While chopping on my hair this morning, I had the puppy cam up, and noticed that the puppies were being very naughty---they shredded the pee pads and scattered the mess all over their playpen area. Wow. They wore themselves out, and were still biting at the plastic underneath part and even choking occassionally. I wonder why the owners don't monitor them while they are at work? Then the owner came home for lunch about 1pm California time, and tripped and fell stepping over the sides of the pen, and hit the camera. But, after about an hour and a half, the owner had it all cleaned up, and back on. I also watched the NASA website. Turning urine into drinking water is just so hard to get excited about. But, the pictures from space are wonderful. And listening to them talk back and forth with the ground about where to stow stuff, and whatall to bring back is a hoot.
Since I had cooked so much yesterday testing recipes, it was easy to snack on nutritious stuff today. And Bob and I just finished the last of the blackberry cobbler after supper, and talking to James.
Clothes got folded, but there is still a dryer full needing hung up. And I knitted a few dishrags and a hotpad and got the box set up to mail my friend in Ennis as I had completed ones overflowing the shelf here. Soon as this box is full...I will put it in the mail.
I even called my neighbor one block over and told her about the puppy cam and the naughty puppies. She walked over with her grandson to see. Her little grandson is so cute. Three years old, and big brown eyes. I pulled out the Chevron cars for him to play with. Those are always a big hit.
Bob is home on vacation until Monday. Whoop. Five days at home !!!!! Wow
And my firstborn helped the grandchild call me this evening. I heard a little voice say, "mom?" "mom?" I was able to say, wow, are you riding in the car with Daddy? and are you going home to see mom?? I then heard, "car" and "mom" again. Too cute.
Andy said the ducks in Ohio were walking ON the lake. It dips below freezing there at night.
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
The Last Allowance
As we all know, we come into marriage with baggage from our family of origin. And as a couple we decide how to raise our kids, and specifically, how to do "the allowance" each week. When our firstborn was old enough to understand about money, and buying stuff, my dear husband tried to teach the concept of saving. Each week, Bob would give the boys an allowance. It was free spending money to do with whatever they pleased, but he used to pay them interest at the end of the quarter for whatever they still had on hand.
I asked Bob early on for this transaction to be his deal with the boys, because when I was growing up, allowances were spotty, and for chores. Bob was able to be much more objective about these things, and so I tried to stay out of it. It became a lesson of grace. I used to call it paying them for breathing, because, in essence, all they had to do to earn or deserve their allowance was to breathe. And on Saturdays, my question was, "has Dad paid you for breathing yet," or to Bob, "have you paid the boys for breathing?? "
A guy needs spending money. Discretionary funds. I'll never forget the time when Andy was probably five years old, and I think the weekly allowance was a quarter. Bob was short of actual cold, hard change that week, and tried giving Andy a paper dollar. But, in this exchange, Andy had to give back three quarters, and to a five year old, the exchange did not seem right somehow. Bob thought the transaction was done, but I could see Andy tearing up, and asked, "did Daddy cheat you?" "Uh, huh" he said, because to Andy at that tender age, more coins meant more money. Bob traded back, and kept it simple until Andy could count and do math. I wonder if Andy remembers the actual event, or the re-telling? It became an oft-told family story.
As the boys grew older, Bob would increase their allowance by percentages that made may head swim. And having the correct, exact change for everyone on Saturday was a challenge. I did not mind helping, and when Andy went to college, we would send his allowance by check. One month, the check never made it, so we drove to Oklahoma to an "away" football game where Andy was marching in the band to give him his allowance. That was our excuse, anyway.
The boys were pretty good about saving. Andy bought his own bike one time, and James had kept himself in CDs and DVDs.
Today marked the last allowance. Allowance and lunch money. I wrote a check, as James was already flush with cash, and that was the way he wanted it. The end of an era. Another last thing. For twenty years now we have doled out the cash. And as we can afford it, we will try to help each of our sons out with expenses. And its fun to buy them what they need. But, theirs' is a too practical mom. They have heard me say it a hundred times, that I'd rather buy them what they need, or what they pick out to wear, so that I know they will wear it.
We did not pay the boys for grades, nor chores, except maybe for mowing. Mowing in the south can be a hot, dangerous job. And they have all worked for the neighborhood landscaper mowing in the summer earning extra money.
Did Daddy cheat you?
I asked Bob early on for this transaction to be his deal with the boys, because when I was growing up, allowances were spotty, and for chores. Bob was able to be much more objective about these things, and so I tried to stay out of it. It became a lesson of grace. I used to call it paying them for breathing, because, in essence, all they had to do to earn or deserve their allowance was to breathe. And on Saturdays, my question was, "has Dad paid you for breathing yet," or to Bob, "have you paid the boys for breathing?? "
A guy needs spending money. Discretionary funds. I'll never forget the time when Andy was probably five years old, and I think the weekly allowance was a quarter. Bob was short of actual cold, hard change that week, and tried giving Andy a paper dollar. But, in this exchange, Andy had to give back three quarters, and to a five year old, the exchange did not seem right somehow. Bob thought the transaction was done, but I could see Andy tearing up, and asked, "did Daddy cheat you?" "Uh, huh" he said, because to Andy at that tender age, more coins meant more money. Bob traded back, and kept it simple until Andy could count and do math. I wonder if Andy remembers the actual event, or the re-telling? It became an oft-told family story.
As the boys grew older, Bob would increase their allowance by percentages that made may head swim. And having the correct, exact change for everyone on Saturday was a challenge. I did not mind helping, and when Andy went to college, we would send his allowance by check. One month, the check never made it, so we drove to Oklahoma to an "away" football game where Andy was marching in the band to give him his allowance. That was our excuse, anyway.
The boys were pretty good about saving. Andy bought his own bike one time, and James had kept himself in CDs and DVDs.
Today marked the last allowance. Allowance and lunch money. I wrote a check, as James was already flush with cash, and that was the way he wanted it. The end of an era. Another last thing. For twenty years now we have doled out the cash. And as we can afford it, we will try to help each of our sons out with expenses. And its fun to buy them what they need. But, theirs' is a too practical mom. They have heard me say it a hundred times, that I'd rather buy them what they need, or what they pick out to wear, so that I know they will wear it.
We did not pay the boys for grades, nor chores, except maybe for mowing. Mowing in the south can be a hot, dangerous job. And they have all worked for the neighborhood landscaper mowing in the summer earning extra money.
Did Daddy cheat you?
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Adventures in Roofing
Well, the hailstorm did a job on our roof. The insurance guys came and climbed upon the roof and circled hits with chalk, and took pictures, and told us it is time to replace the twenty-year old shingles. The hail pounded the plastic top off the attic fan so we had this big gapping hole for critters, rain, and ventilation.
I have started calling roofers. Looking for estimates. Dear husband will want to do it right, which means he will want to do it himself. But, I'd like to know what he is saving us so that I can appreciate my hero he-man.
I have a confession to make. I sleep with my Sunday School teacher, my lawn mower man, my handy-man, my tree trimmer, and my roofer....call me a slut, but they are all the same MAN. Dear husband wears many hats, and its my job to nag him not to forget that hat or he'll get a sunburn on his head. He swears I scorched his hair off kissing it, and he lets me be his barber---so you could say that Bob sleeps with his barberess. (and his cook and laundress and housekeeper)
Jobs begat jobs. While the roof needs replaced, we might as well re-wire, install new insulation, and replace rotten drip edge wood...and that "we" is really Mr. Handyman's job. I will fetch the gatorade, fetch the food, wash the sweaty, dirty construction clothing, and even fetch an occassional tool---if he knows where it is in the garage, and which shape describes it so that I can understand.
When Bob installed the present roof, I found out I was pregnant with Ben, and conveyed that happy news to the handyman/husband on the roof. A visiting "consultant" (friend not good with tools) blessed Bob with, "way to go, stud!" That helps us remember how old the shingles are, and while Bob took out a dormer and re-shingled a section when Ben was in third or fourth grade, we can date that section, too.
Always something with a house. Always something to repair, that is !
I have started calling roofers. Looking for estimates. Dear husband will want to do it right, which means he will want to do it himself. But, I'd like to know what he is saving us so that I can appreciate my hero he-man.
I have a confession to make. I sleep with my Sunday School teacher, my lawn mower man, my handy-man, my tree trimmer, and my roofer....call me a slut, but they are all the same MAN. Dear husband wears many hats, and its my job to nag him not to forget that hat or he'll get a sunburn on his head. He swears I scorched his hair off kissing it, and he lets me be his barber---so you could say that Bob sleeps with his barberess. (and his cook and laundress and housekeeper)
Jobs begat jobs. While the roof needs replaced, we might as well re-wire, install new insulation, and replace rotten drip edge wood...and that "we" is really Mr. Handyman's job. I will fetch the gatorade, fetch the food, wash the sweaty, dirty construction clothing, and even fetch an occassional tool---if he knows where it is in the garage, and which shape describes it so that I can understand.
When Bob installed the present roof, I found out I was pregnant with Ben, and conveyed that happy news to the handyman/husband on the roof. A visiting "consultant" (friend not good with tools) blessed Bob with, "way to go, stud!" That helps us remember how old the shingles are, and while Bob took out a dormer and re-shingled a section when Ben was in third or fourth grade, we can date that section, too.
Always something with a house. Always something to repair, that is !
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
