Living with no more stuff

Week four
It's one week before we can shop freely again. I pick Charlotte up at school to discover that she has taken scissors to her long hair. A haircut is in order. The catch? I can't bribe my salon-phobic six-year-old with a new toy, so I have to come up with another trick. I push the limits on my pledge to purchase only "perishables" and promise to buy her a brownie.

Two days to go and we take in a show at London's Grand Theatre (tickets we bought before we started the challenge). On our way back to the car, we pass a gift shop featuring stuffed animals in its window. I remind my children that they all have lots of stuffies at home and, to my surprise, that's the end of the discussion. No whining, pleading or begging.

The last day of our detox comes and goes with little fanfare – though my eldest, Sophie, is the first to notice the date. We all shrug. It really hasn't been that tough. Indeed, it's a full 24 hours later, when I'm at a fashion show in support of breast cancer research where I see gorgeous clothes, that it hits me: I'm free to buy. Instead, I write a cheque for a donation and leave empty-handed.

In the following weeks, I think often of our 30 days of non-consumption. Did it really make any difference? Did we accomplish anything?

I survey my family: Sophie says she now understands the difference between needing something and wanting it. "I don't really need anything more than food, shelter and my family," she explains, without a hint of sanctimoniousness. Spencer – without a doubt the most dedicated lover of toys on the planet – decides that if I buy him the Clone Trooper costume from the Sears catalogue, he'll "wear it for the next three Halloweens." I'm skeptical – but optimistic. Charlotte, my most vehement opponent over the past month, consistently forgets that our "adventure" is over, and continues to ask for things "once it's our turn to buy again."

Dan – whose weekend wardrobe has been around since his university days – admits that the detox barely registered, with the exception of missing his daily cup o' coffee-shop java. Admittedly, he's not much of a shopper, save for the occasional splurge on electronics.

However, Dan works in finance, and notes that in the midst of our detox the world experienced a dramatic economic downturn. Our single month of going without may turn into years for far too many people. "Perhaps we'll all achieve a bit more balance," he says philosophically. It's a sobering thought and one that puts our experiment into perspective.

As the months go by, I continue to shop at secondhand bookstores and consignment stores, but my home and closet remain emptier, my wallet is more full, and my life feels, well, richer.

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