- Screw April Fool's Day. I'm about ready to clear my entire feed queue. #
- I definitely need a reason to get up at 5 or I go back to sleep. #
- Bank tried to upsell me on my accounts today…through the drivethru. #
- Motorcycle battery died this morning. Surprise 4 mile hike. #
- RT @ramseyshow 'The rich get richer &the poor get poorer' is true! Rich keep doing what rich people do & poor keep doing what poor people do #
- RT @ramit: "How do you know if someone is a programmer?" I cannot stop laughing imagining half my programmer friends – http://bit.ly/9MOipi #
Hunting Trip Stress
Vegans and hippies won’t enjoy this post.
Friday, I went to a cabin in the woods for a weekend hunting trip with my dad, my brother, and a few other people.
My wife didn’t think it’s a good idea. In fact, she was terrified that I’d walk into the woods and come out in a body bag.
Statistically, it’s safe. Out of 12.5 million hunters, there are only around 100 fatal hunting accidents every year. I think I went hunting for the first time when I was 12, and continued to do so until I was 17, then life started interfering.
That doesn’t matter. By definition phobias aren’t rational. She’s worried and stressing hard.
If she’s had such a hard time with it, why did I go?
First, I asked her six months ago if she’d be all right with the trip. I knew she had some phobias, and have–in fact–tried to make the trip before. Six months ago, she said yes. It was a bit late to back out after I’ve committed to a share of the cabin, bought the bright orange gear, and agreed to drive my brother.
The second reason was more important.
This is one of the few things my dad and I both enjoy. I’m a geek, he’s not. I dig horror and sci-fi, he’s into westerns.
But we both enjoy hunting. The first time he treated me like an adult was the first year we went hunting together, 15 years ago.
My dad taught me to be the man I am. Without him, I have no idea who I’d be or what I’d be doing. My integrity, my work ethic, and my moral code can all be traced to the things he taught me.
This is my chance to spend time with him and have a good time with no TV or whiny kids interfering.
Trading this for a few days of stress at home is something I’m willing to do.
Failed Side Hustle: Scrapping
Last week, the washing machine in our rental house died. It was older than I am, so this wasn’t really a surprise. It was one of just two appliances we didn’t replace before we moved the renters in.
My wife–bargain shopper that she is–found a replacement on Craigslist. We got it in, then left the dead washing machine next to the replacement, as a warning to any other appliance that thinks it can shirk its assigned work.
This morning, we went over to pull the corpse of our washing machine out of the basement.
Now, I am an out-of-shape desk jockey, my wife is considerably weaker than I am, and a 40 year old washing machine weighs more than 200 pounds.
In the basement.
I’m Superman. Although at one point, I did trade 10 years of the useful life of my right knee in exchange for not letting that thing tumble down the stairs on top of me.
What do you do with a dead washing machine?We could have the garbage company pick it up for $25. Or we could leave it on the curb and wait for some stinking scrapper to take it.
Or…we could join the dark side and scrap it ourselves.
For the uninitiated, scrappers are the people who drive around looking for fence-posts to steal out of other people’s yards, or cut the catalytic converters out of cars parked at park-and-ride bus stops, or steal all of the copper pipes out of your house while your on vacation. Sometimes, they get scrap metal from legitimate sources, I’ve heard.
We decided to go the legitimate route and take the washing machine to the scrap metal dealer in the next town over.
It was pretty easy. We pulled in with the washer in the trailer. A guy on a forklift pulled up and took it, then handed us a receipt to bring to the cashier. She paid us in cash, and we were on our way.
$7.50 richer.
200 pounds of steel, and we made less than $10.
There are people who pay their bills by recycling scrap metal, but I have no idea how. Driving around looking for things to scrap would seem to burn more gas than you’d make turning it in.
Some people scour Craigslist looking for metal things in the free section.
Some people have an arrangement with mechanics to remove their garbage car parts.
Some people are only looking to supplement their government handout checks enough to pay for cigarettes.
Us? We’re going to leave scrapping to the scavengers.
Not the Center of the Universe
On Sunday, I dropped Punk #3 off at a birthday party. She walked into the yard, saw her friends and took off running. I confirmed times with the birthday girl’s mother and left. I went home and had Punk #2 help me with repairs to Coffin #1. It is Halloween season, after all.
When I came back two hours later, they had just finished eating cake and were about to open up presents, so I got to hang around for a while.
I noticed some amazing things:
- Fully 75% of this family’s living room was devoted to play space for the kid. As you walk in the front door, you get to see a giant pile of toys and kid-craft crap. Most of what is traditionally a gathering area was taken over by kid.
- Of the dozen or so children who came to the party, close to half of the parents stayed. Really, is your precious little snowflake so endangered by her friends that you can’t come up with something better to do that watch her play with her friends and ignore you for two hours while under the supervision of the resident parent?
- Clowns. Ok, it wasn’t technically a clown, but a guy named Mr. Fun who hands out whoopie cushions and entertains kids while wearing odd clothes counts as a clown, to me. I get it, you want your special little snowflake to have a memorable birthday, but if every party is big and over-the-top, which one will she remember? Maybe she’ll only remember a sense of entitlement.
I very firmly believe that children should not be raised to feel like they are the center of the universe. Not even to Mom & Dad. They need to know that we have lives and interests that aren’t them.
Mothers and fathers NEED to have lives and interests that are entirely separate from their children. If your entire focus for 20+years is on the lives of your little brats, what is going to happen to you when they move out? Are you prepared to abandon two decades of self-training and suddenly become your own person again?
Husbands and wives need to have time to themselves that excludes the children. When the monsters finally leave, you need to be able to have a relationship that doesn’t revolve around who spilled what where and who’s turn is it to clean it up.
Children are not–and should not be–the focal point of a household. Leave them at a birthday party. Let them find a way to entertain themselves for a few hours. Go on a date.
I promise you, letting your kids see their parents happily doing things together–even if it’s gleefully leaving them with a sitter–will do more for their long-term well-being than knowing you’re standing in the corner at a birthday party watching her fake a fart with a 25 cent toy.
Let her be independent. Let her know that other priorities do exist for other people. Let her fall down and scrape her knees. Let her figure out how things work for herself.
That is life, after all. Let her live it and don’t forget to live it for yourself.
Twitter Weekly Updates for 2010-05-17
- @Elle_CM Natalie's raid looked like it was filmed with a strobe light. Lame CGI in reply to Elle_CM #
- I want to get a toto portable bidet and a roomba. Combine them and I'll have outsourced some of the least tasteful parts of my day. #
- RT @freefrombroke: RT @moneybeagle: New Blog Post: Money Hacks Carnival #115 http://goo.gl/fb/AqhWf #
- TED.com: The neurons that shaped civilization. http://su.pr/2Qv4Ay #
- Last night, fell in the driveway: twisted ankle and skinned knee. Today, fell down the stairs: bruise makes sitting hurt. Bad morning. #
- RT @FrugalDad: And to moms, please be more selective about the creeps you let around your child. Takes a special guy to be a dad to another' #
- First Rule of Blogging: Don't let real life get in the way. Epic fail 2 Fridays in a row. But the garage sale is going well. #
What motivates me financially?
This post was originally written for a blog swap run by the Yakezie personal finance blog network to answer the question “What motivates you to be financially responsible?“
This may not be the most original motivation, but I am financially motivated by my family. Before I had kids, I didn’t care much about money or “stuff”. My goal was to sell everything I owned and backpack Europe. Yeah, it’s a bit cliché, but that’s the way it is. I was also considering trying to live out of saddlebags while touring the country 1000 CCs at a time.
Now, I’ve got so many other considerations. Four, to be exact. A wife and three kids certainly change your perspective. If it doesn’t, you’ve got flaws that I can’t help you with.
When my family started, it was a huge wake-up call. Suddenly, I had responsibilities (cue scary music). Overnight, I had things to care about that didn’t involve a party, or instant gratification, or, well, me. Merlin the Stork floated down, waved a wand and Poof! I was a grown-up. This may not sound like much of a shock, but my wife and I had baby #1 when we were 20. Adulthood was still pretty new to us, and suddenly we’re parents?
As a grown-up, with three precious little monsters dependent on me for absolutely everything, I had to start worrying about their security. This was more than just keeping them physically safe. I’ve had to manage their emotional health, their physical needs, and their entertainment. They rely on me (and my wife!) for everything. How could I live with myself if I couldn’t put food on the table and a roof over their heads? Winter boots? Clothes without holes? Visits to the doctor? Have you ever noticed how much kids cost, even without considering the Japanese fad games and Barbie dreamhouses? Having a kid is like cutting a hole in your wallet and holding it over a blender nestled comfortably in a roaring fire fueled by napalm.
Then, after I’ve got them clothed, fed, sheltered, and entertained, I have to teach them how to be real people. I’m of the opinion that children in their natural state are little more than wild animals. Generally cuter, but that’s about it. It’s a parent’s job to train that ravenous little beast into an acceptable, successful person. Part of that consists of teaching the little brats how to start paying for their own clothes, food, shelter, and entertainment, and how to manage that without becoming a drain on society. Productivity and success can be defined a thousand different ways, but none of them include letting other people pay your way or borrowing money you have no intention or means of repaying. Ultimately, being an adult–being a successful part of society–involves recognizing your responsibilities and living up to them.
Caring for, providing for, and teaching my children the things I know provides me with an irreplaceable opportunity to watch them grow and learn, while giving me a chance to steer that growth. It is, without a doubt, the best, most satisfying, and most difficult thing I have ever done. The pleasure I get from raising my kids reinforces my desire to become the best person I can be.
Really, I just want to be the guy my kids think I am.
