Parent Company

Keeping down with the Joneses

As we wrap up 2008, here’s my early entry on the  In/Out list: Conspicuous consumption – out. Conspicuous deprivation – in. It’s not enough to not have enough, we have to publicize it with a new sort of competitive pride.

Our family’s decaying minivan, once a sign of blight, is now a badge of honor.  If we were to replace if and pull up in a new Hummer, we would face the community shaming of a parolee in the neighborhood.

It’s downright hip to shop for groceries at Aldi and celebrate the virtues of self-bagging and cart-returning to reclaim your quarter. TJ Maxx (which advertises Every Day is Black Friday) is almost too upscale – the Salvation Army is in. It’s no longer how much you pay for something, it’s how little.

Our new deprivation chic is making it easier to be a parent. Kids don’t ask for the things they once did, and when they do ask they are quicker to understand “no.” Whining is out, gratitude is in.

I haven’t heard Santa ask for a bailout to retool his workshop for this new age of austerity, but my guess is that he’s retraining the elves to make more recycled Frisbees ($3.50), and fewer special edition robots ($49,999.95).

If you’re planning a party, it’s no longer an act of desperation to go to the 99 Cents store, it’s cool and downright smart  according to today’s New York Times, whose writer challenged high-end party planner David Monn to choreograph a “transcendent dinner party for 8” for under $30 a head.

The silver-plated lining to tough times is that while we may struggle to make ends meet, tight times “take the pressure off,” says Monn, so we can focus on the important things like friends and family. If a recession means fewer office parties, less shopping and spending, and an end to frenzied entertaining, I’m down with that and I hope we can keep it up when the good times roll again.

---Allison

Friday leftovers

How was your family's Thanksgiving? It's such a nice, low-key holiday, compared to some others. As Seth Godin says: No gifts, no guilt, no doctrine.

We had a massive fowl for dinner, even though Allison doesn't eat meat and none of our kids will try turkey. Let's just say meal planning in our house is a nightmare.

We did take our eating to the next level at dessert, of course. Which reminds me of a David Letterman line: "Thanksgiving at my house is like a Jerry Springer show with pie."

Today, of course, is Black Friday. We've been looking through the ads for a good deal on a laptop, and already I'm already worn out -- without setting foot in a store. We've found low prices on some computer models, but on closer examination they don't include software OR an operating system. Isn't that like advertising a car price and then saying the engine is extra?

I've got to think the prices will come down as we get closer to the holidays. I just plan to be disciplined and spend within myself.

---Greg

The popcorn chronicles

Greg is no longer a single parent now that I am back from traveling. He was a trouper and did an impressive job while I was gone, though I have yet to figure out which glass table was broken during the popcorn debacle and no one mentioned it to me -- I had to read about it in our blog.

Other signs of blight include a bucket under our bathroom sink where a leak occurred; and duct tape on our comforter where somehow holes suddenly appeared and feathers started billowing out. But this is minor nitpicking –- to quote Roseanne, “I figure if my kids are alive when my husband gets home I’ve done my job.” And another Roseanne pearl: “Excuse the mess but we live here.” 

So, job well done,Greg. I don’t know how single parents do it, or families where a spouse travels a lot or is not home much.

It should be noted that despite all the agita about my leaving, we had only about 30 minutes of family bliss upon my return until one kid or another started a fight. Time to pop some corn and put on a DVD.

For Greg and anyone else who wants to make “real popcorn,” here’s how I do it, as learned from my mother:

Fill heavy pan with thin layer of oil. Put in one test kernel; heat oil until it pops. Then add popcorn to coat the bottom of the pan in 1 layer. Popcorn should begin popping almost immediately; shake the pan (remember Jiffy Pop?) to keep corn from burning; take pan off the stove once most corn has popped; corn should continue to pop for a few seconds. Timing of this maneuver requires guesswork and judgment. Add butter and salt to taste.

Glad I was missed for something!

---Allison

The rise of overparenting

Between Allison being away all week and the passing of my friend Tom Borrelli, I haven't found much time to blog.

Our 9-year-old son was envisioning what it will be like when Allison returns Saturday and is greeted at the door by our puppy.

"Mom will probably have one of her senior moments," Greggie said. "She and Fiyero will run toward each other in slow motion."

I did find time to catch a terrific New Yorker essay on overparenting in the year 2008. It describes perfectly some of the hyper-parents who we all know, and the arc of their children's lives, from the Baby Einstein and Baby Mozart DVDs to the tutored and micromanaged school years, to the ultimate test of college admissions, followed by college itself, which may include the parents buying a second home near the campus, followed by the boomerang years of living at home again.

Read it and weep, or laugh, as the case may be.

---Greg

Video interlude

After another weekend of being a basketball/drama/swimming dad, I found the video below to be pretty funny. The title is "How Not to Be a Soccer Mom." It's from a site called Howcast.

(Hat tip to Happy Healthy Hip Parenting.)

They have a collection of videos for parents, including: "How to Text Your Way into Your Kid's Life," "How to Be a Good Parent by Britney Spears," "How to Be a House Husband," and "How to Survive Your Mother's Menopause."

You've probably gotten the idea that their attitude is more irreverent than earnest.

Enjoy this one:

---Greg

Priorities and letdowns

Allison left this morning on a business trip for a few days, so I'm temporarily a single parent.

The biggest challenge will come Saturday, when our kids collectively have: a girls basketball practice, a boys basketball game, a swim meet, a three-hour practice for the school play.

I don't plan to completely give in and race around all day to every one of those stops. So that means figuring out our highest priorities, and thinking about a question that's a constant in my parenting life: Who am I going to disappoint?

The coach of each sport winces when I tell him or her that we must skip a practice. The drama director demands adherence to her practice schedule and has little appetite for excuses.

Many of my obligations are of my own choosing: I want to visit or call my parents and in-laws; there are neighbors getting on in age who I'd like to also check in with; and my friend Tom Borrelli is lying in an intensive care unit at ECMC, so visiting him and his wife there is at the top of my list.

But it seems like a zero-sum game. An hour spent visiting one person is an hour I can't spend somewhere else. And I sense the disappointment from others.

Now we have a puppy who follows us around the house all day, exuding disappointment because we can't give him more walks, more Milk Bones, more attention, more trips to the park. He doesn't come right out and say it, but he gets his point across.

I think we will chill out on Saturday night and rent a DVD. It might be time to revisit the Ron Howard-directed classic, "Parenthood."

---Greg

A very Walton sequel

Suddenly life is starting to feel like "The Waltons," though minus the mountain. Belts, including our own, are being tightened so much that we're punching new holes in them. Just today I went to buy something at a long-standing Buffalo upscale store and was told "we don't take checks anymore."

I then proceeded to the dry cleaners and asked how business was, and the owner replied "better than ever." Maybe everyone's getting clothes cleaned instead of buying new ones? I mentioned that I was just in a store where they've stopped taking checks, and the dry cleaner replied, "that's our next step." A lot of checks must be bouncing. Meanwhile, we have a friend who is considering taking in a boarder to help make ends meet.

The only store projected to do well at Christmas is Wal-Mart, the modern-day version of Ike Godsey's General Merchandise (who knew the actor who played Ike is a Buffalonian). Every store is having sales. Wegmans' advertising now promotes how they've lowered prices, because that's now what we feel good about - not $15.99 a pound artisanal cheese.

We used to have spinster sister neighbors, our own Baldwin Sisters. One died, the other is now 100 and lives in a nursing home, but when we knew her as a neighbor her life was a dramatization of the Depression-era lifestyle. She saved the plastic bags that frozen peas came in so that she wouldn't have to buy Ziplocs; at 80, she still had no use for a dryer - her underwear hung on a line in the Buffalo breeze, no matter what the season. The only room that was lit was the one that she was sitting in. In her hardscrabble tone, she scolded us for "lighting our house up like a Christmas tree," meaning we were a bit loose with the electricity. What to her was sensible could now be described as sustainable. Her thriftiness, which seemed so out of place in our latte-guzzling era, is now back in style.

We're not in Kansas anymore; unless it's the Kansas of the Dust Bowl - in which there are interesting parallels to today, I learned through the miracle of Wikipedia. The Dust Bowl was caused in part by abuses of the Homestead Act, a law passed by Lincoln that was intended to encourage more people to become landowners and farm. Greed, corruption, and a lack of crop rotation ensued and years later people were blown off their farms. Not so unlike our recent plight where home ownership standards were liberalized and millions of people ended up in homes they couldn't afford, then didn't rotate their crops, so to speak. Now look where we are.

So will we become Waltons, and be perennially cheerful and sanctimonious while we navigate the tough times ahead? President Bush (HW, not W) famously instructed us years ago to be more like the Waltons and less like the Simpsons. Given that the only lines I've seen forming in this crisis are the ones at Tim Horton's, I think this country leans Simpson. Here's what the prophet Bart had to say:

Somehow the Simpsons have survived, and so will we.

---Allison

The White House puppy

Now that Barack Obama has been elected president, there are many promises to keep. Middle-class tax cuts. A way out of Iraq. But the one that must be foremost on his mind is -- "Did I really tell the kids they could get a puppy if I'm elected?"

The First Kids are holding him to it.

The president-elect addressed his daughters, Malia (10) and Sasha (7), in his victory speech Tuesday night: "I love you both so much, and you have earned the new puppy that's coming with us to the White House."

Having been through this puppy process myself during the summer (I was against it before I was for it), I have some advice for the president-elect.

Here are my Top 10 tips for Mr. Obama on getting a puppy:

1. Insist that Malia and Sasha put in writing what their responsibilities are for the care and feeding of the dog. Don't you dare bring a pooch to the White House without a pre-puptial agreement.

2. Don't count on Vice President Biden to walk the dog for you. At first he'll be all enthusiastic about it, but pretty soon he'll start saying he "forgot," or "How come Cheney never had to walk Barney?"

3. No matter how much the girls beg you, you can't put lipstick on a dog.

4. If the dog does his business in the White House, there's no use waiting until the end of your presidency to give him a pardon. He won't remember what you're talking about.

5. If there is an "accident" in the West Wing, keep it a secret or else the Republicans will try to rub your nose in it.

6. I don't know what you plan to name the dog, but I here are some names to stay away from: Maverick, Barracuda, Hussein. Trust me, those won't poll well.

7. As much as the puppy wants to greet your guests, do not let him run around the dining room during state dinners. You know that Sarkozy or Olmert is going to throw him some table scraps that he doesn't need.

8. Don't let the pooch sleep on your bed, either, or he will lose sight of his place in the pack. (The same principle applies to Nancy Pelosi and Harry Reid.)

9. Don't let the kids spoil him by opening windows on Air Force One so he can stick his head out.

10. Need a loyalty test for your Secret Service guys? Three words: Iams food taster.

---Greg

No bowling alone, please

I just discovered a terrific blog called Half Full: Science for Raising Happy Kids, which is based at the Greater Good Science Center at the University of California, Berkeley.

The latest post discusses the correlation between making social connections and happiness. Half Full's Christine Carter writes:

Robert Putnam wrote an interesting book, Bowling Alone, about how we Americans are becoming less and less connected to one another. As a parent, it makes me think about how we spend our time: if our happiness is best predicted by the quantity and quality of our relationships with others, how can we foster lots of strong relationships between our family and our communities? I often feel so busy—sometimes too busy to spend time with my friends. But then I think about what I’m modeling there: if I’m too busy for my friends, what DO I have time for? Little is more important for our over-all well-being than our relationships with other people.

In my own family I often think that I am not doing a good enough job of modeling social connectedness for our kids. My parents were better at this than I am; when I was growing up I remember our family having people over to dinner and entertaining frequently.

My children certainly connect with their peers through school, through sports, through events at our church, etc. But I still need to work on us having more adult friends or family friends over for socializing, to set a good example. Too often it's much easier to let connecting with friends come last on our weekend to-do list. But I don't believe that the rugged individualist model is the best way to live one's life.

I didn't mean to go all Rev. Lovejoy on you, but that's my thought for the day.

Below is a video sampling from Half Full, about teaching your children gratitude.

---Greg

Hallo-Tweens

Picking up on Libby's comment from Thursday about the age cut-off for trick-or-treaters, we've got a 15-year-old Hallo-Tween in our house. She is probably too old for the candy routine, but she still rues the fact that a school dance has been scheduled tonight, conflicting with trick-or-treat time.

Our teen spends the other 364 days a year trying to act her age and older. But when the one day rolls around in which kids can dress in costume and go door-to-door for candy, suddenly she's not ready to put away childish things and get tricked out of treats.

Some of them try to play it cool with a minimalist costume, like wearing their regular clothes and throwing on a bandanna or a peace sign necklace.  Just like refusing to wear a warm coat to school in the cold, they won't flat out commit to wearing a real costume.

It can be intimidating to answer your doorbell and find a pack of barely costumed Hallo-Tweeners there in an obvious candy grab attempt. If you don't know the kids you feel pressure to produce a premium candy product (Sweet Tarts don't get it done), or risk having them perpetrate a trick that gets reported in the newspaper police blotter.

Does anyone still wrap toilet paper in the trees, or has TPing given way to blatant property destruction?

It's surprising that in our corner of New York, a state that is so heavily regulated, we do so much free-styling when it comes to Halloween, with no designated hours, age ranges or warnings about giving out candy that contains trace elements of peanut products.  It's probably a good thing that Big Government doesn't stick its hand into our goodie bags!

---Allison