When babies explode, we spend money.

We started off the week on Sunday going to a baby shower where we were the only couple without a kid to put on display. Sure, we had our friends’ kids to play with and act like they were our kids when the parents weren’t looking, but we didn’t have a kid of our own. All the couples stood around talking about first words, first steps, and various problems with spitting or pinching while we tried not to look awkward or make the other couples feel awkward for us. We don’t want to be that couple. It’s amazing how in the past four years, our friends have basically exploded with kids with many more on the way. We celebrate the explosion and love being around the multiplying kid masses. We are forever attending kid parties and baby showers. Maybe, at some point, all the kid juice will rub off on us and we’ll have something to show for our eagerness, willingness, and hard work in the bedroom.

On the way home from the shower, as we glided down Hwy 280 from the top of Double Oak Mountain past Eagle Point, Mr. Husband asked me what I was going to do with the rest of the day. I said, “I don’t know …what are you going to do?” He responded with the essential comeback, “I asked you first.” Ball’s in my court. It’s me time. I call the shots. Whatever I say goes. It’s Christmas all over the world and, right now, in our car. I carefully constructed my answer, providing ample data ahead of said motive so that it was easy to persuade my victim—my always willing-to-listen-to-logic husband who does love to see me smile. Earlier in the week, we’d divided up our left-over tax return money that was our bonus to spend with wild abandon after paying off our credit card debt. It all comes back to the house. We have debt because of the house, but we also got a super tax return because of the house.

Half of the surplus goes to savings—to improve our future. And the other half goes to life—improving our immediate right now.

Bring on the wild abandon! Can it still be called wild abandon if we detail meticulously by writing down how we plan to distribute our thousand-dollar untamed shopping spree? The written plan is simply a guideline. We decide how to dole out each hundred-dollar chunk and then stick to it or veer from it as chance strikes. We have a few things we really want to do: buy a new piece of furniture for the house from Southern Wicker—a bookshelf or side table. It’ll be something small in the $300 range. Mr. Husband wants to start making his own beer. With supplies and a class to teach him, that’ll cost $200. We know that Magic City Art Connection is coming, so we’d like to spend $300 there to improve our walls. So far, in our heads, we’ve spent $800. The other $200 was dedicated to this and that. It was up-in-the-air cash. Ideas were thrown out, but we decided to pad our first three ideas. Over-spending on any of the above was made possible by the not-in-concrete extra $200. Good plan.

So back to Sunday, driving home from the baby shower with our emptiness and our need to spend. I say we should visit Southern Wicker near the Galleria. Mr. Husband groans and wonders if we can find something closer. Mr. Husband says he really wants a table for eating that we can put on the upper porch. I balk. I want a bookshelf. Our horns lock, but when I think about it more—Mr. Husband is right. I weigh the happiness that might be obtained from the bookshelf or side table and then weigh the happiness that can be harnessed from a bistro table and chairs on the upper porch. Mr. Husband may have something there.

We visit Pier One first. Glass, iron, wicker, and rocking chairs. Not what we’re looking for. Next, we dash to World Market as the rain begins to pour down and cover us. We laugh and think of Scotland. The rain will forever make us think of our honeymoon where we learned that rain will not kill—an umbrella is not necessary. Let it rain. At World Market, we sit and try a variety of chairs and tables. Mr. Husband wants a bench for the upper porch because he wants to cuddle and snuggle with me under the stars. But the bench isn’t quite right. We try the $99 Adirondack chairs, but that’s not it. Not yet.

Over near the bookshelves and soap, we find a drop-leaf table with curved back dining chairs in a natural-like wood. Interesting. Mr. Husband has a seat. Mr. Husband sees it in his head. Mr. Husband walks away thinking. I stay, looking down at the table with evening dinners on the upper porch dancing in my head. It will fit. It will be cozy. We do it. We first run home to print off a 25% off coupon for a friends and family sale that’s happening that very day—score! We over spend by $100. Good thing we planned for the up-in-the-air cash. Yes.

In one week, we’ve eaten dinner out there five times. We’ve had two dinner gatherings—one smashing party last night with the McDermott’s and many bottles of wine. In the past week, we’ve said to each other at least a dozen times, “this is the best decision we’ve ever made.” While it may not be the best ever, it is the best right now. It’s ever so rewarding to spend money wisely on something that brings us ever so much closer.