The Cost of Being a Fortin

If we didn't have teenagers, Beau-Hunkly and I would not be on a budget.  We would be climbing Mt. Fuji instead of stay-cations, driving convertibles instead of minivans, and experiencing culinary marvels instead of stocking the house with ramen noodles.

Oh the sacrifices.

Currently, date night consists of attending Dave Ramsey's  Financial Peace University on Sunday.  We sometimes split a soda from the machine to really make it special.

A few weeks ago, the topic in FPU class was about kids and money.  Lessons learned as kids resonate into adulthood.  For this reason, Dave thinks all kids should be on a commission based allowances to learn the monetary value of work.

Beau-Hunkly and I quickly figured out this was going to cost us some cash.

Our kids have never had an allowance and we certainly do not pay hourly wages for folding laundry, taking out the trash, walking the dog, and washing the dishes.

We call their chores The Cost of Being a Fortin.

In return, we hand out money as needed and call it The Cost of Having Children.

At Dave's advice, we made some changes.

We started transferring $8 a week into both their checking accounts with the following rules:

1. No more Gatorade money on game day.

2. No more linking our checking account to their iTunes account.

3. No more pilferring Mom's quarters from the change jar.

4. The Cost of Being a Fortin rules still apply.

Friday is payday and the Sons know it.  "It's automatically transferred," I keep reminding them.

"I love Payday," Son I responds.  He still checks his balance online to keep me honest.

Son II has changed from spender to saver.  He has projected out his balance through age 21 at a steady grow of $416/year.

Of course, it takes them no time to leverage the only monumental flaw in our system.  Special projects.  They are now taking advantage of us.

"The deck could really use a new coat of stain," Son II comments.  "That really doesn't fall under The Cost of Being a Fortin or our allowance."  He looks me square in the eye.  "We'll do the job for $75."

"I'll wash the dog for $2," son II suggests.  I quickly agree because she still reeks like vinegar.

Knowing there is cash available has launched much creativity.

"You guys work to hard to come home and mow the grass," the Sons venture.  "We'll do it for $12 a week."

They offer to clean out out garbage cans, pick up sticks, and wash cars.  And everything has it's price.

Somewhere hidden in their rooms are spreadsheets calculating the benefits of fleecing us for every dime we earn.  

Capitalists!

Nonetheless, I think we will continue on the current plan.  Continue until one of them figures out we pay 10 cents on the dollar.  Then, the Sons are going to form a union and probably go on strike.