honey, I really think she's in trouble financially and her daughter's birthday is coming up."

It doesn't take much to convince my sweet husband to do something nice for someone else. He is extremely generous.

"You don't need to sell your stuff, that's silly. Let's give her that bonus!"

A few days later I shyly (I don't know why I was shy about it) approached Maria with the money. I explained to her how grateful we are for all of her hard work and wanted to show our appreciation. Much to my surprise, she burst into tears.

"Oh God bless you, God bless you!" she said in her thick, Hispanic accent. "You have no idea how much I need this right now. May God bless you and give you much more! "

I was dumbstruck that my instincts were so right but aware enough to at least give her a warm hug.

"You absolutely deserve it," I told her.

A few nights later found us dining with some friends at a moderately priced Mexican restaurant. We only get to see this couple twice per year but still consider them to be dear friends. The conversations are usually lively and informative and tonight was no different as the husband half of this duo waxed eloquent about the real estate they just bought, the fancy cars they drive and the private school they send their children to.

"I mean, I make a lot of money--a LOT of money--and if I want to buy property and flip it for profit, why, that's good for the economy! If the politicians raise the taxes of the wealthy, then I couldn't afford to buy that second house which would be a shame because I am providing jobs for people!" The husband was on a roll.

Something told me that even if his taxes were raised, he could afford that second home. Something also told me that if the taxes of the wealthy aren't raised, then the burden may be distributed among all economic classes. My mind flashed to Maria.

I don't profess to be a Rhodes Scholar when it comes to political matters and I don't argue points that I myself don't understand. For this, I kept my mouth shut but inside I was churning.

Later that night as we walked the dogs I noticed that husband seemed down.

"What's the matter?" I asked him.

"Oh---I just wish I could provide for you more than I do."

"When you say 'provide', do you mean that you wished you made more money?"

"Something like that," he said.

I stopped walking, stunned. We *just* returned from a trip to the Cayman Islands. He bought me a piano for my birthday. Our home is nice, our cars are new and we eat out regularly. We have a housekeeper, for crying out loud! We manage all of this without going into debt. We want for nothing.

"Sweetheart," I stepped in front of him and looked at him earnestly, "You are a fantastic provider. Flawlessly so. You provide a loving home and immense security. More importantly, we have a happy home and you are the primary reason why!"

"I don't know about that," he hesitated. "I just wish I was as successful as some of my friends."

"Do not compare yourself with others for either you will become vain or bitter," I quoted.

"True." he replied, but I could tell that he wasn't convinced.

"Honey--first of all, you are successful. Second of all, we are wealthy--just in a different way. We may not have the tremendous monetary wealth that some of our friends do, but do you know what? Even if we did, there would always be someone who has more, so don't fall into those trappings. Instead, think about all the things we do have. We have our health. We have wonderful families. We have a great marriage, great dogs and a baby on the way. We have fantastic friends. All of these things mean so, so much more than a bank account that boasts seven figures. The truth is, there are far more complications tied to wealth than there is happiness. I love our life the way it is, and I love the way that you provide for us. You're home at a decent hour every night, you can take time off whenever you want, and you're never too tired to give yourself to your family. In my opinion, we are wealthy beyond measure."

I know I said a lot more than this because I talked non-stop for a quarter mile. When I know what I'm talking about, it's almost impossible to shut me up.

As his spirits raised mine sank a little. It always breaks my heart when I discover that something's bothering Husband. Glancing inwardly, I thought about that new car I've been hinting for. The home renovations I keep suggesting. The fancy gym I'd like to join. Husband always responds to these requests in good humor, but my materialistic streak must put a strain on him. When is enough enough? I realized that it is my actions that make husband feel like he's not making enough, and this has to stop. If there's anyone who needs to remember to be content with what they have, it's me.

I think about Maria and how she must feel as she makes her way through our home, carefully wiping the dust off all of our possesions. I think about the things I take for granted such as cell phones and birthday parties. I think about how wealthy Husband and I must seem from her perspective and I feel ashamed for ever wanting more.

Celebrations

Yesterday (which still feels like today since I am typing this at 1 am) I turned 37 and today Little Husband reached 24 weeks. A milestone for both of us since I don't like the number six and longed to reach the next age. As for Little Husband's milestone, well, it's always good when he turns a week older. Now I can sit comfortable knowing that I am officially 37 years old and that Little Husband has developed that much further.

I spent the day spending spa gift certificates which I found to be an excellent way to celebrate a birthday. My older sister eerily read my mind yesterday and sent me an e-giftcard for a one-hour off-the-charts pedicure. I literally opened the email minutes after thinking, "Oh yuck--I really need a pedicure!"

In other birthday news, the love of my life gifted me with a new love of my life--a full-size digital piano! I have wanted a piano ever since I was very, very young. Once upon a time my parents had an old, beat-up black upright but they got rid of it after repeatedly instructing my brother and sister and me not to bang on it (although our banging on it is probably not why they got rid of the piano). I loved banging on that piano and have missed it ever since.

After playing my piano for a few hours this evening I asked Husband if I could take it to bed with me but he said "no". He's unreasonable like that. I had to console myself by playing it for another hour after he went to bed. Now I need to give it a name...



Fortunately, this is not its permanent place of rest. The piano store sold husband the wrong stand so he is going to correct the situation after work today. He's also going to buy me a bench. Of course, in no time I will be playing like Harry Connick Jr. so a bench won't be necessary!

There's Poop in There!

"I see now why your A/C hasn't been working properly," the repairman said to Husband, "someone's been dumping poop into your duct work.

Not surprised, Husband turned my way. "Aha," he said, "That's what we've been smelling these last few weeks."

"No, no--that was the dog and she was sick. We had that carpet cleaned already. Remember? It cost us $200!"

I was having a hard time understanding how Husband could forget that incident. It will be forever etched in my mind.

"Excuse me sir," I directed towards the repairman, "Would you mind telling me how you troubleshot this situation and any steps I might be able to take myself to fix it?" This is common question that I pose to repairmen. They rarely take me seriously and thus never seem to mind schooling me on the ins-and-outs of their trade.

"Well...I don't know. This is pretty complicated stuff." The gruff repairman looked dubious.

"Just an overview, then," I negotiated. "I know a little bit about A/C units and can even troubleshoot the LEDs on some models."

He relaxed. "Oh...okay. Normally I wouldn't take a little lady like you seriously, but you seem like you would absorb this pretty well. You see, it all starts with the compressor..."

Suddenly I realized that my head felt groggy and my speech was sluggish. It was all I could do to keep my eyes open. In fact, suddenly my eyes were shut and I couldn't seem to open them. My head weighed a ton and was pounding. I needed to lie down.

Then I realized I *was* lying down and my eyes wouldn't open because I was asleep and having a dream. A vibrant, lifelike, poop dream.

Yesterday my equally realistic dreams were about rats crawling in my bed.

Gotta love being pregnant.

Business Here, By God!

I contacted my Professional Business Coaching buddies in Florida to see what they could do for me. They not only "polished up" my hairstyle and dress, they also managed to polish 20 years off my face and body. Unfortunately in the midst of all that polishing they seem to have rubbed my eyebrows off, but I forgive them. Miracle workers!

I'm Calling "B.S."...

This woman is not pregnant.



Do you know how I know? Because I *am* pregnant and pregnant women can spot their own. Why do they take an emaciated teenager, slap a belly pad on her and stick her in a maternity dress? Where are the boobs? The bloating? The altered stance resulting from chronic lower back pain?

Judging from her belly if she were pregnant, she'd be about 8 months along and would NOT have stick arms.

Nope, not pregnant.

I Have Just Become *That Parent*

I just mailed off a preschool application for Little Husband. I do believe that this pregnancy has brought me to a new low. The next thing you know, I'll be attending fundraisers and rubbing elbows with tenured professors in order to secure his spot in the Ivy League.

No need to say it--I make even myself sick.

Business Where?

It's 2 am and I'm suffering a little mid-trimester insomnia these days so I decided to peruse the Internet for information about Perdido Key, FL. Perdido Key is significant because we plan to take a trip there in August. I stumble upon one of those chamber web sites and start clicking on all the links to see where they will take me. I click on the "Local Services" link which lists local businesses such as tax accountants, photographers, etc. This picture actually accompanied a business that specializes in "Professional Business Coaching".



I'm not saying she looks bad by any stretch, because she doesn't. I'm just saying that if someone coached me into that hairstyle, those sunglasses and that tank top under the guise of "polishing my professional image", I'd want my money back.

Then again, if I looked like her I probably wouldn't need my money back because I would have picked up some rich, Floridian retiree.

And while we're polishing our professional image, how about we polish the cover of that laptop!