Children: The Subscription You Can’t Cancel

Kids are expensive. There. I said it.

And this is one of those facts that really shouldn’t sneak up on anybody. Children cost money before they’re born, and they pretty much keep costing money until one of you dies. It’s basically the longest subscription service you’ll ever sign up for—and there is absolutely no cancellation button.

First, it’s cribs, diapers, formula, bottles, toys, and daycare. Then it’s clothes they outgrow approximately eleven minutes after you buy them.

Then comes school. School supplies. Backpacks. Lunches. Field trips. Sports fees. Cleats. Uniforms. Band instruments. Band uniforms. Braces. Birthday parties. Christmas presents. Fast food eaten in the car because you’ve got one kid at practice and another kid playing a game across town.

Then somebody needs a car. And apparently cars need gas, tires, repairs and insurance. Who knew?

Then there’s prom (Sometimes 5!) Graduation. College. Weddings. And just when you think you’ve finally crossed the financial finish line—grandkids.

You will probably spend more money raising your children than you’ll ever spend on yourself. That’s parenting. Nobody promised it would be cheap.

What I don’t understand is why predictable expenses keep becoming emergencies. School starts at approximately the same time every single year. Christmas has been stubbornly hanging onto December 25th for quite some time. Soccer season isn’t a surprise attack. Neither is cheerleading, band, football, or prom.

So when you’re online five days before a deadline saying you desperately need somebody to buy your child’s supplies, equipment, uniform, or Christmas presents, sometimes that isn’t an emergency. Sometimes it’s poor planning.

And yes, real hardship exists. People lose jobs. People get sick. Cars break down. Houses burn. Families leave abusive situations. Life can absolutely knock somebody flat overnight, and I’m all for helping people through those situations. That’s not what I’m talking about.

I’m talking about regularly signing your child up for things you already know you cannot afford and then expecting strangers to cover the bill.

Electives are elective.

If an activity costs $500 and you don’t have $500, you may have to say no. That’s not cruel. That’s parenting within your means.

And I’m probably really going to irritate somebody with this next part. If your family consistently cannot afford basic necessities while you’re choosing to be a stay-at-home parent, then you may need to reconsider whether your family can afford for you to stay home.

Being a stay-at-home parent is work. Absolutely. But financially, it’s also a choice that only works when the household income can support it. If you’re sitting at home while repeatedly asking churches, agencies and working people online to pay for your children’s school supplies, sports equipment, and other optional expenses, something in that equation needs to change.

Children also learn responsibility by watching us. We tell them to do their homework, brush their teeth, eat properly, save their money, meet deadlines, and think ahead. Then we can’t act shocked when December shows up and we haven't bough a single gift.

(Christmas is 131 days away from today. There. That’s your warning.)

If money is tight, start putting away $5 or $10 when you can. Buy things throughout the year. Shop clearance. Buy used sports equipment. Set a Christmas budget. Tell the kids there may be fewer presents this year. Skip an activity you can’t afford. And sometimes—this is going to hurt—your child may be disappointed.

That’s okay.

Children can survive disappointment. In fact, learning that we can’t always have everything we want is probably one of the more useful lessons we can teach them. I hate seeing a child go without. Most people do. That’s exactly why last-minute pleas work: good people don’t want children to suffer.

But ultimately, they’re your children.

Other people’s generosity should be the safety net when life genuinely goes wrong. It shouldn’t be the family financial plan. So before school starts, plan for school. Before sports season, plan for sports. Before Christmas, plan for Christmas. And if you can’t afford something, sometimes the answer simply has to be no. Plan earlier. Spend smarter. Work if you need to. Do without when you have to.

Because raising children is expensive. But that part was never a surprise.

Pride Starts at Home

You ever heard the saying, "It starts with you?"

Well… sometimes that's exactly where we need to start looking.

I've seen people from other countries visit America and leave talking about how beautiful it is, how kind people were, and how grateful they were for the opportunities they found here. Meanwhile, some Americans spend every day tearing down the very country they call home. Make that make sense.

Nobody is saying America has a perfect history. It doesn't. No country does. But if you can look at where we started and where we are today and not see the progress made by people of every race, culture, and background, maybe you're so focused on the cracks that you've forgotten to appreciate the foundation.

You can't complain about division while adding to it. You can't demand kindness while choosing bitterness. You can't say you want a better America while rooting for it to fail just so you can be proven right.

At some point, constantly pointing out what's wrong without ever acknowledging what's right doesn't make you part of the solution. It just makes you another voice adding to the noise.

People notice. They notice what you celebrate. They notice what you share. They notice whether your words leave people with hope or just one more reason to be angry.

Right now there are people running across America carrying the flag, celebrating this country, its people, and how far we've come. At the very same time, there are people sitting behind a screen convinced there's nothing worth celebrating. Maybe that's worth thinking about. Because change really does start with each of us.

If all we're doing is criticizing without contributing, we're not helping the country heal. We're becoming the cavity that's slowly eating away at it. And cavities don't fix themselves. 

Well… That’s Not Something You See Every Day

I’ve seen some pretty unusual things traveling Oklahoma roads over the years. I’ve seen those giant windmill blades being hauled down the highway. I’ve seen boats, houses, and all kinds of oversized loads. I’ve even seen tornado chasers with enough cameras, antennas, and gadgets strapped to the roofs of their vehicles.

Living in Oklahoma, I’ve even seen a pickup truck turned into a swimming pool, cruising through town with a bunch of teenagers splashing around in their own portable swim tank. I’ve seen people ride horses through the drive-thru at a burger joint and cool their horses off at the car wash. Truth be told, I can’t judge too much… years ago, I used to cool my daycare kids off at the car wash on our field trip walks back to the center! But today topped all of that.

I was driving through town, sitting at a stoplight, minding my own business, when a truck drove right past me… pulling a helicopter.

A. Helicopter.

Not a toy one. Not a picture of one. An actual helicopter rolling down the road behind a pickup truck.

I just sat there staring, wondering if I was seeing things. It definitely woke me up more than my coffee did!

Of course, the one time I see something that bizarre is the one time my phone is buried in my purse because I was driving responsibly. I always have my phone with me, but never in my hand while I’m driving. By the time I found it, the helicopter was long gone. Figures!

Then I started laughing because it reminded me of Matthew.

Years ago, Matthew had a little fender bender and blamed it on a helicopter. He said one was landing right beside the road, he looked up to watch it, and… well… the car in front of him stopped before he did. I thought that was the dumbest excuse I’d ever heard.

“Oh, sure, Matthew. The helicopter made you hit the car.” We’ve laughed about that story for years. But sitting there at that stoplight today, watching a helicopter roll past me on a trailer, I had one very humbling thought… Thank goodness this light is red, because if I had been driving instead of sitting there, there’s a pretty good chance I’d have been explaining to my insurance company, “Well… you see… there was this helicopter…”

So, Matthew… I owe you an apology. I finally believe you. I’m still going to tease you about it… but now I completely understand.

Grief and Practicality Can Coexist

Did you know I can be sad and practical at the same time? I'm pretty efficient that way.

For some reason, people seem to believe that if you're grieving, you shouldn't be thinking about anything else. As if making plans, asking questions, or handling responsibilities somehow means you aren't hurting enough. But that has never made sense to me.

Life doesn't stop because your heart is breaking. There are still decisions to make and things that need your attention. Taking care of them doesn't lessen your love or mean you're ready to let go. It simply means the world keeps turning, whether we're ready for it or not.

I think people underestimate our ability to carry more than one emotion at a time. I can be heartbroken and still think ahead. I can be overwhelmed and still be responsible. I can miss someone with every part of me while doing what needs to be done.

The human heart has room for all of it. We can cry while making plans. We can smile at a memory and ache with loss in the very same moment. We can prepare for tomorrow without wanting today to end.

Two things can be true at the same time. Grief doesn't erase responsibility, and practicality doesn't diminish love. Sometimes it's simply another way we care for the people and the things that matter most, even while we're learning how to live with their absence.

A Light Bulb Moment About Fascism

Things are clicking for me.

I’ve spent a lot of time wondering why some liberals are just so politically angry ALL. THE. TIME (And let’s take their style out of it for a minute—which often seems to scream, “Look at me!”) So many of the loudest voices come across as spoiled children who were never told no, actors and actresses who are used to being the center of attention, and people who seem heavily entitled.

I looked up the definition of fascism because that word gets thrown around constantly by people who suffer from TDS—Trump Derangement Syndrome. The level of anger, outrage, and obsession with one man has always made me wonder what is really driving it.

One definition said fascism puts the nation above individual interests. And that’s when the light bulb came on for me. It seems like that’s exactly what some people hate. Everything becomes about individual wants, individual feelings, and individual demands. They say they care about others, but sometimes it feels like they mainly care about people who think exactly like they do. But in a country of over 300 million people, no government can meet everyone’s personal wants and needs. At some point, leaders have to make decisions based on what they believe is best for the country as a whole.

Then I looked at the rest of the definition, and honestly, America doesn’t fit it.

A fascist government is centralized and authoritarian. Ours isn’t. Power is divided between the federal government, states, and local governments.

Fascism suppresses opposition. America doesn’t. People protest, criticize politicians, attack the government online, and vote leaders out of office every day.

A fascist leader has near-total control. Our presidents don’t. They can be blocked by Congress, challenged in court, investigated, and voted out.

And fascism suppresses certain groups. America protects the rights of racial, religious, and political minorities and allows people to live and speak freely.

The biggest thing that stood out to me? The fact that we can openly argue about whether America is fascist is proof that we aren’t. In a truly fascist country, people don’t usually get to publicly accuse their government of being fascist without consequences.

That was my light bulb moment.