I grew up on a steady diet of books like Margeret Sidney’s Five Little Peppers and How They Grew (available free on Project Gutenberg!), Gertrude Chandler Warner’s The Boxcar Children, and Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women. (Also all the sci fi and fantasy I could get my hands on, but that’s irrelevant to this conversation.) I wondered if I’d romanticize the notion of families and raising children under less than rosy circumstances as a result of that early brainwashing.
I do think families should pull together and do whatever needs to be done to get through tough times, and I do think families should take care of each other. Obviously. But econo-philosophically, I developed in my teenage years a much more “I will never be poor again!” determination a la Gone With the Wind than any willingness to try to lead the loving but impoverished lifestyle.
That’s not to say that I think money is the answer to a good childhood or a happy home life. I grew up poor, as a first generation immigrant kid. My parents arrived on these shores with nothing but the clothes on their back and a babe in their arms. But we were, in my opinion, still relatively well off: we didn’t have to beg, dig through bins for leavings to put food on the table. Mom and Dad found just enough opportunity to work incredibly hard, and we kids pitched in as well, we used hand me downs and didn’t shop new until I was a teenager so our basic needs were always filled. But we did live on the edge of poor, spiral-dancing that line between not having much and poverty.
And we can’t deny that money is one of the major factors that may have significant impact on the outcomes of a child’s life. While I suspect that much of my sibling’s manipulative and attentive seeking behaviors were natural, I did also see that he was quite affected by having less than others, and not having our parents around enough during those formative years to instill the sense of confidence and gratitude for what we did have certainly didn’t help. If I’m having kids and there’s any external factor that I can influence to prevent the development of risky behaviors, it’ll be my job to do it.
From a purely practical standpoint, there’s no question that having financial freedom does make life more manageable these days. Leaving aside the luxuries, being able to easily make ends meet and still have time to spend with your little ones are core requirements of having them to begin with, to my thinking.
The thing that was missing from my childhood, though, was a chance to spend real time with my parents. Time “with” Mom and Dad was helping them at work, or doing chores with them at home. Or the talks at night after dinner if they weren’t too busy or tired. While I didn’t precisely resent it at the time, I was always sad we rarely did much as a family. I definitely do regret it now that I’ve lost the chance to truly enjoy their later years with them.
***
When I envisioned that stage of my life, I simply could not see choosing to start a family at a low-earning point in my career knowing that I would have to miss key years of my childrens’ lives while fighting an uphill climb of long hours and probably political battles to advance. Looking forward, it was just unlikely that our generation was going to be settled into a single and easy career straight out of college. So far, that’s definitely been the case.
***
Now that I prepare to move into that stage of my life, it seems like whether or not I’ll be having a family of my own is a question I should have an answer for. But I don’t.
I don’t know if I want children.
That’s basically blasphemy around some of these parts. I’ve caught the lecture that “children are the reason you get married.” Because you couldn’t possibly want to have a partner without procreation following quickly thereafter. That was a disconcerting moment, coming from someone nearly ten years younger than me. I expect it from the (specifically judgy individuals of the) older generation: we’re selfish, we’re lazy, and we’re [fill in the blank] if we don’t have kids. But it’s weird when a youngun judges you for maybe not wanting kids.
I don’t know if I don’t want children, either.
As a teen, I was certain that they weren’t in my future. Other people’s children were adorable, but every child has obnoxious mode. I babysat them all the time and most of them were cute some of the time but they invariably turned into Gremlins and they did not wait for a predictable trigger like feeding after midnight or being splashed with water so it just wasn’t worth the effort. And I mean: childbirth. Ugh.
More than ten years later, it’s not the idea of children that is shudderingly bad but rather the concern about motherhood that looms. My health issues aren’t getting any better so how could I be a fully present, fully capable mother? And I worried enough about my sibling, could I take on the challenge if I had a kid like my sibling? With no intentions of projecting that expectation on my spawn, I still have to be aware that there is a chance that one or more children might inherit whatever combination of whatever led to that mess, and do my best to guide him or her out of it before it became a real disaster.
To further complicate things, I can’t be certain that I’m capable of working full time and managing a pregnancy or raising a child. The responsibilities of taking care of Doggle alone, who is fairly low-key, are enough to take up my limited reserves. And I can’t count on getting better. It hasn’t happened yet.
Adoption was always my go-to option but again, children deserve time, attention and require energy.
I wanted this to be my decision, and the right decision for me and my spouse. But it’s one of those I’ve not felt strongly for or against, other than not making a mistake. When do you know you’re ready for kids? How do you know that you know, if you were never completely certain from the very beginning that you wanted to have them?
Once in a while, I find myself second-guessing my decisions. Should I really have waited this long, even though I’ve never felt that driving urge to have children? PiC really wants a family and perhaps I could have physically handled it earlier? I certainly thought I was making the wisest choices at the time, but was it really?
Once upon a time, I swatted away the cautionary notes, the “there won’t ever be a good time”s, the “if you don’t now, then when?”s like annoying gnats. But I’m finally there. On the cusp of my thirties, I’m at the point where I have to admit that for childbearing, I’m not getting any younger. It’s time to make some real decisions, even if not yet time to commit.
I’ve never paid more than $50 to adopt a pet, and rarely even that much, in the past, so this adoption was quite a bit unusual in a number of ways.
I have never considered purchasing from a breeder or a pet store – my philosophy against that is clear. Those future pets will eventually find homes because they were bred with the intent to be sold and someone has a vested interest in placing them elsewhere; animals in shelters and rescues are only a step away from euthanasia. I am an adopter, always. I was that kid hauling home strays trying to figure out who they belonged to and how to get them home if they had a home. Once in a rare while, we would become the new home. My parents were sympathetic but they weren’t crazy or wealthy so it was a meal and a roof until the dog could be placed somehow.
It was a lot easier, back in the day down south, when we had a yard. Someone was sort of always around to keep an eye on the pups running around or keep them separated if you had a new stray in. Surrounded by friends and family nearby, you could even easily phone someone for a quick drop in if you really had to on an extra busy day to feed the dog(s). We never did that but you always knew the safety net was there.
Now, though, PiC and I wanting to bring home a dog is a very different story. The simple lack of a yard alone changes the game entirely. Add in the frequently inclement weather, our working hours and commute times, all of these spelled out a need for a completely different approach.
Suddenly, we had to satisfy a profile if this was to work. We couldn’t just pick a nice looking friendly pup and call it a day. We especially couldn’t have a puppy: they need attention, socialization, training, access to the outdoors/potty pads every few hours while they’re learning bladder control since neither of us wants to have to unteach bad habits we helped instill.
I’d been wanting an older dog; PiC prefers larger dogs. We knew we needed a dog that enjoyed going for walks but could tolerate being indoors for long periods of time. This dog had to be dog-friendly and kid-friendly because there are loads of both running around here, and not a barker by nature. We’ve been living with a barker below us and it’s driving us batty but we tolerate it. I guarantee you, however, that the neighbors would not be so tolerant in return. There are some incredibly petty people in this HOA.
Looking at shelters alone didn’t quite cut it. While they were great starting points because they had all kinds of lovely dogs we were limited from the outset against adopting specific breeds, and the local shelter is heavily stocked with those specific breeds. My favorites were cut straightaway, the jerks! They don’t allow Rottweilers, Pit Bulls, Dobermanns, etc. Breedists. I despise blanket restrictions like that. I love dogs of just about any breed and pit bulls especially because they can be so very good-tempered, intelligent and trainable, and the local shelters prescribe mandatory training classes when they adopt out pit bulls which is absolutely smart, so it’s a great set-up for their lives, but noooo…. *still bitter about this*
We stumbled across a specific breed rescue that pulls northern breeds from shelters and puts them into foster homes directly, and while Doggle’s actually not really a pinpointable member of any of the breeds they cater to, he’s close enough that they couldn’t resist him.
He’d been with them a year, had a surgical procedure and follow-up, vaccinations, a microchip placed, and was mellow the whole time. Reviewing that year with him, his foster mom was able to give us his history of behavior, preferences, reactions to people, other dogs, changes, diet, toys, length of time he was happy to be left alone – all of this practically before we ever came to see him. When we met him, he was this chubby cheeked cheerful fellow that just radiated curiosity and goodwill. He’s been that way ever since. It would have been tough to get that consistent and detailed a perspective from most shelters.
While our local shelter does do fostering and would have been half the price, they didn’t have anyone that fit enough of the profile that wasn’t a Pit. (I love our Doggle and wouldn’t trade him but I’m still annoyed on behalf of the Pits who won’t get placed because of places like ours.) I truly look forward to moving into a home where the only rules are our own: a dog that is in need of a home, trainable and gets along with other dogs and people.
The high(er) cost for his adoption, then, was because of the rescue organization that we went with. They are non-profit, yes, and it also costs a lot to rescue, care for and maintain the dogs for the length of time it takes to get them to their permanent homes. All the volunteers, going all the way up to the top of the organization, work for free. (I checked.) While I’m not one to pay a higher price for perceived value, this was a higher price for something we put a high premium on: knowledge that we could rely on and the availability of a pet that was the right fit.
Also, let’s not kid ourselves about the cute factor.
The average American wedding is said to cost in the neighborhood of $25,000. The average Asian wedding, of all the weddings I’ve helped to organize, are in that neighborhood as well, if not more depending on your guest list. We may not have too much set yet but I can tell you this much: that’s not happening.
It’s actually sort of funny that we’re caught in between the weird expectations of both. We have gently corrected people from all sides of the equation: no guys, we’re not throwing a big American-tradition wedding because we don’t actually have to live up to everyone else’s expectations. No, guys, we’re not throwing a Gigantor Asian wedding because we don’t actually have to. We’re not inviting many members of my family and depending on our guests to subsidize the bill. (To clarify: Dozens of family guest lists have been created by the phrase “who cares how many people are there? They’ll pay their own way.” I am happy to be an anomaly.)
We’re setting our own budget and paying our own bill out of pocket. And doing it our way. #utterlyforeign
Confession time: We have barely been saving for this thing. Yes, we have been together for years, but I honestly was not expecting to be engaged this year. I wasn’t expecting anything at any time. As far as I’m concerned, this thing just happened. For me, I’m scrambling to get ahead of the 8-ball. But the half lifetime of good habits means that we won’t be piling debt upon debt, we won’t be going into debt for this wedding, and we won’t be spending our entire cash reserves for it either.
You all know that a budget was certainly the first thing I’d want to do before we committed to anything. Still is, since we’ve only talked about plans in theory and the only thing we’ve I’ve spent on so far is a dress that I expect to return to J.Crew returned to J.Crew.
PiC, however, is not addicted to personal finance, nor a PF blogger, so found my need to laser-focus on immediately carving out savings goals disconcerting. I don’t blame him, though I did pout for a minute. 😉 Things are different now that we’re becoming more and more bonded – we move more slowly than I’m used to and I can’t make all the executive and financial decisions in a split second. The flip side of that change is that I no longer bear all the burdens alone. It’s a fair enough trade, I think.
I digress.
I’m working with a skeleton number mentally and that’s actually ok for now.
We’ve noodled our guest list. It’s not final but it’s down to 180 which is near miraculous considering what we were starting with. We’re happy with the concept of a tiny ceremony and a casual lunch type meal with the bigger group of people we’d invite (and therefore feed). Pictures are important to him, and by extension, me, so we’ll have to hire an actual photographer.
With those factors in mind, the three most important items we’ll have to worry about are: setting a date, booking a venue, and booking a photographer.
I’m aiming to keep our total cost within the $7000 range. I’d like to make it a challenge to myself, but I’ll be honest with y’all, I’m a bit worried I won’t be able to do it.
Obstacles: Feed 180 people delicious food, Hosting them in a relatively nice, clean (not relatively), place, Caveat: Homes and backyards are not an option, we don’t know anyone with that capacity Have great photos. Do it all without stressing overmuch. ** Have I missed anything?
** Being annoyed doesn’t count. It’s not allowed to count.
We’re pricing things out now. The little things are easier. A marriage license: $100. Dress alterations: $ UM. Airfare to SoCal before the wedding: Southwest Rapid Rewards! <3
The big things, they’re negotiable. It’s a start.
The question of motivational staying power was raised on Twitter. @add_vodka asked:
@RevancheGS @GrlRedBalloon @serendipity85 How do you keep motivated to make sure you don’t give up?
My gut response felt too flippant to say aloud. It wasn’t meant to be but I could see how, for people who don’t know me well or haven’t read this blog, could hear it as a dismissal of their very real issue. So I dug deeper. I asked PiC how to explain how I stay motivated because it’s not something I think about. And in the asking, I realized my answer, in large part.
My short answer was: Generational Poverty. I’m never going back and neither are my parents.
My long answer? In my matriarchial line, I need to break the cycle of poorness. You see, as much as I carry my patriarchal grandmother in my spine, I carry my mother in my soul.
Mom grew up, impoverished, in the depths of rural Vietnam. Her father was a schoolteacher who earned just enough to feed his family for a number of years, but not much better than that. I expect they married too young, had her – the first – too young; had too many children, period. Month to month, their family stretched a single small sack of rice bought on credit against the next month’s paycheck. They ate rice porridge, supplemented by some fish if the kids could catch any, flavored with nuoc nam (fish sauce) if they couldn’t. She was cooking, cleaning and raising her three younger siblings by the age of 8, and more kids were always on the way. There was love and support from her grandparents but nothing in the way of money.
As the oldest, she was expected to fend for herself. Needed a new pair of pants? She had to raise a chicken, sell the eggs, and save the money long enough to buy cloth and sew it herself. The same went for school supplies, or any other needs. Not wants, needs. But, if a sibling needed something before she could make her clothes, she had to give it up for him or her. The family was utterly poor, and she was expected to bear the heaviest burden. The burden wasn’t just in taking care of herself far too early, it was to provide for her siblings, and that lasted well into adulthood. While she shouldered it without question, she was bound and determined never to struggle at that level again.
Fast forward about forty years, she’d worked herself to the bone running two small businesses with my dad only to find her health declining, her son a mess, and no trace left of what was meant to be our family fortune. A modest fortune it would have been, but sufficient to buy a home, send two kids to college, and keep my parents through their retirement. Business hadn’t been awful but life happens, as it does, and she found herself both in the same place she’d sworn never to be again, the place she said we would never be exposed to, this time without the ability to bootstrap her way out of it as she had always done. Her parents and siblings were fine, but in the process, she had sacrificed herself.
It tore my heart to see her struggling, helpless, against the twin depredations of disease and remembered and oncoming poverty. The first preceded the other, as is so often the case with many stories of financial ruin, but not by much. It wasn’t just the disease. It was the combination of family illnesses, debts, and lack of informed financial planning that meant she couldn’t simply seek treatment and recuperate. Financial instability added anxiety and depression to the toxic mix of medical conditions complicating her health.
Had they planned for the future better, had they saved more carefully instead of taking care of her myriad family to the tune of tens of thousands of dollars, had they been more cognizant of all the emergencies that could and would arise: all the if onlys, we should haves, they could haves intertwined and spiraled into the mom I know now.
Personally, I never want to go back to my college days. Working 80-100 hour weeks, school 40 hours a week, sleeping a few hours a night, and still slaving over a checkbook scraping the pennies together at the end of every pay period, under a tiny lamp light. That was miserable. But memories of personal misery fade.
The memories of my mom and all she’s sacrificed for me. The memories of how hard she worked, how determined she was to lift herself and her family out of their dirt-grubbing poverty. Those ghosts are in my marrow, my tissue, the air I breathe.
So when someone asks me about my motivation, about how I keep going, how do I not give up, the simplest answer is: I don’t know how.
When I took over for her, it began as a fight for survival. Now, it’s fully ingrained. The responsibilities and emergencies will only grow in greater proportion with time. I have my parents to take care of. I have myself to take care of. I may have future generations to educate and support for some time. And the only way to do it is very careful and diligent financial planning. That’s how my motivation is sustained.
It’s a very different answer, I think, than the one that @add_vodka was looking for, which was more practical stuff, so I saved this longer answer for the blog.
The more practical simple answer is, of course, to set goals and align your goals to your values. But there’s value in knowing why you’d want to do any of that in the first place. The Great Big Why of it, if you will.
Dodging and weaving did me no good. After days of being cooped up with at least two sickies over the holidays, my immune system has succumbed, and so has PiC’s. He’s scheduled to be off anyway but I’ve been working from home to avoid taking sick time or falling too much behind.
It’s not just a major pain in the caboose being fluish, which is it. It’s that the energy drain somehow touches off this chain reaction of pain and joint flare-ups so that even though honestly, I don’t feel *that* sick and would normally go in, I have to baby myself because my body’s teetering on a precipice of a severe flare-up. As is, I’m one-hand Manny as my whole right side’s on strike. PiC keeps asking if he should feed me. [*sigh* Not yet, thank you.]
A severe flare-up goes a little something like this: imagine someone’s stuck a tube in you and drained all the fluid out of you. Then smacked a fire hot length of tubing on all major joints several times. Twisted and cracked all the minor joints, and has got all your muscles randomly and persistently hooked up to electrodes that send entirely the wrong signal to twitch and shriek helpless protestations to a brain that desperately says: “breathe! relax! breathe! OWWW!”
It tends to move in for about two or more weeks at a time. No short pop ins here.
So yeah, no thanks. If I have to be a big fat wussy who stays home because “a-heh-a-heh, I hef a leetle cough” lest that comes to town? I’m staying home and grateful I can work from home, grateful I can rest in between times and darned tooting I’m grateful for a most excellent partner who understands the pain and powers through his symptoms to tend to my nearly invisible ones.
After a wonderful meal at a Korean tofu house with a friend we hadn’t seen for a few months, she wanted to make plans to meet for dinner again during the week before she left town.
That same day, I received a message from another friend who recently relocated to this coast. She planned to be in town to see family, could we have brunch when she landed Saturday? When I wasn’t available, she asked if we could come out to see her across the way Sunday. Though she didn’t specify it was a full day thing, history shows that’s going to be expected. All previous “come hang out with me” invitations have always turned into a day-long finagle-fest because she always wants to do just one more thing.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy her company but it’s really hard to commit full days to hanging out at the last minute like that because I’m usually running like a madwoman during the week to survive and use the weekends to become human again. Which, as you might imagine, is a little complicated after September’s hosting visitors every weekend (and seeral weekdays) but one.
That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? I quite enjoy seeing friends, of course, but the last minute requests and those that sometimes grow well beyond moderation are rather difficult to accommodate. Or even to want to accommodate; it requires a sanity check to make sure we’re not just constantly running to everyone’s beck and call because they’ve dropped in and didn’t we want to see them?
Sure, but I think it becomes taken for granted that we’ll always be available on their schedule and doesn’t call for much advance notice. That drives me, an inveterate planner, at least a little up the wall. I understand that not all trips are planned as far ahead as I would like but these texts and emails are increasingly and frequently coming with very little notice.
Aside from the limited time factor, I worry about the money we’re spending hand over fist with this stream of visitors. When we host, I can cook and feed them relatively (not very) frugal basis. But many times, we end up eating out because they’re in the city, we’re not, and it’s inconvenient for them to come to us and then trek back to the city.
While PiC and I have agreed on a rule of thumb on eating out, my personal budgeting rules have always stated that “entertaining” comes out of the same eating out allowance lest we end up using the personal 2x/week allowance, and entertain two or three times on top of that. Before you know it, we’ve spent most of the week eating out. My personal budgeting rules have been repeatedly smashed under the weight of the last minute traveler.
We can’t control the travel habits of our friends, and we certainly never want them to feel unwelcome or unloved, but it’s time to gently nudge them toward better notification habits. And we need to learn to set boundaries we’re comfortable with rather than self-guilting ourselves into doing far more for them than is necessary.
Do you have any trouble managing drop-ins or do you have a good standing policy that works well for you and yours?
This entire month has been so busy as to be unreal, so it stands to reason that I’m having trouble believing the net worth is real.
Every single weekend was booked: hosting friends, driving back to LA, traveling to Oregon, hosting half a dozen houseguests for days. Every weekday was booked: I started an intensive pain care program, had a birthday, and worked every weekday.
The numbers aren’t fudged, but I have felt a poor steward of my money for not quite knowing where every penny is or has gone. The last notation on my cashflow Excel sheet is September 15th, for heaven’s sake; it doesn’t make sense that it’s gone up without close shepherding. In any case, a fraction was thanks to automated savings and contributions, the rest is due to the vagaries of the market and interest payments. Next month, the phrase “keeping bills as low as possible” will be an honest factor in that. We’ve been feeding about ten extra mouths this month, I’d just be lying.
To kill that feeling of unsteadiness, I paid all my bills a few days ago, took a deep breath and I’m doing some therapeutic cleaning today to clear my head and make a fresh start. Let’s take on October!
