My unspending project, boring and pointless as it is, continues. I keep hoping for some kind of aha! moment, like I will be walking through the store looking at Ramadan dates or French stationary and suddenly I will realize something profound and life-changing (for example, that book where Douglas Adams says: “On the whole, it was not the little green pieces of paper that were unhappy”). So far, though, I am still just wishing for new books and missing my designer coffee.

 

DAY 10

Henry’s coloring book has filled up, and when we go to color this afternoon there are no pages left to enjoy. I draw some friendly monsters (fangs, smiles, bowties, claws) on blank inkjet paper and hand him the crayons. He rips my monsters up and throws the crayons at the wall. I draw giraffes, balloons, rocket ships, but he is equally critical. Finally I hand him the Sharpie and the blank paper and he works away happily until naptime, drawing swirls and lines with the marker and coloring them in.

 

DAY 12

We are invited to an Iftar party. Every year, I buy a new dress for this party, but this year I decide to wear last year’s pre-pregnancy sundress. Which works out pretty well, actually, since I spend the whole evening getting barfed on by the baby, and nothing spells frustration like having vomit stains on a new dress, especially when that dress is dry-clean-only. At home, I toss my dress in the wash, feeling smug.

 

DAY 15

I visit the bookshop and do not buy anything, an experience that leaves me feeling a little shaky. Which makes me think: are my book-buying habits really that out of control, that being around books actually leads to withdrawal symptoms? At home, I make a stack of all the books I bought last summer; it’s funny to realize that with each, the experience of picking it out, the shopping, is a pleasurable memory. The satisfaction derived from the purchase is, in some cases, as vivid as the satisfaction of reading it.

         

DAY 17

I go out for a walk around the neighborhood this evening, and am struck by how many little shops there are on my block. Standing on the sidewalk looking inside the little grocery attached to the mosque on the block, I wonder, for the first time, why there are so many things in the world: dish soaps, candleholders, nightlights, cars, shoes, toilet brushes. Who is using all these products? What happens to the things nobody wants? Why does the verb to consume connote happiness and success, if all you’re doing is buying a pair of rubber flipflops?

 

DAY 19

I make a list of the things I like to do on a weekend and cross out those that require spending money. This leaves me with relaxing in the tub with a book and waking up early and having coffee on the balcony while everyone else is still asleep and walking to the souk for some people-watching and exercising and napping.