6 Reasons to have Kids

babyprint1x1.  Curiosity:  Go ahead and see what you can whip up. Drift into a hormone-induced fog  thinking how great it would be to have a baby with all the combined charm of you and your sweetie.   Realistically, that baby is just as likely to exercise its genetic options and come up with a nice mix of Cousin Fred and and Aunt Myrtle’s worst traits.

2.  Karma.  You have to “pay for your raising.”  I can’t tell you how many times my mom wished “fifteen kids who act just like you” on me.  What a horrible thing to curse a kid with!  The woman had no conscience!  Nothing makes you forgive your parents’ horrendous mistakes like screwing up your own kids.

3.  Kids keep you humble.  Nobody knows more about raising kids than folks who’ve never had one.  There is no surer way to ensure your kid will humiliate you on a regular basis than to criticize somebody else’s kid.  Never, never, never say, “my kid wouldn’t do that.”  They are probably doing it right then on the six o’clock news.

4.  Budgeting is no problem once you have kids.  Except for rent, groceries, and utilities, and minimal clothes for yourself, everything goes for kid expenses.  It will be many years before you have to  bother yourself about fancy cars, entertainment, vacation, savings, or investments.

5.  Educational benefits.  I never realized how little I knew until my first night home with a new baby.  Nothing I did worked.  Though child care looked simple enough, nothing I’d ever done prepared me for the challenge.  As they grew older, my incompetence grew exponentially.  By the time they were teenagers, I barely had enough functioning brain cells to tie my shoes.  Thank God, a few years after they left home, I seemed to be functioning moderately well.  It’s amazing how children in the home makes parental IQs plummet.

6.  Hopefully, they get grown and give you beautiful, well-behaved grandchildren, asking you to babysit only on rare occasions.

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Great Comment from Dewinnefol

It’s interesting that the comments you get are often better than the posts.  Look at this comment I got from Dewinnefol.wordpress.com on my Joke of the Day!  He kindly gave me permission to post it.

Thank you for the daily chuckle Linda…those salt-cellars are a very persuasive bunch lol 🙂 The funny today brought a smile and an amusing memory…

The memory is of a Salesman who once called in at an upmarket Food Store I worked in many years ago, and who spent a moment or two explaining to me how he landed the job with his prestigious employer. I admit he had a highly persuasive character with a natural flare for selling. He was also a very decent and honest man.

He (let’s call him Jerry) had been asked to attend an interview late on a Friday afternoon for a company he had longed to work for and knew it would be a particularly tough call to do well at interview, especially at that end of a long arduous week. Jerry knew he didn’t enjoy being interviewed and was a nervy sort of chap anyway: a young man almost turned 17 and eager to find his first real work.

Having arrived a little early, and been kept waiting for nearly an hour longer than necessary, Jerry was at last shown in through the double doors and entered a long, narrow, wood panelled office. Pausing as he’d been instructed, he waited quietly to be called forward, all to aware of the rising anxiety breaking out as beads of sweat on his brow. The ‘instruction’ to come forward was both sudden and severe and delivered with gusto – something along the lines of…’Get a bloody move on, I haven’t got all day to wait for the likes of you!’ With nerves now jangling Jerry stepped quickly towards the large mahogany desk at the far end of the office, some 30 long paces ahead.

The boss was reclined in his chair reading an evening newspaper with his feet raised upon the desk and a lit cigarette in his hand. From what Jerry remembers, the guy never even looked at him as he approached the desk and stood waiting to be asked to sit, as was the customary manner. He recalls a short, but somewhat drawn out silence before the Boss suddenly spoke, ‘well go on then…impress me!’ and continued to read his newspaper. Jerry thinks it was at this point he had had enough, and thoroughly disillusioned reached across the desk, picked up the cigarette lighter, lit the bottom edge of the Bosses newspaper, turned, and with great haste made a bee-line for the door!

Suffice to say, the following Tuesday a letter arrived in the morning post offering him a position with the company, a generous salary and suit allowance and the use of a company vehicle. Jerry was delighted of course, accepted the offer immediately, and never once looked back. Some 30 years later he was still working for the same employer and now found management to his liking. True story, or so I am told

Dear Auntie Linda, September 14, 2015

Auntie Linda

Dear Auntie Linda,  I hate my job and most off the people who work there.  It has reached the point  that I can’t sleep for dreading the next day.  I have to have this job.  I have been here twenty-four years and can’t find anything else where I make this much.  Sometimes I throw up on the way to work and go out to my car on break and cry. My performance ratings are low, so I can’t transfer until I get them up.  That would take at least six months.   I don’t see how I can stand another six months, let alone six years till I can retire.  What do I do?  Sick and Tired

Dear Sick and Tired, This sounds miserable.  Maybe you can work on a plan to improve your performance so you can transfer.  A realistic short-term goal might help.  Additionally,  it would be a good idea to talk to your doctor.  If  depression, stress, or health problems are effecting your work, medication or health care management might help.  If you really can’t continue, look at your expenses. Perhaps you could refinance your home or get a roommate to cut expenses.   Maybe there is some way you can cut back, or retire early.  If you did that, you might be able to accept a job that pays less and is less demanding.  Auntie Linda

Dear Aunt Linda,  I spent the weekend with my sister recently.  Her teenage son had company in and out all weekend.  While I was there, my Rolex watch went missing from the locked bedroom.  I am sure it was stolen.  I am very careful with my things, and recall returning it to my suitcase before we gathered for dinner on the patio.  Many guests were there.  Over my sister’s objections, I reported it to the police but so far there is no trace of it.  There was no sign of a break in.  She also doesn’t want me to file an insurance claim since an investigation will ensue.  I can’t afford to let this drop. What are her responsibilities and mine? Devastated

Dear Devastated, What would you do if this happened in a hotel room, at work, or your own home?  Your sister is asking too much to expect you to ignore this loss.  She probably has concerns other guests who were there.  Sounds like an investigation might be warranted.  Auntie Linda

Dave Lewis’s Joke

Dave Lewis sent me this great joke in a comment.  Thanks Dave.

A library lady friend told me this parrot joke. A young man bought a parrot for a pet but every time he had his girl friend over the bird would start cursing and swearing so he decided to teach it a lesson by putting him in the freezer for an hour. When the hour was up he took the bird out he asked him if had learned his lesson. The parrot said yes but obviously the chicken in there didn’t!

Them That Don’t Work……..

Five kidsThere was always more work than Mother could possibly get done by the time there were five kids.  In addition to the house and cooking, Daddy kept Mother running errands for the farm.  “Run up to Manolia and get me a magneto for the tractor.  On the way back, pick my saw up from the shop and a couple of cans of gasoline.”

Magnolia was forty miles away.  Unless Daddy got his request in early, by the time Mother got back, we were in from school.  If I saw a chicken thawing in the sink, I knew to get supper started.  No instructions were needed.  Chicken meant fried chicken. Ground meat meant meatloaf.  I’d change clothes, peel and boil mountains of potatoes, cut the chicken up and get it started frying, or get the meatloaf on and get some vegetables started, if Mother hadn’t left a pot of beans simmering on low.  God forbid, I should let the beans cook dry and scorch.  That was a catastrophe.  While the chicken fried, cornbread or biscuits went in the oven, no “light bread” ever defiled the table at our house.  Daddy frequently bragged about that.  It reflected well his authority and manhood.  Supper was on the table at the expected time.  As soon as dinner was over, we got the kitchen cleaned up.  After the first time or two I got a meal on the table, never Mother worried again if she was held up, knowing dinner would be ready on time.  Only once did I foolishly decide I had better things to do than cook supper after I had started that routine.  Turns out, I didn’t have anything better to do.  We also had dogs, cows, and chickens who didn’t take care of themselves.  They ate before we did.

At about the age of seven or eight, when I initially got the devastating news that I was going to start having “jobs” to do, I was appalled and disgusted.  I was a kid. I was supposed to play.  It was my parent’s job to take care of me.  Life wouldn’t be worth living!  Sometimes Mother would send me back three or four times till I did a job right.  Daddy had a much more time efficient method.  He’d just kick my butt and make it worth my time to get it right.  After three or four years of involuntary servitude, I realized it was easier to do what needed to be done than deal with the alternative and still have to do get busy.  Eventually, somehow I started needed doing without being told.

Joke of the Day

As Joe left work, his wife called and asked him to bring home some salt.  He stopped by the store and asked the proprietor if he had any salt.

“Have I got salt?  I got iodized salt, plain table salt, rock salt, sea salt, seasoned salt,…..this whole back wall is covered with salt and I got salt stored down in the basement where I keep my stock.”

“Wow, you must sell a lot of salt!” remarked Joe.

“Naw, I can’t sell salt for shucks.  But that feller I get my salt from, now he can sell salt!”