Who loves solicitors? I know I do! Those at-risk teens they send around the neighborhood selling magazines, those soft-spoken Kirby salesmen who weasel their way in and demonstrate the amazing powers of their non-returnable $1700 vacuum cleaners. They're the best.
So imagine my confusion when my next door neighbor, a lady on the North end of middle-age who refuses to cut her long, witchy hair and does not work, approached me and asked me if the money she donated was tax deductible, and if she needed any paperwork. "Why would you ask me?" I asked her. Well, imagine my shock and horror when she told me that it was my children that she donated to!
It turns out that it really wasn't as bad as I thought, but in those first few moments when my blood pressure was shooting through the stratosphere and I was planning all kinds of possible punishments, it was pretty bad. It turns out the three middle kids (10, 10, and 11) had overheard one of my money discussions with my husband, the one that resulted from the oldest boy getting hit in the mouth with a hockey stick and the subsequent looming dental and medical bills.
We generally don't talk about stuff like money where the kids can overhear us, because they tend to worry more than is necessary. And then they tend to do stuff like go DOOR TO DOOR in the neighborhood asking for DONATIONS for Eli's TEETH! Oh, the humiliation. Oh, the embarassment. It doesn't help, either, that more than half of our neighbors are related to us in some way, shape, or form. It does, however, result in my wanting to wear a paper bag over my head to make the mad dash from the house to the car.
It turns out the kids collected $48 from random generous neighbors. It would have been tax deductible, had we not made them return every red cent of it. The moral of that story is to not talk about bills, money, or anything of any seriousness in front of children, otherwise they get bright ideas about solving the problems themselves. Ugh.
Sorry to deluge you with comments all in one fell swoop (you know how those felling swoops go) but I am taking the luxury of time to catch up on your blog today.
ReplyDeleteThis reminds me of a time when we were heading to Alaska for the first time, way back in 1980, and after about two weeks on the road, we'd stopped in a small Canadian town to get REAL showers and a meal. We found this little pizza place in a small indoor mall and had the best meal we'd had in a long time. Meanwhile, as my husband and I were paying the bill and enjoying the peace and quiet, I noticed my sons talking to strangers outside the restaurant's plate-glass window. I thought I ought to go out to investigate: when they aren't fighting with each other, something is wrong!
Anyway, as I rounded the corner, I heard my middle son (who was about 4) ask a passerby, "Hey, Mister, got any quarters?"
My 3 adorable frontier sons already had quite a collection of quarters in their shorts pockets. I was so embarrassed, I could have died. They, on the other hand, thought it was the most amazing thing they'd ever discovered: begging for quarters.
So, I feel your pain.
xo Anne