Money Can Buy Time

It comes up every now and then in conversations, but other moms will ask me why I chose the school my children are at. The simple answer? Time. My kids go to school three days a week, it's a private school, and I pay for it. The school has other fundamentally good things about it, but my answer has remained the same for years - I relish the extra time I get with my kids, even if I'm paying for it.

I can't call it a regret because it wasn't my decision to make, but I still get worked up when I think about all the years my mother had to go to treatment in Houston and didn't take us with her because we had to go to school. Perhaps it was the "must follow directions" cultural training from her upbringing. I always resent the fact that they didn't try harder to make accommodations or do something differently. It was just a straightforward, "You've got to go to school and do your homework. We can't take you."

4th grade was the worst. They went so many times that year. I so badly wanted time with my mother, even if it meant waiting in a hospital hallway because I was too young to go inside the treatment room. Each night before they left, I'd practically beg them to wake me up the next morning and take me with them. They lied to me and said they would. I went to sleep. The next morning, I'd wake up at 7 am to a dark, empty house. I'm still traumatized thinking about it. 

This shaped the way I viewed my kids' educations. When my oldest was preparing for kindergarten, public school was basically eliminated because they didn't offer anything less than a full day. I had known this was coming. The first year of the district's full-day kindergarten was the 2008-2009 school year.  I always told myself, if my kids ended up in public school, they would be allowed to miss school whenever they felt like it and I'd be completely supportive. Now, don't get me wrong, this is with the assumption that they are exceeding grade level standards and completing their homework responsibly. I'm not condoning this for someone with a student who isn't meeting standards. And, knowingly, this would end once they reached the middle school and high school years. 

The old adage is: money can't buy time. I'm here to tell you it can, and we do it all the time without thinking about it. I'm buying time by paying for my kids' educations to have two home school days per week. This is two more days they would have with me than if they went to public school. We buy time when we pick up fast food because our children are hangry instead of waiting to drive home and grabbing something from the freezer or refrigerator at home to heat up or cook. We buy time when we purchase pre-peeled garlic instead of buying the heads because we don't have to stand there and peel the cloves one at a time. We buy time when we pay for a housekeeper or lawn maintenance so we can do other things with our time in lieu of cleaning or mowing. We buy time when we pay the premium at Disney for Lightning Lane passes instead of waiting in the "regular" line. 

Now, bottomline, nobody is adding extra hours or days to their life by spending any money. If we could, we would all go broke. Probably every single person alive would be going broke buying more time for themselves or for someone they loved. But, we buy time in our own ways. We buy time every single day, most likely, without even realizing. It's been labeled as convenience. 

I can't say how long we will stay at our current school. Things may change years from now and we may switch back to public school or a different school. But for the next couple of years, this is what I need. This is what I want. And I will savor the time I've "bought."

1,288 Words

My dad and I have probably the best relationship with each other now than we've ever had in my life since adolescence. I'm excluding childhood because I honestly don't remember what my relationship with him was like, although there are photos of him holding me and I look genuinely joyful. If you knew me well in my teenage and early adult years, you would have known that my dad and I were basically roommates living under the same roof. He worked to earn money, cooked our food, and paid the bills so we had somewhere safe to live and chauffeured us to places we needed to me. When I got my driver's license at 16, his chauffeuring duties ended, but the other roles remained. During my years in college, his cooking services were less necessary because I ate in the dining halls or cooked for myself during the year I lived in an apartment. After I graduated, I moved overseas for a year, and it was the first time I paid for everything by myself or had it arranged for me through my company - housing, food, and transportation.

After moving back home one year later, I lived at home for a year before getting married and moving out of my dad's house again - this time, permanently. During all these years, we didn't talk to each other. Our personalities really clash with each other. My dad doesn't really understand implications, and if he does, he doesn't show it. He takes a lot of things at face value, probably a large reason why he was so good at math and science. You can't assume in these fields. You prove it, or you see it. Compounded on top of adolescence and a growing desire for independence, not to mention the lack of a true foundational relationship during childhood, I was left with a very shaky pile of rocks called the "foundation" of our relationship. I've written about the epitome, arguably what was the catalyst to the breaking point of our relationship. 

For a long time, I didn't really want a relationship with my dad. I wanted not to need him because needing him felt harder than not needing him. I could take care of myself and be self-sufficient. Honestly, that was easy. Needing him? That felt like dead weight. So I forced myself not to. I found a way to do everything I could by myself. 

I get sad writing about this.  It's probably because I have my own children now. It's probably because I'm getting older and I'm not that young and fearless twenty-one-year-old anymore freshly out of college.  The older I get the more valuable time becomes. I say it like I'm dying, and to my knowledge I'm not, but it's true. Our time is shorter as we get older. And because of that, its value increases. I already know how valuable time is because I've experienced how short it can be with the time I had my mother. My daughter is one year away from being the age I was when my mother was diagnosed with cancer. I can still picture myself in her hospital room when she was first diagnosed being oblivious to what was going on and enamored by the beef broth powder I could add to hot water and sip on. And now, I'm the mother who could at any time be the one given a diagnosis with a definite time to live. I digress.

Things with my dad got better after I had kids. Better in the sense that we visited a little more so he could see the kids. I don't think we truly started having a relationship with each other until the last 1-2 years. It's weird thinking about it that way, like the daughter he once had suddenly went from being a little girl to someone in her mid thirties. And the father I once had suddenly went from being the invincible male figure who (I thought) could type at lightning fast speeds (he doesn't) to the gray-haired, balding, fragile person who has slowed his pace when he walks.  

He and I got into a big fight a few years back. I don't approve of his life choices and certain decisions he makes. I realize they are out of my control because he is the one making his decisions, but his decision-making capabilities are diminishing and I am trying to intercede for him to assist. You won't believe what our fight was about: plastic bags. I kid you not there are probably hundreds if not thousands of plastic bags (plastic shopping t-shirt bags) in his house bagged inside of each other and thrown in various closets, strewn in hallways, shoved on shelves. I told him he needed to get rid of them to keep things tidier and not have everything in such a mess because it's a tripping hazard for him and it reduces the space for him to walk and get around his own house. He didn't listen. He actually got angry at me and yelled, "You don't know how I grew up."

He's right, I don't know how he grew up. And honestly, I have no idea what he meant by that statement. Maybe he grew up with clutter and he doesn't mind. Maybe he's used to it after so long and doesn't care. 

I was angry. I was very, very angry. And I yelled back at him.

"You don't know what it's like not to have a mother."

My grandmother was alive when my dad and I had this argument. My dad, a man in his seventies, still had a living mother, whereas I was without one at 13 and had spent over 20 years grieving already. I don't know if my dad understood the full implication of my statement. No, my dad did not know what it was like to lose a mother yet. But he also did not understand what it was like to watch someone else take over the house my mother spent her last days in. To trash the things she didn't want regardless of what it was. To leave the house in such disarray and mess. To buy things endlessly and stash them all over the place, never to be used. To shamelessly throw away my mother's photograph and expect no consequence or fault. 

Since this argument with my dad, things got better - my relationship with him, that is, not the condition of his living space. When I say we have the best relationship we've ever had, the bar is still very low. This means we have conversations with each other about everyday things. I tell him about the new grocery store I went to. I tell him about the piano competition my student placed in. I tell him about which days my kids get off from school. We have lunch together and I bring food I cooked. He tells me about his doctor appointments for his health ailments. He tells me about a restaurant he ate at. It's mundane. But it's the best we've ever had. 

My grandmother, my last living grandparent, died this week. We've always lived halfway across the world from each other so I never really knew her as a person. My entire family went to go see her last year, and that would be the last time we would see her. She lived almost twice the years my mother had on this earth. We are going back again this year, but my grandmother won't be there. I know this visit will feel different. I know it will be different. 

My dad can now begin to glimpse what I've already known. I am sad for him.  

Defying Fast Fashion

Ten years ago I went Black Friday shopping with my husband. It was our first Thanksgiving as a married couple and we went shopping at a bunch of stores. I was excited someone else could help me pick out clothing and give me feedback on how they looked. He has always been – and still is – better at fashion than I am. 

Facebook reminded me of this trip because it showed up on my newsfeed as a memory. I had conveniently spread out the items and taken a photo to “show off” my purchases. There were 10 items total which I had purchased. 

- 1 pair of flats
- 1 pair of black booties
- 3 sweaters
- 1 dress
- 1 blouse
- 2 pairs of pants
- 1 pair of jeans 

Original purchases in 2014

I was drawn to these flats because of the price, the quality/brand, and the style. They were priced well and I wanted a versatile pair of black flats. The last pair I owned last me many years and I knew they didn’t scratch the back of my ankle like many pairs of flats notoriously do. The unfortunate side was the color – an off-white suede. It was going to attract lots of dirt and dust over time and wouldn’t look bright for long. That’s most likely the reason why they ended up on the clearance rack. Fortunately for me, I’m not a fashionista and I didn’t really care. If they could be functional for me for a decent period of time and priced well, I would be satisfied. I enjoyed wearing these flats for many years. I even wore them once through mud by accident. They were never quite the same after that, but I kept wearing them for about a year before saying goodbye. They lasted me roughly 4-5 years if I remember correctly. That’s not a bad longevity for a shoe which cost me less than $50 and was in my rotation about 50% of every year. 

These black booties were my first pair of short boots or booties. At this time, I was still diversifying my closet so I wanted to own a pair. These were priced well, my size, and looked cute. With a three-inch heel, they were pretty killer paired with a pair of skinny jeans. I wore them every now and then, but there are limitations to how quickly you can safely walk when in three-inch heels. I tend to like walking faster than slower, so that did limit the number of times I wore these. They were almost treated like dress shoes. 

I bought three sweaters on this shopping trip because I was building up my sweater collection. Sweaters were not my thing growing up. I didn’t like wearing bulky clothing. However, as I got older, it grew on me when I found the proper style, material, and fit. One of these sweaters was labeled dry clean only. I wore this sweater very sparingly until I decided one day to wash it at home in my machine. It came out not looking too different than before from what I could tell. From then on, I wore it a lot more knowing I could wash it at home with little or no consequence. One of these sweaters ended up being very scratchy and I didn’t enjoy it. After years of storing it season after season to maybe be worn 1-2x per winter, I decided to say goodbye. The third sweater has a more baggy fit. Sometimes I’m not in the mood to wear something so loose-fitting so it’s not necessarily a go-to item in my closet, but I don’t have a reason to get rid of it. 

This dress was not a great purchase. It was heavily discounted which is what led me to purchase. However, it didn’t fit extremely well and I wasn’t in love with the design. I remember wearing it occasionally, but sometime in the last decade, it has been scrapped. At 24 years old, I was still clinging onto lower priced items and hadn’t yet learned the value of spending worthwhile money. This dress was not worthwhile money and shows because I have no recollection of ever wearing it (although I know I did at least a few times) and I no longer have it. 

I really liked the blouse when I bought it. This was when I realized I liked the material chiffon in my blouses/tops. I have worn this blouse many, many times. My most prominent memory in this top was at my company Christmas party a while back. I haven’t worn it recently because I have inherited/found other blouses of similar material which I enjoy more. This particular blouse is also starting to wear due to the many washes it has endured. It’s still in my closet, but it may be retiring in the near future. 

The two pairs of pants I bought from this photo have served me well. One of them was a light pink pair of jeggings. The other was a pair of khakis. I wore my jeggings a lot. They’ve been through many work days with me where I could dress them up to be less casual. Over time, the light pink has faded into more of a dirty white. This pair of pants has also been relegated to a corner of my closet because I have other pants/jeans I prefer over them. However, I haven’t been able to bring myself to get rid of this pair. The khakis have been one of my favorite more formal pants in my closet. They too have come to the office with me on many days. I’ve worn them to perform at festivals as an accompanist. The waist was rather large at first – large enough to be big, but not large enough to be unwearable. Over time, and with the changes in my body, they’ve fit better. I don’t necessarily wear this pair of pants all the time, but it’s a comfort to know they’re in my closet. They probably won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. 

Lastly, my jeans. Oh, this particular pair of jeans. Looking at this photo, I almost couldn’t pinpoint which pair of jeans it was. But I knew. They have faded severely over time. I loved these jeans when I bought them. It was extremely unfortunate they were the pair I was wearing at the time of this project. I really thought that was the end of them, but I have continued wearing these jeans for the last three years. They are on their last leg and will be recycled or donated soon. 

I spent less than $200 on these 10 items from Black Friday 2014. About half of them are considered “fast fashion.” I impressed myself at how many pieces I still have in my closet today. 

Editing aside, everything has faded a few shades...

 

Much like everyone else, I do get bored of the same clothes over and over again. But I am also frugal and pragmatic. If something can be bought once and last me forever, I am inclined to want to do so. Clothing, sadly, will never meet those requirements as even the most carefully worn and washed fabrics will show age over time. But I will take care of them so they can stay as long as possible. 

I wonder how many of these I will still have in another 10 years...

The Gift of Time

My memory is not as good as it used to be. I still probably remember more than the average person, and more in the specific areas I choose to remember, but I'm definitely forgetting more these days. Facebook reminded me of a memory from nine years ago during the first year we owned our house. I had actually completely forgotten our house came with a deck, a really ugly deck. 

 

Our house has a roof overhang running along the edge so the raised decking board made the entrance to the deck very low - I believe it was less than 8 ft from wood to wood. This was undesirable and we weren't going to keep it. Mentally, a bit part of my thinking was also I didn't want to keep anything left from the previous owners. We weren't going to keep it, so in the fall when the weather cooled down, we took it apart with our own two hands.

This was what it looked like once we'd gotten rid of all the above-ground parts. My husband and our neighbor eventually pulled each one of those concrete posts up one by one with a farm jack we'd borrowed. 

For a while, sitting on our patio meant this was our view. I used to close my eyes and imagine what I wanted our backyard to look like. I wanted to see a fence that wasn't oxidized. I wanted to see a cozy place to get together. I wanted to see love flourishing. I wanted to see a freeze-frame of life being lived to the fullest. And for a long time, when I opened my eyes, all I saw was an aged fence and some stretch of grass. 

A lot of love has been put into this house. I've blogged about it over the years. You can revisit them at this link if you wish. For the longest time, we put off the outside because it was "less important" than the inside. This was mostly true for a long time until our kids came along. They needed a space to play, a place to be free to run around, and a place to explore. After we had a patio paved in about 1/4 of our yard space, everything else snowballed - the playhouse, the plants, the toys, etc.

I snapped this picture of my children playing outside together one afternoon. Our backyard is not magazine worthy. It's not designed by Joanna Gaines or Shea McGee. And it almost always looks a bit disheveled and awry. But this picture completes my vision from years ago I used to merely imagine with my eyes closed. I love getting to watch my children play together and keep each other company. I love that I can grow herbs, vegetables, and flowers right on my patio. It's so satisfying to be able to walk outside with a pair of kitchen scissors and a bowl and return shortly with freshly cut green onions, basil, or peppers.

As I get older, I'm reminded of the passing time by my greying hair, added wrinkles, and joint aches. It's easy to forget how time can change things for the better, especially when it comes to inanimate or intangible things such as feelings and spaces. Over time, this backyard will continue to evolve, and one day, the playhouse will be gone. One day, the sandbox will be a relic of the past. One day, there will be four adults from our family sitting on this patio enjoying this space together.

That's the hope.

An Alternate Universe

One of the books I read last year was The Time Keeper by Mitch Albom. It was one of the more unsettling books I'd read by him since I discovered Mitch as an author in my late teens. In it, the characters explore a life between time and experience what's most easily called an alternate universe. 

I think we all catch ourselves thinking about our alternate universes sometimes. What if I married this person instead? What if I had moved to a different state? What if I had made a different decision?

For me, I have many of these in my life. I think about how my life would have been different had I chosen a different major in college. What if I'd gone to a completely different college? My friends would have changed. My career path may have changed or been affected at the very least. My husband may be different because the circumstances which we met would have changed. And we always say had we gone to the same college, we wouldn't have dated or gotten married. I believe it.

We recently visited one of our alma maters with the littles.

I think about how my life would have been different if I had switched piano teachers or even had a different teacher altogether. How would my ability have been affected? Would I play better? Worse? Would I have enjoyed it more? Would I have taken lessons longer? All these possible outcomes are valid, but it's also valid that because of the path I was on, I started accepting accompanying work at the age of 19 beyond doing favors for friends. And although untraditional, it set me up for the career I have now. And I really wouldn't change that. 

The biggest alternate universe I used to toss around was by far the hardest to come to terms with. What if my mother didn't die? It's true that one complexity of my current life now would not be there, and in that aspect, I will always feel a little defeated. However, having my mother in my life would not have simplified everything.

I was able to be my own person in high school because she wasn't around. I proved I had maturity, discipline, responsibility. I was also able to live my life, enjoy parts of childhood and the "fun" of it which I did not before being a primary caregiver, as primary as a minor could be. 

I was able to make decisions and not have to think about someone else. I still remember starting 8th grade and overhearing someone say they thought I had moved because I was not on the yearbook committee as the editor. Everyone thought I was going to be the editor after 7th grade. Everyone on yearbook wanted me to be the editor. But I wasn't even on the committee. I've never told anyone this, but I did not re-apply to be on the yearbook committee after 7th grade. At the time when applications were due, my mother was alive. I had made the decision to stop joining yearbook so I didn't have to stay after school once a week. I was going to go home everyday after school and be with her. And help her. During 8th grade. 

I didn't know she'd be gone before the end of my 7th grade school year. And that's why I was not on the yearbook committee, much less the editor, in 8th grade. After that, I could freely choose which school clubs I wanted to join, what jobs I wanted to take after school, and where I wanted to go. It came at a high cost, indeed, but I had gained certain freedoms which a normal teenager should have been able to experience to some degree. 

When I started dating, I didn't have to get my mother's approval. She would have been a tough cookie to impress. Nobody would have been good enough. She would have said something negative about everyone. Yes, I'm assuming, but I knew my mother. She could have protected me from a lot of hurt. She could have lectured some of the guys I'd dated in the past when they deserved to be lectured. But she may have also held me back from taking risks, taking chances, and ultimately, allowing me to learn and discover for myself. Not having her there put me on the frontline. I felt every punch and jab. But it also meant I could grow stronger. 

I've said before she would have hated the house we bought. I practically hated it myself when we bought it. But you know what? It's turned out to be the best choice we ever made when it came to housing. We love our neighbors. I've blogged multiple times about our neighbors. Just search "neighbor" in the search bar and you'll find a plethora of posts. This one is still my favorite. Our house really is my dream home in many ways. Not all, but many. Because when I come home, I feel comforted. I feel at peace. I feel satisfied. If I didn't like a wall color, I'd notice occasionally. If my shower bothered me, I'd notice it periodically. That's not to say everything is exactly the way I want, but a lot of it is. And the things that aren't are not worth my headspace to fret over. I'm not sure my mother would have been able to see the end result the way we did when we closed on this house. We saw the potential. We saw the future. And we made it a reality. And I'm thankful I didn't have to hear my mother gripe about any of it. 

Today marks 20 years. Just seeing it written out makes my heart sink. The wave of heaviness and emotion still overcome me. And a part of me will forever be sad my mother died so soon. But when I look at the life I'm living today, my job, my husband, my children, my home, myself. 

I wouldn't change any of it. 

2023 in Books

This year, for the books I read, I turned them into a giant collage. There's not that many so it won't take you hours to look at all the titles, but I figured it would be a fun visual this year to have my book conglomerate. I'm trying to incorporate some more elementary books, because in a few years, those are the types of books my daughter is going to be reading. I know, I can't believe it either. I can't even believe she can already read words and sentences.

I enjoyed a good number of these. Some were just nice "interlude" books to get to the next one. Most had deep thought, life analysis, and some good life truths. 

I already have a nice long list of holds I'm waiting for from the library to kickstart next year. Let's hope I can make it through them once they get to me. Please let me know if you read anything fantastic from this year. I'd love to put it on my list next year! 

Subtle Reminders

The blog has been quiet lately because life has been crazy. I've been smirking at myself this entire year because in the middle of January, I distinctly remember sending one of my friends a text message: This year in 1/24ths over. And over the next few months I recalled this text with her a few times and the fraction kept getting larger and larger.

And here we are in the middle of November. The year is 21/24ths over. 

I was washing the dishes today after we returned home from school. The groceries went into the fridge, the laundry went into the dryer, and the kids were playing by themselves. My son was already outside playing in the backyard and my daughter wanted to join him. She came up to me as I was washing and told me she wanted to go outside. I told her to put her sweater on and she ran off to do so. 

After a moment of quiet, I called out to see if she was still getting ready or if she'd already ran outside. She told me she was getting her shoes on and within seconds, I heard the door open and shut. She's only five years old, but it's already happening. In my mind, I was picturing a teenager grabbing her things to leave and drive herself somewhere. Honestly, the feeling as a mother is exactly the same. I just got a sample of what is to come. 

After finishing the dishes, I cleaned up our back hallway which becomes the dumping grounds for everything when we come inside. As I brought the kids schoolbags back to the table, I happened to glance at the window and noticed a tear in the curtain. 

And just like that, I was transported back to being the mother of young children who are totally oblivious and unaware of their surroundings at times. I could almost guess exactly how this curtain came to be ripped and why the kids didn't even notice.

They like to climb on the window sill and look outside for fun. We have a table placed against the wall adjacent to this window. A portion of the table overlaps the window. It is very likely as they were playing by the window and the curtain that the curtain got shoved up against the corner of the table and tore without them even knowing it.

I'm not actually mad about it. These were the first curtains I ever bought for the house when we first moved in. They're nothing special to me. It is inconvenient that they're now ripped in the middle, but I'm not even going to bother replacing them. We also have extras anyway from when we replaced the window treatments in my studio. 

In a way, it was a nice reminder I still have little children in my house. And part of me would like it to stay that way a little while longer. 🥰