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- RT @freefrombroke: Latest Money Hackers Carnival! http://bit.ly/davj5w #
- Geez. Kid just screamed like she'd been burned. She saw a woodtick. #
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- RT @chrisguillebeau: U.S. Constitution: 4,543 words. Facebook's privacy policy: 5,830: http://nyti.ms/aphEW9 #
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Sunday Roundup: U2 Edition
Friday night, a friend came to pick me up so I could help him move heavy stuff.
- U2 Stage
He lied.
As soon as we pulled away from my house, he told me we were going to check out the stage they were building for Saturday’s U2 concert. Now, I’ve never been a fan, but he is, so what the heck, right?
We got to TCF Stadium and geez, that stage is big. It looks like an invading alien in the middle of the field. As we were walking up to the gate, we saw two security guards catching a smoke by a rear entrance. The next thing I know, my buddy’s slipping them some cash and we’re sneaking in the side door to get a closer look.
Our illicit visit lasted about 5 minutes. The second we made it the the stands, the cleaning crew called security. Thankfully, we got kicked out by the guys who let us in to start with.
It made a memorable evening.
Carnivals I’ve Rocked
Making Extra Money: Niche Selection was included in the Best of Money Carnival and the Carnival of Wealth.
Thank you! If I missed anyone, please let me know.
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Playing For Blood
Kris at Every Tips and Thoughts wrote a post about games and letting her kids win feeling bad about winning. I disagree. This post is an expansion of my comment there.
When we play games in my house, we play for blood. I’ve never let my kids win and they know it. From the first time the kids attempt Memory, they know they’ve got to earn a win against Mom and Dad. They know if they lose, they must do so gracefully. If they pout or cry, they lose game privileges for a while. I demand good sportsmanship, win or lose.
To be clear, my kids are 3, 4, and 11 and they are all held to the same standards of sportsmanship. Win or lose, they will do so gracefully. There will be no temper tantrums when they are Sorry’d and no pouting when the Queen is captured.
It took my son almost 3 years to beat me at chess. When it finally happened, he was almost as proud as I was and still talks about it 5 years later.
It’s not much fun playing games with his friends. They were coddled and expect to win everything. I have to take away game privileges just like I do for my 3 year old. They hate that because we have the coolest board games. Nobody else has games that involve zombies or disembodied brains.
What has the result been?
My kids love playing games. This week, my oldest has been teaching his sisters how to play Life. When he visits his friends, he’s as likely to bring a board game as an electronic game. He’s got a good mind for strategy, and I can’t remember the last time he pouted when I tromped him.
My 4 year old hasn’t mastered gamesmanship yet, but she will. When I threaten to put the game away, she wipes her eyes, and keeps playing, even if her jaw is chattering. She knows what is expected and works to live up to it.
Both of the older kids are competitive. They’ve never had a win handed to them, and they have each had wins they had to work for, and they know how it feels to win and earn it.
The youngest doesn’t care if she wins, she’s just happy to play. In my experience, the competitive gameplay gene doesn’t activate until 4.
In my mind, the real world won’t hand them any wins, so I might as well start teaching them how to work for it now.
How about you? Do you let your kids win, or do you teach them that all games are bloodsports?
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?
Expensive Cheese
Saturday morning, I woke up to a room-temperature refrigerator. I dislike drinking milk that’s 40 degrees warmer than I’m used to.
We called the repairman who showed up at 9PM and poked around in the fridge for a bit before announcing that he didn’t have the needed parts in his truck.
The parts came Monday. The next repairman got there Tuesday afternoon. For those of you keeping track at home, that’s nearly 4 days without a refrigerator.
That poor bacon.
Tuesday’s repairman didn’t think highly of Saturday’s. Apparently, the two parts Saturday ordered never go bad at the same time, so he was guessing.
He also didn’t notice the slice of individually wrapped American cheese that had slipped between a shelf and one of the cold-air vents, preventing any air flow at all.
Grr.
I wish I would have noticed that on Saturday. I now own the most expensive cheese in the world. It’s not Pule, which comes in at $616 per pound. This lowly slice of American cheese cost me nearly $200. At one ounce per slice, that’s $3200 per pound. Of course, I’m counting the lost food. My hamburger, eggs, bacon, milk, and mayonnaise are gone, along with every other perishable bit of food we had on hand.
I don’t know how much the repairs cost. Saturday’s visit, minus the parts, was billed at $95. I didn’t see the total for Tuesday’s visit.
We pay for a repair plan through our gas company. For around $15 per month, we get a list of appliances protected. We don’t have to worry about our washer, dryer, water softener, stove, refrigerator, or our sewer main. Assuming Tuesday’s visit was billed the same as Saturday’s, this one repair paid for the plan for an entire year. When you count our sewer main–which backs up with tree roots once a year and costs at least $200 to fix–the repair plan is definitely worth it for us.
When we get tenants in my mother-in-law’s house, we’ll have the repair plan set up there, too.
Do you use any kind of repair plan? How is it working out for you?
Changing Our Situation
In September 2005, I bought my car, a Chrysler Pacifica. I got it on a loan. Two months later–seven years ago this month–I was told I’d be laid off at the end of the year.
Two weeks ago, we bought a Chevy Tahoe with a loan. Last Monday, my wife was permanently laid off after 12 years with her company. She was told that, if her department opened back up, she’d be welcome to reapply for her job and start as a new employee.
Car loans mean layoffs at my house.
Last Tuesday, I got a formal offer for a new job. I accepted.
I am now a full month away from knowing exactly what my semi-monthly paychecks will be. My wife is getting her final paycheck later this week, which will include a week of severance pay.
For the first time in a number of years, I don’t know what my income looks like. I don’t have a clear long-term picture or a good short-term picture.
I’m not worried.
For the first time in my life, I’m not living paycheck-to-paycheck. Having a couple of pay periods act wonky isn’t going to hurt. Yes, we are going to cut back, but we can manage for a few months without worry. We aren’t going to sweat over putting food on the table.
That is an incredible feeling.
