When this goes live, I’ll be on the road to the Financial Bloggers Conference outside of Chicago. That translates to a day off here.
Monday, I’ll be back with a whole bucket full of bloggy goodness.
John Luke Robertson Gets Engaged: The Benefits of Marrying Young
As I’m sure you’ve all heard by now, a young Mr. John Luke Robertson is engaged to be married at the ripe age of nineteen. While I’m positive you may be reeling in awe at how anyone could fathom being married at that age, the idea isn’t such a terrible one. The Robertsons have done more than build an outdoorsman’s empire; they’ve set the standard for wholesome values and American family dynamic. Even though I’m sure the two lovebirds won’t be dining on ramen and sharing a ramshackle apartment on the cheap side of town, they have the right idea. Let’s take a moment to explore why marrying young may not be such a bad idea for those of us less waterfowl adept.
In the beginning, there was man. Man loved woman. Woman loved man. They found that they were so completely enamoured with one another that they couldn’t stand the idea of a moment apart and decided, “Hey, let’s spend every moment of or life together, forever.” There they are. Two young, ambitious people with the world ahead of them. Now what?
Likely, college is still looming for the two. Instead of struggling to work through school while paying for housing, they help each other. Two incomes mean half the burden and twice the savings. Instead of going out at night, they stay in studying, bonding, burning cookies and making lasting memories. After four years, that time spent at home has paid off. Instead of tarnishing their unblemished credit by applying for for small loans to stay afloat and likely defaulting, they’ve been paying off credit cards, paying on student loans, and thusly establishing good credit.
Speaking of homes, it’s about time for that. Thanks to the lack of partying and indecision, they left school with great GPA’s, promising careers, and a near perfect credit history. They purchase a home. Likely, a nice home with room to grow and most importantly, equity. Now that they’ve made the leap, the mortgage payment isn’t much more than the rent would have been and they can afford to pay a little extra toward the principle each month. Settling down so early has paid in dividends, via two incomes and ever increasing property value. Our couple has accomplished in five years what would take a single graduate closer to ten or fifteen to obtain.
They may or may not decide to have children. In the event that they do, the kids will have grown and left the nest before our couple has even reached 45. Diligently working and supporting each other, they have continued to save. The house is paid off and the kids are gone. Retired at 50, they own their home outright. They can relax and spend the rest of life enjoying it from a comfy porch swing. There is no struggle or financial burden. They are free, while others their age may still be living paycheck to paycheck and worrying about keeping a roof overhead.
You may still consider the idea of marrying young to be frivolous, but it is likely that at this point in your life you could have been twice as well off had you only settled down with that girl from high school who would have followed you to the end of the Earth. Following your heart may not only make you happy, it can make you stable, self sufficient and and financially secure. They don’t make a duck call for that.
Christmas Magic
When I was little, the world was amazing. The first snowfall was among the best days of the year. Everything was worth exploring, in hopes of discovering something new and fascinating, and everything was fascinating.
Stepping on a crack had serious implications. The wishbone in a turkey earned its name. Blowing out all of the candles on a birthday cake could change your life. The idea of some dude half a world away, watching you, then sneaking into your house to dish our rewards and punishments wasn’t pervy and sick, it was wonderful.
Then, one day, it all changes.
Somebody–a classmate, a older brother, a neighbor–let’s it slip that Santa isn’t real, and the implications snowball. That day, the magic dies.
Wishing on a star? Over.
The Easter Bunny? Hasenpfeffer.
Growing up to be Superman? Welcome to the rat race.
It’s a sad day when kids stop believing in magic.
I don’t believe in lying to my children, but I also don’t believe in destroying their magic. It’s a balancing act.
When my son was 6, an older boy at daycare tried to kill Santa for him. He was upset.
“Dad, is Santa real?”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t believe in Santa.”
“Okay, I’ll let him know.”
“Nonononononono! Don’t tell him!”
Was it lying? Probably, but he obviously wasn’t ready to stop believing, so I let him continue. A year later, we had the same conversation, but the results were quite different.
“Dad, you’ve always said that you hate lying, so why did you let me believe in Santa?”
So I told him the truth. Magic is a frail thing that’s nearly impossible to reclaim and I wanted him to have that treasure for as long as possible. And, “Now that you know, you are in on the conspiracy. You’ve been drafted. Don’t kill the magic for anyone else.”
It was weird having him help me stuff stockings.
If you’ve got kids(and celebrate Christmas), how do you handle the Santa problem?
Giving Up The Magic
It’s a sad day when kids stop believing in Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy, and fairies.
Not because I enjoy lying to my kids, but because–on the day they stop believing–a piece of their innocence is lost. An unforgettable, valuable part of childhood dies.
Believing in magic is a beautiful thing.
Do you remember the last time you looked around the world with a sense of wonder? When seeing a puppy form in the clouds was a miracle? When the idea of an ant carrying 1000 times its own weight was something worth watching? When the impossible goodness of a fat man squeezing down your chimney fills you with hope instead of making you call 911?
Do I believe in Santa?
Of course not, but I believe the concept of Santa is worthy of my children’s belief. I don’t want them to lose that innocence and wonder.
When my teenager was young, he asked if Santa was real. I responded by asking what he thought. When he told me he didn’t believe, I offered to let Santa know. His panic told me he wasn’t ready to give up the magic.
The day that conversation didn’t cause a panic, he looked hurt, like he’d lost something precious. He had.
His world of magic was gone.
The he asked why I had spent his lifetime lying to him. I told him the truth. I said I couldn’t bear to be the one to shatter his belief in magic before he was ready.
Then, I informed him that he was in on the conspiracy. He was not allowed to ruin it for anyone else. Not his sisters, not his friends.
That Christmas, my little boy helped me stuff stockings, which was an odd feeling.
The magic was over, but we still got to share the magic of his cousins and sisters.
Do 1 Thing
- Image by Sailing “Footprints: Real to Reel” (Ronn ashore) via Flickr
I’m lazy.
Really, I am. When I get home from work, I want nothing more than to plop down on the couch, dial up a movie and ignore the world for a few hours. I need some downtime to relax.
While I am keeping the couch from flying away, my wife gets home, makes dinner, does the dishes, changes the cat litter and maybe vacuums the floor. Once dinner is cooking, she usually throws in a load of laundry. Three kids is a great way to guarantee a lot of laundry needs to get washed.
I have just two things to say about that:
- It makes me feel really lazy.
- I love you, honey!
I’ve never considered it a problem because I work my butt off on the weekend. My wife isn’t happy with the arrangement because I tend to do next to nothing during the week. I think it’s a good balance. I’m productive on the weekend, she’s productive during the week. Unfortunately, my habitual laziness has caused a bit of tension. We’ve had a few “discussions” about that balance. It’s obviously not working.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been trying something new. When I get home from work I’ve been doing just 1 thing. I do one thing per day. One day, I fold laundry, another day I do the dishes. Some days, I pick a room to organize. It’s never very much, but it’s always something that needs to be done and, possibly most important, it looks like I’m doing more so my wife feels less abandoned to the housework. I’m not actually doing more, but it gets spread out over the week, so it looks like more. Slowly, surely, all of the work is getting done.
It’s not a perfect solution, but it seems to be working. More is getting done, my wife feels like I’m helping out more and I get more time on the weekends to pursue whatever I feel like pursuing. It’s a win for each of us.
How do you balance relaxation and a shared workload?
Hypocrisy
Sometimes people make choices for a variety of reasons entirely outside of my knowledge and understanding. Yet somehow, I still manage to be dismissive and occasionally derogatory.
What I have come to realize is that there are numerous reasons for making apparent bad decisions. It is easy, though often not correct, to dismiss these supposed mistakes as character flaws, without taking the time to fully understand the decision-making process.
For example, I am usually quick to point out the folly of gadgets. Odd, that, for a gadget geek. So many gadgets are merely ego purchases, bought because the are “cool”. Obviously a waste of money. A smartphone serves no practical purpose for an average person, right? What if that person’s life is so difficult to manage that a calendar sync including both spouses and multiple calendars will allow a family to make sure every kid gets to every activity on time? Or he has a side business that is easier to manage with ubiquitous email? Or even a strong urge to limit the number of items carried every day? A phone/mp3 player is fewer gadgets than separate appliances.
Another example is a close friend who started running several months ago, to be met with questions of why somebody would run without being chased. It’s easier to play on the internet or ride a bike, right? And the special running shoes? Silly. Except running is cheaper than biking and running shoes beat knee surgery any day. Running on the street is more effective than a treadmill, since you can’t step off after running two miles away from your house.
So here I sit, a runner with a crackberry and plate full of crow.
“Don’t judge a man until you’ve walked a mile in his moccasins.” Indeed.
