I Miss When I Had Money When Raising My Kids

The downside of divorce

There are very few things I miss about my married life.

I miss my kids having the security of one home. I miss my ginormous old house. I miss someone else taking out the trash and emptying my hair from the bathtub drain.

I also miss the money. Yes, the money I complain about not having all the time on Medium.

We weren’t rich by any stretch. The only time my kids have been on planes has been to visit my parents (two trips). I’ve only taken them to Disneyland when I got in for free. When their peers got iPads, I bought them $40 Amazon Kids Kindles (for the record, they’re kind of garbage after your kids are four).

However, we had money that allowed us to go on day trips or buy small splurges without worry.

I always buy my kids’ clothes years in advance, when I see things on sale. I had bins in the garage labeled with their future sizes. When my kids grew out of their old clothes, I’d grab the bigger size in the garage and boom…entire new wardrobe in the right size ready to go, purchased for 75% less than I would have if I needed to buy them at the moment.

I don’t have that luxury anymore. I don’t have the real estate to store things, nor do I have the money to buy Future Things because my current wallet can’t afford them. In the long run, it’s more expensive. It doesn’t help that my ex-husband Joseph only buys them one-time expensive but useless things, like a cosplay costume for an event.

Much like in marriage, I still plan the kids’ appointments. Trying to figure out Joseph’s schedule is impossible so it’s easier for me to book things when I have them. Those copays and prescription refills add up.

When we divorced, I received a small amount of child support from Joseph (no alimony). It mostly covered the kids’ insurance costs taken out of my paycheck. With my current job, the kids’ healthcare is free and my salary is (I assume) close enough that it doesn’t warrant getting childcare payments recalculated. No child support for me anymore.

It’s Spring Break week. Everyone’s traveling to Colorado, Florida, Hawaii, and whatever other places Americans travel to when they need to spend a fortune and their kids will never know the financial sacrifice.

Where am I going?

Nowhere.

Why did I think we were too broke to afford a week off somewhere before? Perhaps I couldn’t fathom spending thousands of dollars on airfare plus a hotel. We also had an autistic child with sensory issues; eating at random restaurants wasn’t an option.

But my son is older and not as picky now. Child car seats aren’t a concern and I’m not lugging a stroller. Traveling is significantly easier.

Well, it would be significantly easier. If I had money to take them anywhere.

To alleviate my parental guilt, I took a single day off work. There isn’t much one can do on a Tuesday that doesn’t cost a small fortune. How about mini golf? That’s somewhat inexpensive, fun for kids, and will create memories…right?

Right?

The day starts late because my daughter wanted a sleepover the night before. A school mom needed a petsitter for the family guinea pig and the creepy critter arrived that morning. A late start to the day but it’s not like I have a Disneyland day planned.

I notice a rash on my son’s face is getting worse. The dermatologist can squeeze us in that day and I jump on it, knowing another appointment would be months away. My son is miserable and I don’t want the rash to get worse. Somehow in my cram-a-family-vacation-in-a-single-ghetto-activity, I’ll make this work.

The mini golf cost is $38. I brought a bottle of water (I’m not paying vending machine prices) but stupidly left it in the car. 18 mini golf courses and the first one is closed off with construction tape.

Not a good start.

My kids have never played before. It’s not rocket science to whack a ball with a stick.

Except for my kids, it’s rocket science.

Google “ways to not hit a golf ball” and that’s what my kids did. Which would be fine if they were having fun. Instead, they nitpicked each other’s ball-hitting methodology. Neither of them has any athletic abilities and it shows. My daughter sweeps the ball like she’s holding a broom and my son can’t hit the ball at all.

They get frustrated as the day wears on. People are waiting behind us and I don’t have the luxury to let them take forever to get a ball in a hole. I want to be fun and goofy but I also want them to learn how to hit a damn mini-golf ball. My desire to ensure my autistic son can blend in with his peers never ceases.

By hole nine, the kids are done. My daughter is thirsty and my son is annoyed with her incessant complaining about mini golf’s difficulty. I’m starving and decide to take a loss on the rest of it.

To max out the one whole day off, I take my kids to a diner they love. The location near us folded and they haven’t been in months. I can save money by getting a soda and mooching my kids’ fries. It’ll be cheap. I got this.

Except for my son, the one with the tiniest appetite on earth, wants another plate of food. They want extra fries like they haven’t eaten in weeks. I only let my kids order milk and not soda, which is more expensive.

Cost with tip? $48.

We drive to my son’s doctor’s dermatologist, stopping to get gas along the way ($90). The copay for a specialist on my insurance is $50. The two prescriptions total $20.

In a few hours, I spent $246.

When picking up the prescriptions, my daughter whined that she wanted a Slushie. I rarely, if ever, give my kids that kind of stuff because I know their dad lets them have it all the time. I tell her that I care about her developing brain and body as my reason to deny it.

In reality, my initial reaction is that I can’t justify the purchase of two Slushies on an already expensive day.

She tells me that I’m “not a fun mom”. I know this is a tactic, especially when my kids tell me all the time how their dad buys them video game systems and doesn’t make them go anywhere. I passive-aggressively reply, “Well, one of us has to care about your health”. Not the best thing to say as someone who prides herself on keeping parental conflict away from the kids.

I know kids don’t need money to have happy childhoods.

I know it shouldn’t matter.

But I know what it’s like growing up when your peers have things and experiences that you don’t. As a kid, I fantasized about going to Disney World like my friends over the holidays instead of being stuck in a car driving to see extended relatives (and my parents fighting for eight hours).

My friends would return from the Christmas holidays telling everyone about the gifts they received while I sat silent as the outsider Muslim.

The friends I consider as good parents all take their kids on trips and experiences. Do my kids need to go to Hawaii to have a fulfilling life? No. Would it increase everyone’s happiness quotient, make memories, get them excited to explore new places, and get us out of our bubble for a week? Yes.

I feel like I’m failing my kids because I’ve maxed out all of the free activities available in my county and I’m tired of events like the city’s yearly Health Fair to get swag with promotional logos.

My dream is to take them to see The Nutcracker annual ballet, which is a big deal for kids here. But I know the half-decent tickets will end up costing me four hundred dollars for us and that’s not an option.

In a moment of insanity, I tried budgeting for an actual trip. After flight and hotels, the numbers on the screen taunted me for considering it was an option.

I have my kids this weekend. The weather is finally warming up. My ex-husband kept the giant house and its pool. His weekends are easy: make the kids burn energy swimming or his usual fallback of video games.

Time to get on the internet and scour local affordable activities yet again.