Nature vs. Marriage.

My family of origin was a "throw money at it" family. In general, if someone could be paid or something could be bought to fulfill some function or perform some task, my parents nearly always shelled out.

It should be said that I mention this purely as an example of a lifestyle choice. Though there are many things about my parents' habits that drive me up a wall faster than a roach-saddled mouse, I mention them here as merely an example of the sort of people who outsource much of their lives.

Mr. Milkweed's family is just the opposite. Since being married to him, in fact, I've been exposed to such a degree of die-hard do-in-yourselfism that it's almost intimidating. Inside each of his family members lies a little forge of midwestern self-reliance stoked by both thrift and a natural polymath's curiosity. His sister not only sews, she knits, paints, and throws pottery. His father not only sails, he build boats from scratch. His mother not only cooks, she made our wedding cake and catered our wedding reception. And while I know his brother less well, he and his wife are restoring an 18th century farm house and raise chickens, so obviously, he's no slouch.

Time and time again, I'm faced with situations that just seem more reasonably handled Mr. Milkweed's family's way, as that way is generally cheaper and infinitely more educational. It sometimes takes longer and involves more trial and error, but it felt pretty good to save a few hundred dollars on car repair when Mr. Milkweed and his father spent an entire Saturday replacing the brake pads and rotors on one of our cars. Neither one had done it before, but there's nothing the Internet can't teach you these days. You just have to be confident enough to try it.

Which brings me to the subject at hand-- our upcoming move, and why we are yet again doing it 99% the Milkweed way (U-Haul, no movers, etc). I say only 99%, because some small part of my laissez-faire upbringing sallied to the forefront over the weekend and demanded to be heard.

I'm pregnant, and the primary childcare provider and packer of all of our belongings, and I'm tired, dammit. As a result, I'm currently researching people to come in and clean our current rental from top to bottom after we move out.

It may not exactly fall under the category of extravagance-- it's likely we'll retain more of our security deposit if we get some professionals in here to do a job more thorough than the one I'm likely to do-- but it pretty much goes against everything in Mr. Milkweed's being to assent to spending money on something like this.

Never mind the fact that, newly together and flush with youth and romance, I informed him that at some point we would be hiring a monthly housekeeper and he merely nodded and kissed my fingertips. Never mind that I bought his birthday cakes until I spent enough time around his mother to be ashamed of even considering not making them myself. Never mind that seven pairs of his khakis were once completely out of commission until I spent three hours teaching myself how to replace a button.

It's just been so obvious to me that if it's possible to try doing something Mr. Milkweed's family's way, we should do it. And we have, time and time again-- with this one exception. I will joyfully and gleefully throw money at getting this rental in tip-top shape.

Just call me my mother's daughter.