Dear Dave,
Today's letter isn't here. It's over at OurMilkMoney.com trying to act nonchalant and blend in.
If you want to know what really makes me afraid, you should head over there now...
Yours in a woman's world,
Ed.
Showing posts with label money. Show all posts
Showing posts with label money. Show all posts
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Wednesday, 18 November 2009
The cost of parenthood
Dear Dave,
That sounds expensive. The cinema tickets alone must have cost over twenty quid and then there was the popcorn and drinks. Figure in the trip to Pizza Hut, the bus fare and the balloons and it must all add up to more than you want to think about. That's before you even take into consideration the essential supplies you'll have picked up seeing as you were in town anyway - I don't know about you, but if I go to the shopping centre, I always seem to come back with several packs of wipes, a handful of toothbrushes and at least one pack of school socks. The total cost of a Saturday out of the house can be eye-watering.
And you probably had to leave the film at the best bit to change Daisy's nappy...
There are cheaper alternatives, certainly, such as going to the museum or for a walk in the rain, but my kids tend to complain if I try them too often. Also, if I'm not careful, they can end up costing more than I was expecting. Museums have over-priced cafés carefully placed to ensnare passing parents who really need cake after having spent half an hour extracting their offspring from the gift shop with only a bare minimum of souvenir pencil sharpeners andshiny stones highly-educational geological samples.
Walks in the rain always require snacks and extra laundry. Sometimes they require air-sea rescue.
Of course, you expect having children to be expensive, and there's an initial big hit to confirm things. The list of stuff to buy is almost endless. Expenditure does quieten down for a bit after that, though. Babies don't eat much. They don't need their own laptop. They don't care where they go on holiday. Day-to-day outlay on a toddler can be small (if you're looking after them yourself, that is... and blatantly ignore the lost income you could potentially be earning doing something else).
A second child is also relatively cheap. The cot is in place. There are clothes. It doesn't matter too much if not all the babygros are the right colour. Let's face it, most of them probably won't last an hour before needing soaked in a bucket anyway.
By Number 3, there's no longer a requirement to buy the best - any old tat will do. Sure, a few bits and bobs of equipment will need replaced and it's worth being picky about things like the height of buggy handles but worn bibs and battered toys are fine. It's all quite manageable.
Then they need shoes. Six weeks later they need more shoes. They start eating real food. They notice adverts. They grab stuff off store shelves. They begin to consume...
Before you know it, they're demanding to be dressed in a fashion that doesn't give the impression they've just been shot backwards from a cannon through the bargain rack at Oxfam.
Then they need MORE shoes - flashing ones with little toy cars hidden in the sole...
It's a costly slope which ends in university tuition fees and debtors' prison. It can be remarkably hard to notice the descent, though. When my parents came to stay the other week, I got them to buy a couple of loaves of bread while they were out for a walk one morning. I didn't think much about it but my mum was somewhat surprised that we were down to barely more than crusts by the next day. I shrugged it off. The kids are getting bigger and there were extra people in the house - bread was going to disappear quickly.
I may have been a bit complacent. Yesterday, I went to the shop at the end of the street with the kids. When we left the shop, I had an entire loaf of bread. By the time we got home, I had this:
That's right. They ate half a loaf of bread on the way back from the shop. It was only a ten minute walk and quite a lot of that was down to stopping to get more bread out of the bag. Marie had three slices and she doesn't even like bread. (It apparently tasted better in the rain.)
We had lunch and then had to go to the shop to buy some bread. While we were there, I bought wipes, toothbrushes and socks, just to save another trip later and avoid wear and tear on their shoes.
Excuse me while I go eBay one of my kidneys...
Yours in a woman's world,
Ed.
That sounds expensive. The cinema tickets alone must have cost over twenty quid and then there was the popcorn and drinks. Figure in the trip to Pizza Hut, the bus fare and the balloons and it must all add up to more than you want to think about. That's before you even take into consideration the essential supplies you'll have picked up seeing as you were in town anyway - I don't know about you, but if I go to the shopping centre, I always seem to come back with several packs of wipes, a handful of toothbrushes and at least one pack of school socks. The total cost of a Saturday out of the house can be eye-watering.
And you probably had to leave the film at the best bit to change Daisy's nappy...
There are cheaper alternatives, certainly, such as going to the museum or for a walk in the rain, but my kids tend to complain if I try them too often. Also, if I'm not careful, they can end up costing more than I was expecting. Museums have over-priced cafés carefully placed to ensnare passing parents who really need cake after having spent half an hour extracting their offspring from the gift shop with only a bare minimum of souvenir pencil sharpeners and
Walks in the rain always require snacks and extra laundry. Sometimes they require air-sea rescue.
Of course, you expect having children to be expensive, and there's an initial big hit to confirm things. The list of stuff to buy is almost endless. Expenditure does quieten down for a bit after that, though. Babies don't eat much. They don't need their own laptop. They don't care where they go on holiday. Day-to-day outlay on a toddler can be small (if you're looking after them yourself, that is... and blatantly ignore the lost income you could potentially be earning doing something else).
A second child is also relatively cheap. The cot is in place. There are clothes. It doesn't matter too much if not all the babygros are the right colour. Let's face it, most of them probably won't last an hour before needing soaked in a bucket anyway.
By Number 3, there's no longer a requirement to buy the best - any old tat will do. Sure, a few bits and bobs of equipment will need replaced and it's worth being picky about things like the height of buggy handles but worn bibs and battered toys are fine. It's all quite manageable.
Then they need shoes. Six weeks later they need more shoes. They start eating real food. They notice adverts. They grab stuff off store shelves. They begin to consume...
Before you know it, they're demanding to be dressed in a fashion that doesn't give the impression they've just been shot backwards from a cannon through the bargain rack at Oxfam.
Then they need MORE shoes - flashing ones with little toy cars hidden in the sole...
It's a costly slope which ends in university tuition fees and debtors' prison. It can be remarkably hard to notice the descent, though. When my parents came to stay the other week, I got them to buy a couple of loaves of bread while they were out for a walk one morning. I didn't think much about it but my mum was somewhat surprised that we were down to barely more than crusts by the next day. I shrugged it off. The kids are getting bigger and there were extra people in the house - bread was going to disappear quickly.
I may have been a bit complacent. Yesterday, I went to the shop at the end of the street with the kids. When we left the shop, I had an entire loaf of bread. By the time we got home, I had this:
That's right. They ate half a loaf of bread on the way back from the shop. It was only a ten minute walk and quite a lot of that was down to stopping to get more bread out of the bag. Marie had three slices and she doesn't even like bread. (It apparently tasted better in the rain.)
We had lunch and then had to go to the shop to buy some bread. While we were there, I bought wipes, toothbrushes and socks, just to save another trip later and avoid wear and tear on their shoes.
Excuse me while I go eBay one of my kidneys...
Yours in a woman's world,
Ed.
Thursday, 23 October 2008
A little housedad luxury
Dear Dave,
With the world financial system collapsing around our ears, the media has been full of ways to cut back and economise. The problem is, after having had the breadwinner in the family on maternity leave three times in the last eight years and working part-time at some points in between, we've done most of the economising we can already. We don't have a car, we buy own-brand food, we've cleared our debt and we're on the one-from-bottom cable package.
The only obvious thing we haven't done, I suppose, is change energy supplier. This would probably save a little money in the short-term but we'd need to be prepared to swap again every few months to make a big difference on an on-going basis. Unfortunately, the chance of even one transfer going smoothly is pretty slim. I'd be trying to co-ordinate the efforts of the call-centres of two large companies. It would be bound to end in tears. Both companies would charge us for gas and neither would charge us for electricity, they'd send us lots of threatening letters, ignore our phone calls and then two teams of opposing engineers would turn up at the same time to cut off the power supply. They would fight it out in the driveway for the right to disconnect us, their cable pliers held aloft, gleaming in the dawn light, and their battle-cries waking the neighbours.
It's just not worth the hassle (nor the pile of wounded tradesmen outside the front door).
Nope, I really can't be bothered changing energy supplier, so that doesn't leave many new options for saving money. We'd have to start rationing chocolate biscuits or cancel the kids' swimming lessons.
Fortunately we're not at that stage yet. If anything, without any maternity-enforced penury recently, we're feeling more flush than we have for some time. While the rest of the world is suddenly counting pennies, we've emerged from the financial strains of small children but haven't yet reached the difficulties of designer trainers, expensive trips and university fees. We have the opportunity to splash out.
Kind of.
The last few weeks, while Marie has been in her gymnastics class, I've bought myself coffee.
Admittedly, it's not proper coffee - it's only the kind that costs 40 pence from a vending machine - but if you'll remember, I'm a guy who will walk a couple of miles in the rain to save a pound on the bus fare. Buying coffee goes against my nature. Every week I guiltily stick a couple of coins in the machine and then sit down and relax, free from children and unable to do chores, and I sip the coffee, delighting in the frivolous luxury and smiling to myself.
Some weeks the smile has a touch of grimace mixed in because the machine has failed to dissolve the granules in the hot water properly and left me chewing on raw coffee but it's still a pleasure.
You never know, maybe one day I'll buy myself a second pair of shoes...
Yours in a woman's world,
Ed.
With the world financial system collapsing around our ears, the media has been full of ways to cut back and economise. The problem is, after having had the breadwinner in the family on maternity leave three times in the last eight years and working part-time at some points in between, we've done most of the economising we can already. We don't have a car, we buy own-brand food, we've cleared our debt and we're on the one-from-bottom cable package.
The only obvious thing we haven't done, I suppose, is change energy supplier. This would probably save a little money in the short-term but we'd need to be prepared to swap again every few months to make a big difference on an on-going basis. Unfortunately, the chance of even one transfer going smoothly is pretty slim. I'd be trying to co-ordinate the efforts of the call-centres of two large companies. It would be bound to end in tears. Both companies would charge us for gas and neither would charge us for electricity, they'd send us lots of threatening letters, ignore our phone calls and then two teams of opposing engineers would turn up at the same time to cut off the power supply. They would fight it out in the driveway for the right to disconnect us, their cable pliers held aloft, gleaming in the dawn light, and their battle-cries waking the neighbours.
It's just not worth the hassle (nor the pile of wounded tradesmen outside the front door).
Nope, I really can't be bothered changing energy supplier, so that doesn't leave many new options for saving money. We'd have to start rationing chocolate biscuits or cancel the kids' swimming lessons.
Fortunately we're not at that stage yet. If anything, without any maternity-enforced penury recently, we're feeling more flush than we have for some time. While the rest of the world is suddenly counting pennies, we've emerged from the financial strains of small children but haven't yet reached the difficulties of designer trainers, expensive trips and university fees. We have the opportunity to splash out.
Kind of.
The last few weeks, while Marie has been in her gymnastics class, I've bought myself coffee.
Admittedly, it's not proper coffee - it's only the kind that costs 40 pence from a vending machine - but if you'll remember, I'm a guy who will walk a couple of miles in the rain to save a pound on the bus fare. Buying coffee goes against my nature. Every week I guiltily stick a couple of coins in the machine and then sit down and relax, free from children and unable to do chores, and I sip the coffee, delighting in the frivolous luxury and smiling to myself.
Some weeks the smile has a touch of grimace mixed in because the machine has failed to dissolve the granules in the hot water properly and left me chewing on raw coffee but it's still a pleasure.
You never know, maybe one day I'll buy myself a second pair of shoes...
Yours in a woman's world,
Ed.
Wednesday, 21 November 2007
My pet consumer
Dear Dave,
Our efforts to teach Fraser the value of money are failing miserably.
He was always pestering us for stuff, so we started giving him a pound a week pocket money. Now, if he wants something, he has to buy it himself. We thought giving him money of his own would dissuade him from demanding the first shiny thing which came to hand whenever he walked into a shop. The hope was that he would be more discerning.
The reality was that we lost a certain level of control on his purchases.
How much tack can he fill the house with before he gets the idea? We've got the dreaded Golden Coin Maker and Scooby-Doo! Cyber Chase, more pokemon cards than is sensible, various oddly shaped plastic doodads, a santa with flashing LEDs, some fluffy pencil toppers, a compass and three packets of gingernut biscuits. He won the biscuits in a tombola that he insisted on entering despite the fact there was nothing he wanted to win.
He blew four pounds on a Lazy Town sticker book at the school book fair the other day. I took exception to this for a number of reasons:
Still, you've got to admire his stubbornness.
I asked him twice if he really wanted it. I suggested other things he might want instead. He was adamant he wanted the sticker book. I couldn't see the point, I didn't think it was a good idea but... I let him buy it anyway.
You see, I have issues:
When I wasn't much older than him, I really wanted to get a handheld Pac-Man game. I even went to Jarrold's in Norwich with my mum to buy it. I had my birthday money ready. I'd been saving up. I was going to get it.
Except my mum asked me if I was sure so many times that she made me unsure.
I didn't get the game. Admittedly, it cost £18 twenty-five years ago, so it was pretty expensive, but I had the cash and I really wanted it. I would have played it until my thumb fell off. Then I would have turned it upside down and played it until my other thumb fell off. I would have loved and cherished that little Pac-Man machine. Instead, I got left with the lasting impression that spending money on something I wanted was somehow wrong unless (a) it was cheap or (b) my mother could see the point of it.
The upshot is that I can spend several hundred pounds on a discounted washing machine without batting an eye but I go through a lengthy internal dialogue whenever I get the urge to spend a fiver on a computer game magazine. A dialogue that my mum usually wins. I reluctantly put the magazine back on the shelf and then walk a couple of miles home in the rain.
When I arrive back at the house, dripping the contents of a small cloud onto the carpet, I justify the decision to walk by claiming that it's good exercise. If pressed, I might add that it's stressful fighting my way onto the bus with the buggy. The real reason, however, is that walking saves me the pound for the fare. If I've got the boys with me, it saves me two pounds twenty. Each way. That's worth getting a little wet for. (Although the boys may not entirely agree). Besides, my mum never catches the bus, so it must be a waste of money.
I wish I'd stuck to my guns over Pac-Man. I might have a little more perspective and a better idea of the value of money myself.
I want Fraser to be sensible with money. I want him to learn to live within his means. I want him to be able to plan prudently for the future. I want him to consider the effects his purchases have on the exploitation of the planet and of other people. I want him to understand the importance of money but not base his life upon it. I want him to be able to give money to those who need it. In short, I want him to be wise but generous. It would be nice, however, if he was also able to spend money on himself without feeling bad about it.
Most of those things I need to teach him. At least, I'll attempt to teach them to him - he won't listen but I'll have tried. The last one I need to remember not to knock out of him.
Wish me luck.
Yours in a woman's world,
Ed.
PS My mum never catches the bus because she has a car and drives everywhere. I really need to get a grip.
Our efforts to teach Fraser the value of money are failing miserably.
He was always pestering us for stuff, so we started giving him a pound a week pocket money. Now, if he wants something, he has to buy it himself. We thought giving him money of his own would dissuade him from demanding the first shiny thing which came to hand whenever he walked into a shop. The hope was that he would be more discerning.
The reality was that we lost a certain level of control on his purchases.
How much tack can he fill the house with before he gets the idea? We've got the dreaded Golden Coin Maker and Scooby-Doo! Cyber Chase, more pokemon cards than is sensible, various oddly shaped plastic doodads, a santa with flashing LEDs, some fluffy pencil toppers, a compass and three packets of gingernut biscuits. He won the biscuits in a tombola that he insisted on entering despite the fact there was nothing he wanted to win.
He blew four pounds on a Lazy Town sticker book at the school book fair the other day. I took exception to this for a number of reasons:
- He blew three pounds he didn't have on stickers, this time last year. He was broke but he was so desperate for this box of random stickers, he took out a loan against his future income. Then he didn't use them. They've been sitting on his bedroom table gathering dust for months... next to several hundred stickers left over from some birthday or other... only a few feet from the half-full tub of 2000 stickers Lewis got for Christmas... and under a shelf upon which rests a still sealed box of Scooby-Doo! stickers the grandparents turned up with one day.
There's probably more stickers in the the kids' arts-and-crafts drawer...
He doesn't need more stickers. - The school book fair is a bit of a money-making scam. In essence, it's a bookstall that's set up at parent-teacher evenings for parents to buy their kids vaguely educational books. An outside company supplies the books but the school gets a cut of the sales or free books or something.
The catch is that the teachers take the kids to look at and fondle the books during class time. Their desire for ownership is conceived without parental caveat and then fuelled by discussing with friends what they're all going to get. It's further reinforced as they spend the rest of the day trying to remember what 'their' book is called so they can place an order when they get home. It's pretty hard to exert any influence by then.
I'd rather the school just asked for donations. We'd pay less, they'd get more and I'd still have shelf-space.
What's next? Is the school going to sign up with Amway? - Fraser's not actually a great fan of Lazy Town. Sure, he'll watch it and enjoy it but he'd rather watch a dozen other things. If I'd offered to buy him a book and taken him to a proper bookshop, he'd have come home with something pokemon related.
- He's supposed to be saving up for Super Paper Mario on the Wii. He'd have enough money by now if it weren't for yet more pokemon cards and for the sticker book. This is particularly galling because I want to play it.
Barring the tooth fairy taking matters into her own hands and turning up with pliers, however, he's not going to be able to afford the game until Christmas i.e. the point when the boys (and myself) will be getting various other games anyway and won't have time for them all. In the meantime, Fraser gets to sit around not twiddling his thumbs because he's finished everything he can be bothered to play and spent his cash on stickers he didn't need. - He hasn't read the books he got from the last book fair.
Still, you've got to admire his stubbornness.
I asked him twice if he really wanted it. I suggested other things he might want instead. He was adamant he wanted the sticker book. I couldn't see the point, I didn't think it was a good idea but... I let him buy it anyway.
You see, I have issues:
When I wasn't much older than him, I really wanted to get a handheld Pac-Man game. I even went to Jarrold's in Norwich with my mum to buy it. I had my birthday money ready. I'd been saving up. I was going to get it.
Except my mum asked me if I was sure so many times that she made me unsure.
I didn't get the game. Admittedly, it cost £18 twenty-five years ago, so it was pretty expensive, but I had the cash and I really wanted it. I would have played it until my thumb fell off. Then I would have turned it upside down and played it until my other thumb fell off. I would have loved and cherished that little Pac-Man machine. Instead, I got left with the lasting impression that spending money on something I wanted was somehow wrong unless (a) it was cheap or (b) my mother could see the point of it.
The upshot is that I can spend several hundred pounds on a discounted washing machine without batting an eye but I go through a lengthy internal dialogue whenever I get the urge to spend a fiver on a computer game magazine. A dialogue that my mum usually wins. I reluctantly put the magazine back on the shelf and then walk a couple of miles home in the rain.
When I arrive back at the house, dripping the contents of a small cloud onto the carpet, I justify the decision to walk by claiming that it's good exercise. If pressed, I might add that it's stressful fighting my way onto the bus with the buggy. The real reason, however, is that walking saves me the pound for the fare. If I've got the boys with me, it saves me two pounds twenty. Each way. That's worth getting a little wet for. (Although the boys may not entirely agree). Besides, my mum never catches the bus, so it must be a waste of money.
I wish I'd stuck to my guns over Pac-Man. I might have a little more perspective and a better idea of the value of money myself.
I want Fraser to be sensible with money. I want him to learn to live within his means. I want him to be able to plan prudently for the future. I want him to consider the effects his purchases have on the exploitation of the planet and of other people. I want him to understand the importance of money but not base his life upon it. I want him to be able to give money to those who need it. In short, I want him to be wise but generous. It would be nice, however, if he was also able to spend money on himself without feeling bad about it.
Most of those things I need to teach him. At least, I'll attempt to teach them to him - he won't listen but I'll have tried. The last one I need to remember not to knock out of him.
Wish me luck.
Yours in a woman's world,
Ed.
PS My mum never catches the bus because she has a car and drives everywhere. I really need to get a grip.
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