It could be traced back to the $3 week.  Newly married, he's getting his degree, working, and giving service for our faith.  I want to say I was sick as a dog, but I'm looking at my dog and thinking... no way does he know what it's like to vomit on the kitchen floor as you're running to the bathroom - then slip on the vomit (I know, yum), and then careen like an Olympic bob-sledder into a door.  He just doesn't look like he's feeling it.  He looks... clueless.  Cute, but clueless.

Um yes, I forgot to mention I was great with child.  I just realized I have issues with that term as well.  I don't feel so "great" when I'm with child.  Oh stop it.  I know that's not the intended meaning.  Just keep reading, I'll eventually get to the point.  You can berate me later.

We were living in his grandpa's spider basement.  Yep, you slept with shoe in hand so that when you had to get up to use the restroom (see above great with child paragraph), you could enjoy a good game of whack-a-mole.  Cuz that's how big they were.  Yes they were.  I'm not even exaggerating.  I felt one on my back one night as I slept and quickly threw it across the room.  It made a thud.  A THUD.  The freaky ginormous spider MADE. A. THUD. 

So we're living in a basement as big as my master closet, with spiders, and also a bird that got caught in the stove-pipe.  Also the occasional mouse.

Things that were missing from the basement:
Dishwasher
Microwave
Bathtub
Counter Space
A Mirror in the bathroom that I could see my whole face in
Heat
Windows that didn't let disgustoid eight-leggies in
A closet - anywhere

Okay, okay, we paid nearly nothing and I'm grateful that we were able to stay there for four years.  It really helped launch us into financial security.  But it changed us.

My mom decorated for the Holidays.  She even made a bunny cake on Easter once.  But hello, she also put that white fiberglass crud that was supposed to look like snow, everywhere at Christmas time.  You know kids can't help but touch everything.  Itchy, itchy, itchy.  I might as well have frolicked in the Pink Panther Insulation in the attic.

Brendan's mom decorated for the Holidays.  Wait, decorated doesn't do it justice.  She transformed her house into a Christmas Wonderland.  Still does.  I look at her museum of knick-knacks and get tired just thinking about all the packing and unpacking. 

Brendan and I can count on one hand how many Christmas knick-knacks we have.  Halloween?  Same.  Easter?  None.  You get the idea.  How did this happen?  How could both of us come from mother's who account for 90% of Christmas knick-knack sales and not have that rub-off?

I think this takes us back  to our $3 week.  That's all we had.  Our licenses expired, our car insurance expired, our tags expired, and Brendan still had to drive our lovely blue Corsica to BYU everyday.  We made church-mice look like they belonged on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.  (Remember that show?)  And oh yes, one of the front lights went out on the car.  We prayed hard that he wouldn't get pulled over.

Somehow it all worked out.  But I remember what only having $3 felt like.  I guess I still have a hard time spending money on things like that.  I know most people hit the after Christmas fire sales for the next year.  By then I'm done.

Wait a minute.  Because I'm lazy?  Am I a decoration scrooge because of laziness?  Ah, dang.  I always thought it was because we were frugal and blah, blah, blah.  I am stricken.

And here I thought we were both humble decorators.  Nope, just lazy.  Forget the whole poverty, spider story.  Can someone pass me the eggnog?  I'm going to drown my sorrows in a sugar coma.