There is a giant Tupperware container hidden in my house that is full of change.  Every time I have an occasion to see it, like when I am dusting behind the furniture or unplugging something that is malfunctioning, I remember that it’s there, and that I should get around to lugging the coins to a machine to turn them into spendable money.  Yet somehow I never do get around to it.  There’s got to be at least $300 in there, and it’s simply gathering dust, not interest.

It’s not just laziness, I realized the last time I reached behind the armoire for a stray bouncy ball that had rolled back there, reminding me of the Tupperware container’s presence once again.  It’s fear of the poorhouse.  That may seem ridiculous, but I think it’s a case of “you can take the girl out of the blue-collar Irish Italian hometown, but you can’t take the Hamburger Helper and hand-me-down clothing habits out of the girl.”

Last year my husband and I bought a new house and nearly doubled our mortgage so we could flee the behemoth Los Angeles Unified School District and enroll our son in what I like to call “Schooltopia” – an elementary school in the next district over, whose campus is only three years old and has a very involved parent-faculty group and parents who are generous with their contributions.  As a bonus, this town is smaller, quieter, and has much more free parking.

As soon as school started I realized I didn’t want to work anymore.  Outside the home, that is.

As luck would have it, my freelance writing opportunities multiplied at that time, so I have been able to work at home and be available to pick my children up from school, sit with them at home when they are sick, accompany them on field trips, and volunteer in the classroom, all things that would have been very difficult to manage had I remained working in video production.  Still, my income, which makes it possible for us to live in this more expensive mortgage while also maintaining the lifestyle to which we are accustomed, is intermittent.  A freelancer’s motto is “take everything that’s offered – you never know when the gigs will dry up.”  I say yes too often and I work too much.  Worse, I hold on to a nagging fear that someday we will be broke and truly house poor.

Maybe it’s because of the 24-hour news pundits and their fire-and-brimstone predictions, or maybe it’s because when I was growing up my young parents didn’t have much, but I’m always nervous about money.  As we built up our emergency fund (6 to 8 months of living expenses) over the last few years, I imagined what it would be like if I stopped bringing in money.  Would we give up our Netflix subscription?  Our satellite TV?  Our sailboat?  Would I have to ramp up my coupon-clipping and start buying rice in 15-lb. bags?  Would I have to mend socks?

I realize that these problems seem ridiculous to most people.  The truth is, we are fine.  As a family, we could simply say “no” to the occasional-but-not-occasional-enough jaunts to Yogurtland or the monthly cleaning service or the birthday party with a fancy ice cream cake.  We can live without so much of what we have and save more for that inevitable rainy day – in a long-term disability insurance policy, for example.  After all, aren’t we all just one medical case away from the streets?

Meanwhile, my $300 in loose change (with some Chuck E. Cheese tokens, pesos, and bobby pins mixed in) could be put to much better use as a donation to a charity or as a deposit in our kids’ college funds.  But I’m still not ready to part with it.  That last handful of change, plus a double coupon, could mean a hearty meal of processed cheese food someday.

Kim Tracy Prince is a writer in Agoura Hills, CA.