November 21, 2016
Between the election, hosting guests, and other demanding personal events, open enrollment flew right by. We scrambled to update our selections on the last day of the period instead of the first day like I like to do. I’m super glad PiC caught that because my attention was elsewhere and I would have been ticked as all get out if we’d missed it.
Most things are staying the same: medical, vision, dental, long term disability, life insurance, dependent care FSA.
We’re increasing our FSA allocations to the maximum possible $2600 in the hope that PiC will be an eligible candidate for LASIK, as much as the idea of having his eyes operated on horrifies me, because we’ve discussed it for years and objectively, if they can do some good, we should go for it.
I found a goof from last year’s open enrollment though. Can anyone tell me why I added JuggerBaby to our vision and dental plans when ze didn’t have teeth yet? I s’pose I didn’t know ze wouldn’t have to see the dentist at all this year but my child was toothless as of last year’s enrollment period and that was a curious waste of money. It wasn’t a *lot*, probably around a few dollars a month and possibly I chose to pay it just in case ze needed dental care early, but it’s unlike me to waste any money if I can help it.
My company shed a ton of benefits in the past few years, so we rely on PiC’s employer’s great benefits. This puts me on edge, in light of the possible threats to the ACA, because I feel like we’re just one job loss away from serious instability. Not only would be we be out half of our income, we would lose access to the remaining 401(k), FSA for health and dependent care, medical, vision, dental, and disability and life insurance benefits. We do carry private life insurance for me but not for him. Our costs would increase at the same time as halving our household income, so I’m considering how I might want to deal with that if he were to be injured or out of a job.
:: What benefits do you have, or miss? What do you wish you had?
October 26, 2016
A story of denial
Does everyone have a price? I thought yes. Then, no. Then changed my mind again.
I wanted to believe the answer was no. I needed to understand the answer was yes.
Integrity and moral fiber become inherent, I used to think. They are part of consistently learning to be, and making the choice to be, a good person. To choose to do the right thing whether or not it was easy.
Suffice to say, that I could still believe into my mid-30s despite all my experiences that prove otherwise suggests a bedrock of faith I didn’t know I had until it crumbled.
But the story doesn’t start there.
It started with my first lessons in the school of hard knocks, toiling to save my family from financial ruin. I was 17 when I learned we were more than broke. We were in debt, deeply in debt, and my parents saw no way out of the quicksand they had built our lives on. Credit cards were used to make ends meet, too often. It wasn’t frivolous but it was absolutely foolish. When their siblings needed cash, or a parent needed a replacement something, they turned to my parents. Saying no is not an option for that generation, so they found a way. Half a lifetime of solving other people’s crises left them carrying six figures of debt on credit cards and personal and business loans.
Making mistakes didn’t make them bad people. My parents deserved my help because they always helped others. For a decade I made it my life to help them back, but I also learned from their mistakes. I helped them but I saved.
At first it was paltry. I was literally saving pennies. Nickels and dimes were salted away. I scrimped and skipped meals, worked overtime, saved like my life depended on it.
In a way, it did. More than my life, this was my Hope.
After more double shifts and sleepless nights than I care to remember, I invested my painstakingly hoarded nest egg. It grew a little bit and I reinvested it repeatedly.
18 months ago, the investment matured at $15,000, and I asked my father to pick up the cash. I hadn’t decided but was almost certain it would pay for JuggerBaby’s daycare so that’s what I told him the money was needed for. No immediate rush, then, I said, but I would absolutely need it by fall.
He’d been my loan courier for the interest payments in previous year but, this time, I wouldn’t be able to pick it up from him for two months. Two long months where I ignored my sense of misgiving over his characteristic silences, chiding myself for being worried, chalking it up to a hard-won sense of skepticism gone haywire.
By this summer, I had been put off several time. He was busy, they kept missing each other when he dropped in to pick up the payment. All normal, plausible, reasonable except it felt a little off. Nothing I could pinpoint but my instinct’s honed on decades of accurately identifying my brother’s lies. They had long outnumbered his truths, his half truths, and I’d become an expert at gauging when he was trying to con me.
I had never wanted to learn the art of detecting deceit in another family member.
An old friend always says, “your instincts are your best friend,” and I should have known when I was deliberately ignoring mine that they weren’t wrong.
They weren’t. But I wasn’t either.
I wasn’t prepared to accept another betrayal. I was trying to avoid it by pretending I didn’t sense the wrongness, the lie underneath, by giving him every opportunity to make it right. To make a clean breast of it and pay me the respect of treating me like an adult. Just a regular adult he cares about, never mind the fact that I’d sacrificed my life and health for his comfort and safety.
But denying your instincts always kicks your ass. My nightmares of fighting with my family started again. For years, they were so common PiC had mastered the art of soothing me without even waking himself. I’d wake screaming at my brother as we grappled over yet another bad decision.
Prepared to deal or not, once those nightmares started again, I knew I had to confront the situation head on.
A story of anger
So I did. And I saw the man who taught me to have integrity, to build a life by helping others and doing no harm, crumple under direct questioning. He had taken that money and used it to invest in a venture that was “expected to pay out within 6 weeks but…”
I watched as his face, once beloved, revealed that I could no longer trust anyone in my family. He regretted betraying my trust, he said, but the betrayal went far deeper than he understood.
Having made the colossally bad decision to take my money, my baby’s money, he then lied to me. Kept lying until he was backed into a corner.
The kindest possible interpretation is that he’s still grieving, that he’s eaten up by the shame and guilt of dependency, and the only way he knows how to deal with it is to try and make the most of any opportunity. Even if it wasn’t an opportunity that was offered. Even when it was clearly not his to take.
Some part of me still wants to be kind because any harsher interpretation is harsh for me too. But it’s been five years since Mom died. Three years since we had the incredibly hard conversation about our feelings of guilt and hurt and trying to mend things. Seventeen years since I first picked up this work of supporting my family and we had our first fights about honesty and making the household work.
He’s had time. He’s had enough chances to learn to work with me, and has proven in the starkest possible way that another chance is just another costly disappointment.
He promised to pay it all back when the money came back but in past year he’s called me once, and only because he thought he was returning a missed call and then to ask when we’re coming to visit. No updates on what’s going on, no calls to see how we’re doing. Not a word about receiving an email full of pictures of an (I’m not biased at all) incredibly cute grandchild growing up fast. Nothing.
That money, in other words, is lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine.
What does this all mean? How do you go forward when you admit this is the state of affairs?
In practical terms, not much. I won’t put him out on the street by stopping his rent payments, I won’t punish him by stopping his utility payments. I’m not able to assess the cost of his betrayal and theft as equal to that of his right to live like a human with basic needs.
But it has cost him my love, my regard, and my trust.
The hardest realization is that I’ll never trust him alone with his grandchild. I once believed he would protect me at all costs and have now learned that we’re not even worth $15,000. I was his own child, his only daughter, his sole support, and he’s abused my good will and manipulated me under the umbrella of good intentions for years.
He’s rationalized it all as his way of helping me. He was working hard to make sure that I didn’t have to pay more than I already do to subsidize my sibling. So it naturally makes sense that he would take the money intended for my child’s care, daycare that is necessary for my health and for my income which he relies on, as seed money, then cover up his actions with lies.
That was his “better course of action.” Not: communicating clearly with me about his needs or his plans. Not asking if he could use it as capital. Just taking it and lying til the cows came home.
Well, the cow has come home and guess what? Asking forgiveness MIGHT be easier than asking for permission but what they don’t tell you is that you may never get forgiveness.
Knowing that he’d already easily rationalized the very wrong and harmful act of stealing from me and then lying to me about it until caught, what else can he rationalize? This wasn’t the first lie, but it has to be the last before the price is too high and too painful to be counted in dollars.
I’d been quietly resentful before that he hasn’t once lifted a finger to engage with his only grandchild. On arranged visits, he’s a drop-in. He’s a visitor to the proceedings, he’s played with zir maybe twice and that’s because PiC has been even more persistent than I in making sure ze gets Grandpa time.
After all this?
There’s simply no way I could ever trust zir in his care. I suppose it’s a good thing he never offered to help with zir, not even to watch zir for five minutes so I could scarf down a meal, so we haven’t developed the habit of relying on him. In my family, non-parents always lend a hand to the parents of little ones, grandparents above all. I have personally done it for more years than I can count, for everyone’s kids. He’s done it countless times for other relatives but I see that the most special consideration I get is that he’ll show up. Good thing, I guess.
He was an icon, in my eyes. A figure of storied proportions. His sacrifices to make a better life, his hard work, his ethics. I imbibed those with my mother’s home-cooked meals and tutelage. And now he’s made himself all but a stranger.
I’ve wept.
There are still some tears in the days to come, when a fond memory feels shattered, when I can’t remember the word for “meatball” in our native language and I can’t bring myself to dial his number.
I’m still angry with him. I may forgive someday but today is not that day. Tomorrow isn’t either. Even if it ever happens, I still won’t forget.
I don’t doubt he was sorry to be telling me the truth when he was forced to, but how much was regret over being caught and how much for the wrongdoing? History suggests mostly the former, less of the latter.
Years ago, a blogger aptly named Grace said she heard the voice of a hurt daughter wondering why she wasn’t good enough. It seems Grace read me more correctly than I knew.
I know now that I didn’t want it to be true. I wanted to believe in his good intentions. But his good intentions always came with a price and I was always the only one to who paid them. So here I am admitting: I am hurt. I do wonder why my father doesn’t love me enough, never loved me enough, to work with me or to put me and my well-being even equal to that of my Sibling’s when he was still clearly capable but unwilling to take care of himself.
Six years ago, I couldn’t conceive of the notion that my parent could value me so little. That he could see me as nothing more than a way to pay the bills. Today, I’m seeing that it’s not only possible, it’s been the truth for a long time.
I regret the loss of faith. I regret the loss of history. I regret that ze won’t be able to learn our family oral history the way I did from the man who remembers so much of it because he can’t spend an hour in our company. I hate that ze won’t have a living loving grandfather worth knowing.
I hate that when people joke that they still lean on their fathers like JuggerBaby now flops against zir father with complete faith, I feel a pang of envy. I hate that when a dear friend got married and his bride introduced me to her beaming, over the moon father, I felt loss.
Where was my father for all that? For the joy, the support, the fatherly bond? I worshiped him. I still remember before so clearly. At five years old, I was brewing his morning coffee and sitting with him while he drank it before he left for work. I brewed his nightly pot of tea, offering the first pour to our ancestors with lighted incense as is our custom, every night. I carefully washed it and the tea cups afterward, setting them out to dry for the next day. He combed my hair for me, just like his!, before school every morning of first grade. When Mom and I clashed, I could always turn to him for support over books, over clothes, over anything.
When did he stop loving me?
I won’t ask why. I don’t want to know. Maybe I don’t want to know when it happened, either.
A story of acceptance
I refuse to let this diminish me. I refuse to let this make me feel like I’m less than worthy. With or without him I am a person, whole and complete, and I will not be made less because my father forgot I have value.
Just as I learned from his mistakes in money, I’ll learn from his mistakes as a person and as a parent. I know now that not having money can do terrible things to a person, no matter who they were before, and while I cannot save my father from himself, perhaps I can save my chosen family from making the same mistakes.
For better or worse, I am my father’s daughter and inherited many of his traits. But I am not him, just like I’m not my mother, either. I have a choice and can choose to do things differently for my future.
I think it’s clear that I have done that, in finding a way to fulfill what I see to be my responsibilities and still preserve and protect my own family’s future. It’s not as easy as it would be if I were unfettered but I make it work.
More than one friend has asked me: would you ever cut him off?
The reality is he’s 70 years old, he’s unlikely to get hired anywhere, and he has minimal Social Security. He can afford his food and his gas, but clearly not more than one utility bill at a time. It would be inhumane to cut him off when I do have the means to support him, but I will be looking at ways to reduce the burden on our finances by pushing him to move to senior housing. This has been a challenge because he won’t throw out my sibling, the Parasitic Trainwreck (mixing my metaphors to give a clearer picture of his character), and I’m not sure what senior housing would allow for the presence of a person like him.
But for now, it’s enough that I’m able to face this squarely.
Then I’ll fix it. Like I always do.
September 26, 2016
Maybe not all of them are unhinged but these soundbites from startup founders in a survey where they answered questions about their finances sure make them sound like it. I noted that only 6 of the respondents were women so it’s likely there’s some sort of self selection bias going on there.
“Don’t save for retirement. That’s like betting you’ll fail.”
The complete logic fail here is astounding. It assumes that the only success will leave you so wealthy as to have your retirement secured. It ignores the fact that you might succeed but only modestly so, or that you might have more expenses in retirement than a buyout could cover, or that you might succeed but not ever be bought out. Running a business doesn’t always end in being acquired for billions. It also links the act of saving to actively betting against yourself which doesn’t make any sense at all. I have supreme confidence in myself and my success but you betcha I save for retirement because I want one, and I don’t control everything around me.
“You can’t save your way to being wealthy.”
Yes, you can. You could also, if you were really savvy, probably spend (invest) your way to being wealthy. Refusing to do one or the other if you have the opportunity to simply because it’s not the quick and easy way is pretty shortsighted.
“Bet on yourself rather than on external investments (housing, stock market, etc.).”
We all know that’s not an either/or proposition, don’t we? Of course one of our biggest assets is our ability to earn. But that shouldn’t be your only asset if you have a choice about it.
Does this founder also put everything on red and let it ride? Because betting solely on yourself as a single asset and refusing to diversify is pointblank stupid. What happens if you’re killed or crippled in an accident? What if you’re struck by a chronic disease that severely limits your ability to function? What if a dependent family member falls ill and needs full time or long term care?
I don’t pose these as unlikely hypothetical scenarios just to be contrary. All of them have happened to us or a family member.
Other bad advice
That got me thinking about times in my life when I was given pretty bad advice and was chided for being too stubborn to heed it.
I did listen to good advice, I wasn’t immune to all advice, but some of these were just too much.
“Maybe he’s just being nice.”
When a manipulative abusive boss tried to give me cash for a vacation.
No, he was never just being nice. He wanted to buy loyalty for petty change and the loyalty he wanted was unreasonable and unprofessional. You know what I’m talking about.
“You should have kids when you’re young and have energy”
A cousin 12 years my elder pressed me on this point when I was 21 and definitely unprepared for marriage, much less kids. To my family, who expects to see us married by 24 at the latest, it was looking like I’d spend all my time working and never getting married and having kids. The joke was on her, apparently. 8 years later she said, ok, yeah, you should enjoy your life while you can.
Thank you, I believe I will.
Yes, there are times I wished I had JuggerBaby earlier so Mom would have met and enjoyed zir too. But that’s one tiny fraction of the entirety of our lives that I enjoy so much: having amazing flexibility and autonomy in my job, being financially stable, having a solid marriage and partnership, these things would be missing from the equation. Only their fledging counterparts would have been there: paying down debt, managing my health, and growing my career would have been so much harder and would have meant I’d miss so much more of JuggerBaby’s life. We were late to having a kid but because of it, I’ve been lucky enough to enjoy so much of zir growing up. (May we always have this stability and flexibility.)
To be fair to her, it wasn’t objectively a terrible bit of advice. It was just a bad idea to suggest that I should model my life on everyone else’s. I prefer to aim for a little more extraordinary, and that doesn’t fit the safe cookiecutter lives they encourage.
::What bad life advice have you gotten? What’s the best advice you’ve gotten or given? How have you strayed from the expected path?
September 21, 2016
We dubbed him Seamus in the first, rough, weeks of his homecoming, a play on “Shamey-y”.
I can’t be more grateful that we weathered those days, welcoming him even when he broke almost every rule trying to learn the ropes, even when we had a baby on the way and weren’t sure how it would all happen.
From the moment he met JuggerBaby, the squirmy little bundle of noise and mess, with interest and hope, he’s been a trooper, the saintly dog you’d always hope for in just such a circumstance.
Life with DOG!
JuggerBaby and Seamus have a curious sibling relationship. You’d think they didn’t care whether the other existed, until you made the mistake of raising your voice or provoking screeches (which, to be fair, is really easy to do for a toddler of JuggerBaby’s age). Seamus would quietly insert himself into the room and check on everyone, clearly concerned that ze would survive the day, and leave just as quietly when it was clear no one was a casualty.
Likewise, you’d think JuggerBaby was kind of a jerk the way ze petted him like he was a first class drum set, until you notice that zir carefully leaning in to give him Mmmmwah! kisses, before and after overenthusiastic pets. And woe betide you if he looks bored and ze knows where the Chuck-its are hidden. Like an extension of Seamus’s will, ze unearths the toys, presents it to you with a demand: BA!! and points at zir brother. Throw that thing, parent, and do it now! He’s bored! And soon after, carrots! Ze pulls them out and points insistently, EY! Give him treats!
As part of my weekly grocery shop, I prep packs of carrot sticks for Seamus. They sit sit together on the floor, box of carrot sticks clutched in JuggerBaby’s still chubby fist, staring at me for permission to hand them over, one by one. Once in a while JB’s enthusiasm brims over and ze offers him the entire container. He’s no fool, he looks at me for the nod. Even when ze dumps the entire box on the floor in front of him, he waits for the nod before reaching for any.
We do bedtime together, he lays at our feet while we read bedtime stories and sing bedtime songs, then he and I decamp to the living room for his care: brushing teeth, pedicure, cream for his itchy and raw skin. He lays his head on my knee and naps for a while, before his last nighttime stroll with PiC.
Medical woes
His weight has stabilized, he’s lost much of that sympathy pregnancy weight, but he has had a rough road.
He’s had an ulcerated eye, twice.
JuggerBaby nearly poisoned him (maybe).
His skin looks worlds better than it did when he first came home but he still breaks out into hot spots so I’m always on alert for any new trouble areas. Twice a year it gets bad enough for the heavy hitting meds. They’re effective but we don’t want him on steroids more than 20 days a year, they aren’t great for his organs, so I aggressively treat all flare-ups to keep them from progressing past hot spots.
He’s had an endless stream of infections. They crop up when he gets scraped up playing too enthusiastically and sometimes just because it’s fun to make me jump. I’m his on-call emergency medic, always carrying a full kit of topical antibiotics, ointments, bandages and gauze.
We make it through each one because he’s generally an astoundingly good patient, for a dog who surely doesn’t understand why I’m making him lay still while I poke and prod his painful parts, and our vet is good about working with me in filling the appropriate medications when we need them instead of making me bring him in for an exam every time. This saves us anywhere from $200-500 a year.
A Dog and Our Money
I’ve been using the saved proceeds from the blog to pay for his numerous medical needs. Unfortunately, since this isn’t a cash cow, we’ll need another way to fund his care soon.
We can cashflow his food, supplements, the occasional toy, and any other gear a good pup needs out of our regular income.
I do most routine maintenance at home for the cost of materials: war cleaning, nail clipping, pilling, first aid. These could all add to the price tag but luckily I enjoy animal husbandry.
We’d love a companion pup for him, he does best when he has appropriate canine company, but I’m not sure we can take on Number Three any time soon. It’s nearly as much work as a kid in a lot of ways and the costs pile up quickly if you’re not careful.
And another pup would make travel even more expensive. When we go on vacation, so does he. Turns out all the dog sitting I did as a favor to friends back in the day, because I knew I’d appreciate it if I needed the same? Well, there is no dogsitting karma. Nor is there babysitting karma.
Please, keep reminding me of that, because I might still lose my head and adopt another senior dog one day.
:: Are you a dog / cat / other animal person? What makes them great?
August 15, 2016
I asked how you manage your money if you have to compromise with another human. It’s only fair to share how we’re managing ours!
It’s taken years, but PiC and I have a pretty good system for us these days.
Once upon a time, my money was my money, and then it wasn’t. The last time it’s been totally separate was when I was 12. Since then, my own money has been intermixed with family issues at various times for various reasons. After years of hard lessons with my family, I had to learn to trust, and take risks based on that trust again when PiC and I started to cohabitate, and that’s where our money started to intertwine.
It took at least a year after we got married for it to truly sink in that our money was irretrievably connected, however we chose to handle it. I was evaluating our life insurance 4 days after we got married but viscerally, it’s a lot hard to remold “me” into “we”. Over the course of that year, it was a tentative subject and we weren’t ready to say much, but we were slowly aligning ourselves with each other without words, just through actions.
It’s never painless, not when you’re talking about unseating a decade of habits. Our foibles would occasionally pop up and give us some trouble. It was at this point that we began to learn the art of compromising with each other, and realized that neither of us did well with a shared budget and separate finances. It’s taken a few more years and a lot of adjustments but we’ve got a working system now.
Ours to have and hold
Budgeting the money
Pretax contributions come out first: taxes, retirement contributions, health, dental and vision, pre-tax FSA account, disability and life insurance benefits. Those all come out of PiC’s paycheck because his benefits are way better than what my work offers.
25% of our take-home pay is automatically deposited to our joint savings account, this comes out of both checks. We added up all our bills and made sure that it didn’t exceed the remaining 75% which is dropped into our joint checking account. All the bills are paid out of that account: mortgage, HOA fees, rent, daycare, credit cards.
Spending the money
All routine costs that can be are charged to credit cards that bring in the best rewards and that’s paid by the joint checking account: gas, groceries, utilities, travel, dining out, medical and vet bills.
We kept our own checking accounts and credit cards. I pay most of the bills out of the joint account, he pays a couple of the utility bills and his own credit cards. I do all the accounting, oversee our retirement accounts and, since my eye is on early retirement, I actively manage our brokerage account and our real estate property. We use Mint for bills reminders but usually have paid it by the time Mint sends the weekly update.
Pretty simple all around.
Communication is key
Twice a month, I ask PiC what he’s going to pay in the next week. I don’t see all his credit card bills so that helps me keep a bead on the expected withdrawals. Our mortgage, rent, and association fees are automated monthly payments so asking regularly and a quick eyeball of the account tells me if I am going to run short. That really only happens when a big unbudgeted four digit check is cut, but I’ve been burned by keeping too low a balance in the checking account before. Never again!
We also created a shared email account so all our financial accounts go there. That way if either one of us is out of the picture, access to important financials isn’t restricted to someone’s email.
Bonus money
I do some credit card churning on the side to earn travel money, that’s how we paid for our travel to Hawaii and Washington without breaking the budget. I keep that simple too, one or two cards per calendar year for specific trips. This year I’ve already done our second card, but I’m considering a third before the end of the year.
I alternate between cards under each of our names and don’t bother with any sign-up bonus less than $250 value in travel money or miles.
I used to be cautious about keeping old credit lines open, which I still do, but I’ve spent enough years being responsible and carrying no debt that our credit histories are in great shape. I’ve shown that I can carry an auto loan and pay it on time for many years. I’ve got many years of credit card use, always paid in full and on time. Same goes for the mortgages – always paid on time.
This means our credit scores are always in the high 700s or low 800s no matter how much churning I do, so I stopped worrying about preserving it years ago. This is good for anywhere from $500-2000 worth of travel value. Not bad for several days of work.
:: Do you simplify your money management (fewer accounts, less active management) or go for the more complex (maxing rewards sources, bonuses, etc)?
August 10, 2016
I don’t think that the only way to express love is to spend money but it’s prevalent in both our family cultures. Well, naturally it’s commercially popular, but I also see this among family and friends who weren’t raised in a capitalist society.
Even among the traditional, Eastern philosophy set, money seems to reign supreme as the expression of love, loyalty, fealty, filial piety.
At Lunar New Year, married couples wish the young singles a happy new year and prosperous life by giving them red envelopes stuffed with cash.
For weddings, we don’t give gifts or make registries. Family and friends show their support of the wedding and the marriage by means of a red envelope stuffed with cash. It’s not called a gift, in my culture, it’s called “tying their hands together” (roughly translated), meaning you’re contributing to the fact of their union. I always liked that.
We never celebrated birthdays except for little kids, and you guessed it, gifts were normally red envelopes stuffed with cash. A wrapped gift item was rare.
Never coins, though, it had to be paper bills. I can’t remember the reason behind it but your envelopes should never jingle, only crinkle.
I see this mentality played out through other aspects of the culture, too, and while I loved some of the traditions, some of them get carried a bit too far.
Love is supporting your kids / dependents financially.
Kids didn’t ask to be brought into this world and a loving and responsible parent should be doing everything they can to make sure their kids are fed, clothed, educated and safe.
But it has to stop at some point, doesn’t it?
When parents are still supporting their kids well past their 20s, and into their 30s, and 40s, even when the kids in question are perfectly capable of supporting themselves, I’m not sure what the game plan was and how it went so very wrong.
I see parents insisting on funding things for their kids that seem outrageous to me when I know the kids are earning very solid incomes and have every opportunity to save for these things on their own: cars, down payments, vacations, household supplies. You have to wonder how the kids are going to manage on “just” their own incomes when the parents aren’t there to serve up another half salary.
Then again, Nicole and Maggie have me asking is it support or is it a gift?
Love is supporting your parents in their old age.
Within reason! Ten years ago, I dreamed of providing my parents a very comfortable retirement. But it was supposed to start closer to my 30s or 40s, not in my 20s.
But it started in my teens and 20s, so I can only provide Dad shelter, food on the table, and utilities fully paid. We’re not going to endanger our financial futures by trying to go overboard and provide luxuries he wouldn’t enjoy much for the look of the thing.
I learned that lesson by observing some cousins who are on financially shaky ground because they did that very thing: their parents were so grabby that the cousins couldn’t save for retirement, couldn’t save anything, really, and ended up needing support themselves. Both parents and kids are to blame in that case – the cousins were well old enough to set reasonable boundaries and refuse to volunteer money for luxuries like retirement and
Love is giving money gifts.
Under the specific rules above: Lunar New Year and weddings, sure. I’ll even throw in graduation presents up through college for very close relatives.
But we don’t do gifts for every occasion. We don’t gift on Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, Father’s Day, etc. It weirds me out when people have an expectation of gifts for everyone on every occasion.
Love is treating everyone else to a meal out.
It’s nice to be able to pick up the tab every so often.
But I much prefer paying our own way or taking turns or even just staying in and cooking. Not every meal has to be a dining experience. If you’ve ever seen an all-Asian table get into rugby mode over the bill, well. Let’s just say that following up a nice dinner with a knock down drag out fight a few times means that you’d be tired of this one too. I mean, it’s funny the first few times but …
And if you don’t participate then you never pay, and while always being treated when you eat out may seem nice, I certainly don’t like being that person. Let me pay my own way and have a civilized meal, for the love of Murgatroyd!
:: What do you think? When is it a gift and when is it support? When is it support and when is it enabling? Are you comfortable with the flow of money in your family and friend circles? What are your norms?
July 25, 2016
PiC and I have taken years to properly combine and organize our money since the wedding.
The end goal has always been that I shall take and keep complete Dominion over All Things Money! Given our wildly differing levels of interest, it’s for the best.
We started out with completely separate finances. It was all too complicated to merge, I thought. But as we started to combine our lives, the separation and siloed information started to drive me bonkers. It turns out that I need to have almost complete control over the whole picture to be able to make effective, informed decisions. It’s simply how I work best.
There are still some loose ends. Some of them may stay loose-endy due to their nature of being specifically one person’s thing to deal with. I recently wrapped one of my own, dealing with a retirement account that was weirdly designated and dumping those funds into my primary retirement account. I have another one that I’ve started writing about and am not ready to put out there yet.
Things like inheritance gets tricky. I don’t feel like I have a right to touch money inherited from his side, nor do I want to touch it. On my side, there’s been nothing but grief when it comes to money so I especially hate the feeling that doing anything to protect his inheritance feels like I’m a moneygrubbing so-and-so. Except I don’t want any of it for myself! I just hate seeing money managed less effectively than it could be. But because of the feeling that I didn’t come to this union with my own family money (except I did, it was all money that I earned with my own hands), I’m more comfortable ignoring the nagging feelings that it could be better managed and leaving it alone.
Viewing the landscape, I see friends of varying economic levels from poor to very high net worth with all kinds of financial arrangements.
I also keep seeing strong opinions on how, if you’re married, you need to combine finances. I agree that you have to have a system but I don’t agree that it has to be any specific kind.
:: Have you ever had intertwined finances or finances that were dependent on others (partners or roommates)? How did that work for you? Do you have a personal preference for combined or separate finances?