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| The Goonies, minus screaming child |
You know when you’re trying to save money, or clear debts,
or you just have no money, or there’s a baby on the way; or when you’re trying
to save money, and clear debts, and there’s a baby on the way? (We have
some money, but not much: we’re just about thousandaires.) And then that
dreaded question get’s asked on a lazy Sunday morning, when everyone’s still in
their pajamas, and you’re watching [insert DreamWorks/Disney/Pixar movie title
here] for the eight-millionth time: “So… what do you want to do today?”
There is nothing to do without spending money. Isn’t that
depressing? Go for a walk, you might say, take the kid to the playground. Well
I live in Oregon. Which means it’s raining outside, or at best, it’s just
finished raining, and “looks like rain on the horizon”. The easiest job in the
world is weather forecaster in the North West. “It’s raining, and will continue
to do so until June! Today’s weather was brought to you by…” The loneliest
place in the world is an Oregonian playground in January – It’s like the surface
of Mars, but with swings.
We could drive west and visit some of the most spectacular
coastline in the US. It’s about a 90 minute drive. Unfortunately my son’s
tolerance for sitting in his car seat is approximately 89 minutes, which means
we can just about hear the brooding Pacific crashing against the cliffs and
rocks over the sound of a wailing 3 year old. So after about nine seconds of
this it’s off to the candy store (seriously, if you ever watch the movie “The
Goonies”, you’ve literally seen as much of the Oregon coastline as I have after
a year of living here). Then, by the time we get 5 minutes into our journey
back home, he’s fast asleep, the rainbow effect of saltwater taffy and drool
glimmering off his chin.
Then there’s always the mall, which would instantly turn me
back into a hundredaire. The movies are showing nothing for kids. Zero. Zilch.
How is this possible? They’re always fucking showing kids’ movies; you can’t
walk through a cinema lobby without your eyes being raped by a thousand posters
and dioramas of the next anthropomorphized cartoon animal on release. “What
about that one? It’s called ’Mama’?” I asked the missus, frantically looking
through the listings for something even remotely close to something a three year-old
might watch, should enough candy and popcorn be shoved down his throat. “You
keep mentioning that movie,” she replied, “I do not think it is what you think
it is.”
I guess I’m looking at another day in yesterday’s sweat
pants (which also were yesterday’s yesterday), surfing the net while my kid
watches Rio on loop, and the missus adds to her ever increasing list of “things
we need for the baby”.
“Cherish these
moments,” they told me, “they’ll be over before you know it.” Promises,
promises.
Have you thought about getting the lad a job? There must be plenty jobs around for a three year old? Chimney sweep? Do you have coal mines in Oregon?
ReplyDeleteAnd it's never over. Ever. The three year old eventually grows into a thirty year old and you think your work is done. Then the grandkids start arriving and it's right back to the start again.
Not too sure about the coal mines. He'd make a pretty good shoe shine though, I reckon.
DeleteDon't I know it. I keep telling myself, once school starts I'll have some time. Who am I kidding?
I raised two on a shoestring. I feel your pain.
ReplyDeleteI know how that feels. We were so poor when my son was born, I'm still not sure how we did it. Rent was often late. We're still totally financially illiterate though -- me and my wife. We're the kind of people who'd win the lottery, then go bankrupt a year later.
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