The Moment My Son Declared ‘We’re So Poor’
One mom has to face tough questions from her son about their finances. (Photo: Stocksy)
“I want a bigger house, Mom!” my son, Jack, declared over the zapping and buzzing of his Wii U (a Christmas gift from this year).
“I want a lemon tree in a grassy backyard,” I said.
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“I want a tree house with a secret passage word!” Jack countered.
“I want a big wrap-around porch and rocking chairs,” I replied.
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I get where my kid is coming from. Sometimes, if I see a light on in a window out on a walk, I wonder what’s happening inside the house. Is there an overstuffed chair and a fireplace?
“Well, can we move already!?” he asked urgently.
“Mommy can’t afford that right now,” I said.
“Ugh, we’re so poor!” he said.
We’re not poor.
I was at the stove pushing peppers and steak around in a frying pan, biting my tongue. This conversation has been coming up a lot lately and I know why.
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Jack had a play-date at a McMansion recently. A five bedroom, four bathroom, finished basement, sunroom with wicker furniture, in-ground pool kind of place in a development with a fancy name attached to “Estates.” The children were served milk in champagne glasses.
It’s a far cry from our two-bedroom, one-bathroom condominium. But, to me, our home is perfect for right now. And it’s a lot nicer than our first place — a one-bedroom, orange-brick garden apartment with creaky cabinets, a couch my friend gave me, a shared laundry room, and hardwood floors that made the place feel cold even with throw rugs.
When we moved to this brand new condominium complex with pools, tennis courts, and gyms six years ago, I was proud we were able to upgrade (and popping champagne over my very own shiny washer and dryer).
Jack was two months shy of turning two — so even though he got his very own room, with walls painted frosty grey and lime green, I don’t think he was impressed. He undoubtedly didn’t realize that his single mom had managed this move with beads of sweat on her forehead and nearly depleted her savings account in the process. I wanted to give him more.
A warm, peppery aroma filled the kitchenette as our dinner sizzled.
His friend “has a playroom. A TV in his room. A pool. A computer that is just his, mom,” Jack whined. (I couldn’t help but think: little brat. My kid is far from deprived.)
I didn’t want to tell him we weren’t poor or bring up some vivid description of what poor is. I wasn’t prepared to tell him about the homeless man I gave a bag of chips and a protein bar to last week in New York City. Or that my friend teaches in a New Jersey school district where children come to school without lunch or warm coats. Maybe I should have, but instead I brought an oversized mason jar we fill with spare change to the dinner table — and told him we had plenty of money and the jar could probably buy two tickets to the zoo this weekend. I jingled the coins and he smiled.
The mason jar is what Jack and I call mad money. It’s for ice cream cones, lunchbox change, mini golf, and other fun stuff. To help Jack realize the value of a dollar and the importance of work, he does chores and gets two bucks a week. He takes the trash out each night, makes his bed, feeds his dog, cleans up her toys, and makes sure there are no Legos in the common area of our condo that can stab my feet. I make him save half of his allowance each month and deposit it into his smart saver account.
This is a wise move, according to Emma Johnson, financial expert with RetailMeNot, who says, “If kids earn [allowance] by doing chores, they can see the cause and effect of their hard work. You can also give them control over this money so they can learn about saving vs. spending.”
A few days after our discussion over dinner, Jack and I did a massive closet cleanout in his room. Instead of passing the clothes he outgrew to friends with little boys (and I have many), I packed them up for a place called Shelter Our Sisters.
I explained to Jack that a lot of the kids there have single moms and need a little extra help — and that his clothes will fit perfectly on a little boy who really needs them. Jack watched me throw some dresses and heels from my closet into the mix and I explained the moms need clothes to go on job interviews so they can provide for their families — like I provide for him. “You mean, some moms don’t have jobs?” he asked.
Jack disappeared into his room and returned with a yellow CAT truck and a Batman Car.
“I should give them these too. Because toys are more fun than clothes.” Jack hasn’t said much more about this topic. Unless you count wanting to give more toys away to kids who need them.
Just like families come in all shapes and sizes — so do houses. But it’s the giggles over dinner, snuggles on the couch, dance parties in the small den, ice pops on the deck that make it a rich home. No one knows what goes on behind those pretty, perfect picket fences — I just like to assume we’re all doing our best.
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