…a Milk Frother.

When I gave birth to my last child, I treated myself to a mommy gift: a milk frother. I remember my husband jokingly saying, “Are we at that gashmiyus level now?” Could we no longer have just coffee with milk? Do we really need to froth it first?

This niggling question lingers in my mind whenever we “up” our standard of living in some small way. For instance, I used to buy Nescafé Taster’s Choice instant coffee from Costco ($20 for 50 large cups). But last summer, we switched to bottles of Starbucks Iced Coffee ($5 for four large cups). Not a big deal, right? But now that it’s my new standard, it’s hard to go back. Little luxuries tend to turn into everyday staples.

If a pleasure feels “guilty,” maybe that’s just an internal cue to ask yourself a question: Do I really need this? Sometimes, the answer is yes — that delicious cup of frothed coffee gave me a boost during the most sleep-deprived years of my parenting. Sometimes, the answer is, “No, I don’t really need this.” Sometimes, it’s just about having the discipline to resist the, “You deserve this” gashmiyus marketing that is everywhere. Or to acknowledge that you don’t need that particular luxury every day, but you can treat yourself to it on Shabbos.

…Trendy Tchotchkes for my Kids.

I’m generally pretty thrifty, and it’s hard for me to spend money on things that aren’t necessities. But when there’s a fad in school, I buy whatever it is that the kids need to keep up. (Okay, I did get the Alo scrunchie from eBay because really? Thirty dollars for a scrunchie??) It’s a really simple pathway to the kids fitting in and feeling good about themselves, and even if that 3D-printed cone (or hexagon, or worm, or whistle… is it just me, or were there way too many 3D-printed fads last year?) is going to be forgotten garbage in a month, it’s worth the little bit of social capital that comes along with it.

But I do think it’s silly for us to call some things guilty pleasures. It isn’t a guilty pleasure to spring for a more nutritious meal, or better shoes that’ll last longer. Saving time isn’t a luxury. Relaxation isn’t a luxury. If there is something within your means that will make you a genuinely happier, healthier person, then that’s a necessity as much as bread and water. Be kind to yourself.

…Quality Milchig Chocolate.

Specifically, I mean good milchig chocolate. Not the stuff you can buy from the grocery store, but the kind at fancier places like the Nuttery, where chocolates are sold by the individual piece. They come from a chocolate store in Miami where everything is made fresh, and mass-produced chocolate cannot compare.

I feel guilty about occasionally spending $20 on four pieces of chocolate that can be eaten in two days, but then I think about all the money I don’t spend on coffee and manicures because I work from home and typing wrecks my nails, and I feel less bad. (I feel slightly less guilty about hiding the chocolate from my husband and kids, but when are Mommy’s treats ever really eaten by Mommy?)

Maybe this justification and denial is something I should discuss with a therapist, but by not going to therapy, I’m actually saving money… that can be used to buy more pieces of expensive chocolate!

All joking aside, the world is a scary place, and frum society puts so much pressure on Jewish women. If you’re not going into (deeper) debt from your guilty pleasure, and it’s so miniscule an expenditure that it would take DECADES before skipping it would add up to meaningful savings, then go for it.

…My Target Candle Addiction.

I don’t have a self-care routine. I don’t drink collagen powder or meditate or have a skincare fridge. But I do have candles. Lots of them. Mostly from Target. Usually for $5. Sometimes $10 if I’m feeling dangerous.

I buy them in seasonal scents: “Autumn Baked Something,” “Sugared Fir,” “Cozy Laundry Pile.” I light them when I’m folding laundry, when I’m answering emails, and when I’m contemplating running away to a cabin with no one yelling, “Maaaaa!” every 90 seconds.

There is something deeply satisfying about lighting a candle and pretending your life is under control. It’s performative peace. You can be surrounded by dirty dishes and children unraveling over a broken pretzel, but the room smells like vanilla birch, so you win. Kind of.

Is it wasteful? Maybe. But every time I walk past the Target endcap and see a new candle with names like “Whispering Eucalyptus” or “Pinecone Dreams,” I black out for 11 seconds, and suddenly, it’s in my cart.

…the Book Stash in my Bathroom Vanity.

When my kids start fighting, I don’t run to referee. I go to my bathroom. I lock the door. I sit in the tub, and I read. I’ve read six books this month, and none of them had sticky fingerprints. One time, I stayed in there for 46 minutes. I emerged when someone slid a note under the door that said, “We think the baby ate a Lego.” I nodded, ran the water for realism, and returned to battle.

My children know  not to bother me when I’m locked inside. Do not disturb me unless the house is literally on fire — and even then, only if it’s spreading to the bathroom.

…Sugary Cookies.

My oldest kids are teen girls, which means full-on diet culture in this house. That’s not the point. And don’t judge, because you know you’re guilty.

I’m a good mother, I’ve imbibed all the body positivity messages, and also? I’ve struggled with weight my whole life. I’ve had the message hammered home, again and again, that the only way to lose weight (especially as a growing girl) is to cut out the sugar…

…she says, as she opens the freezer and takes out two cookies.

I know I shouldn’t be eating these. I know it’s bad for me. I know that it takes three weeks for the withdrawal to stop, and then I’ll feel better, have more energy, and finally lose the weight. I know that in long run, I’ll be happier if I put the cookies back and snack on an apple instead.

But I’m 40 years old and the mother of a double-digit number of children who are about to come home and begin the you-never-
make-a-supper-that-I-like chorus. If I want a little sugar, I’m going to eat a little sugar.

So there.

…A 20-Minute Breather.

I do not feel one bit guilty for retreating to my room at 7 p.m. every night for a 20-minute rest and reset. During that time, I ask my older ones to clean the kitchen, and my husband begins the bath-and-bedtime routine. Then I read for a couple of minutes and close my eyes for a ten-minute power nap.

It gives me the energy to go down and clean the (look-how-well-we-cleaned-it!) kitchen and begin my family’s evening. And if bedtime has become my husband’s domain? Worse things have happened.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 956)