The Good Life

We are out school shopping. At every store, they ask, “Would you like your receipt?” And every time, even when we get our traditional Auntie Anne’s pretzel to share, I answer yes, adding the receipt to the growing pile in my purse. In the car on the way home, one of the boys says, “Will I have to keep track of receipts when I am an adult?” 

For two decades, Mark and I have kept a budget binder. He and I take turns entering totals from paper receipts, adding everything up to see where we need to adjust. We know that there are more streamlined, tech-oriented ways to keep records these days, but we just haven’t made the space to switch systems. And that is how I respond to my son at first, letting him know that there are certainly quicker, less “math-y” ways to do it.

It takes a minute for me to realize that isn’t the answer to the question he is asking. He is curious if this calculated dance is an adulthood requirement, if his friends in the big houses have parents with pockets of receipts, too. This child is the one who recently said, “When I grow up, I am getting season tickets to every sports team in my city.” (And I jokingly responded, “Me too, buddy.”) Because he dreams of comfort. Of buying something without looking at the price tag. Of being wildly successful.

My dreams for him are bigger, independent of his eventual income bracket. A life of deep contentment and deeper generosity, of stewardship and gratitude... Son, I dream of the good life for you.