The best things in life are really cheap

I am awake far too early, listening to the birds greet the day. My belly is grumbling, expecting dinner some nine time zones away. Not wanting to disturb my hopefully sleeping family, I am lying here, scheming breakfast. In Dublin, it was a full Irish, with thick back rashers and a fried egg, in Germany, a Bretzel, fresh from the bakery, filled with thick slabs of cold sweet butter. If I had broken my fast in France, it would have been with a pain au chocolat dunked in a bowl of hot chocolate. But I am home, and my body is begging for a respite from the onslaught of delicious and tempting allergens.

During my Dublin shopping expeditions, I cringed at the prices every time I took another item off the shelf, as they all seemed to have a price tag of at least €2.99. My first bag of not-so-special groceries set me back over 40 Euro. I’m not a great mathematician, but the knowledge that the Euro is hovering around $1.30 made me realize that most of what I was putting in my cart was exorbitantly expensive. Everything, that is, until I found a lone bag of “plain oats” at Tesco. An unassuming white paper bag, no fancy features or brand name, it promised me many breakfasts for a mere 49 Euro cents. I brought it back to our Dublin digs, and at every packing juncture, I found myself resistant to chuck it, instead tucking its dwindling self into the luggage. By the time we made our last stop, I had making it down pat and the boys would beg for some too: bubbling and thick, with a handful of raisins, a sprinkling of Demerara sugar, and a river of thick soy milk. There are probably only one or two servings left in the little white bag, but I am certain that at least one of them will disappear this morning.

It’s not that I’m cheap (indeed, next to the legendary tightfistedness of my Darling Husband, I could be seen as living quite high on the hog), but sometimes the inexpensive everyday makes a bigger difference than the big splurges.

On our last trip to Germany, Little One discovered the joy of dipping lovely sausages from the Vaterland into sweet deli mustard. He begged for one of the jars at the supermarket, and since it was only 25 Euro cents, I bought it. He has shown incredible reserve, using just enough to not waste a smidgen (though also not willing to share with anyone else, thank you very much). With only a few servings to go, a trip to Plus was on his agenda. His brother also wanted a jar, and since I know he’s going to hit a growth spurt any day now, I splurged and bought three—at 29 Euro cents each (and I get a free glass when I’m done!). When our luggage was overweight, I pulled two jars and put them in the carryons, which led to a dodgy moment at security: it turns out they’re considered a gel. To his credit, the security agent who escorted Darling Husband back to baggage check did see the humor in the situation: the mustard was only Mittelscharf, sharf being the German word for both spicy and sharp—and we all know there are no sharp objects allowed in aircraft.