Here’s the deal. My kids are what most people would call “privileged kids.” Not going to lie, they have it good. More importantly, they have everything I ever wanted as a child and more. A nice house, a nice car, the dog, and more. Most days I feel blessed that we can give them a good life. Some days I wonder if they really truly appreciate and understand the life they live.
Here’s why.
I didn’t grow up poor, but we were not at all “wealthy.” My parents did their best. From age 8 until college we rented a small three bedroom duplex with one bathroom. We lived in a middle class neighborhood paying $400.00 a month in rent.
The duplex was basic. We did not have a washer and dryer in the duplex for many, many years. Probably the first six years or so. On laundry day (usually a Saturday or Sunday), my mom and I would walk to the laundromat and spend a couple of hours doing the laundry. We walked almost a mile each way because for several years, my family had just one car. My mom and I would roll the laundry to the laundromat in an old fashioned metal shopping cart.
I hated every bit of that experience. I disliked the cart with a passion. I was mortified just thinking about my friends seeing us do this. I disliked spending my weekends doing laundry with my mom, and I disliked sitting in a laundromat folding my clothes on a table where many other people did the exact same thing. Hated. It. But I did it because that was I seriously envied families with their own washer and dryers. The washer and dryer for me was a “they made it” sort of status symbol.
Fast forward to me in college where I got my first apartment with its own washer and dryer. You couldn’t tell me I had not already made it in life and I was only in college. I felt all kinds of ways. It was like my entire life had been upgraded. I was not even 21 and I had my own washer and dryer, dishwasher, and garbage disposal in my apartment, with a pool, gated, everything. (Everything I did not have and always wanted growing up.)
I was certain my status in life had gone up several notches. I was in college and I felt like a million bucks. I kept that momentum going. By junior year, I was driving a brand new Mitsubishi Eclipse, maroon, tan leather seats, with a FIVE DISC CD CHANGER. With the help of my parents and a great deal on a lease ($165.00 per month!), I was it. HOWEVER, I also worked three jobs in my “spare time,” studied like crazy, and graduated in top 5% of my college. You couldn’t tell me I didn’t “deserve” my washer and dryer or that car.
I was living the good life and I loved and appreciated every second of it.
So back to my own kids.
Let me start with, they are good kids. But, since these kids came home from the hospital it’s been the good life. Homes with all the appliances I ever wanted as a kid. Cars with leather seats, entertainment systems, and whatever. Vacations to the best resorts and hotels. Grandparents to help make memories priceless.
These kids also get to eat out pretty much every weekend. Usually it’s dinner out Friday night and Saturday night. Some nights we let them weigh in on where we’re eating as we try to maintain some sense of diplomacy among the five of us.
Would you believe that they complain, and even argue, about where we finally decide to eat? Sometimes they are actually annoyed about how knows what.
On said nights, we threaten them with “never doing this again” or “leaving you guys at home next time” or “we can eat leftovers if you want.”
Well last weekend, we actually did it. We were on our way to eat at nice seafood restaurant near the beach. A place that has something for everyone. Before we even leave the driveway the bickering and complaining started. Then there was eye rolling. Soon the “quit touching me” complaints began.
We pull up to the restaurant and the complaining about the restaurant choice resumed. “I don’t like seafood,” “let’s just get pizza,” “I don’t want to wait 40 minutes.”
I finally lost my patience and told the kids they were going home to eat PB&Js or whatever leftovers they wanted. We drove the 10-15 minutes back to the house and you could tell the kids thought we were going to turn back at any time. When we finally pulled up to the house and left them there, I could literally feel mouths dropping as we left the driveaway.
Soon, the text messages started coming in about an hour later. “Mommy, are you bringing back food?” “Mommy, I’m sorry, you were right.”
I was too busy enjoying my bourbon cocktails and dessert. When I finally did respond, I sent a picture of my yummy dessert.
I don’t plan to beg anyone to enjoy that good life but I do plan to make them appreciate it.
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