I want to ask her to be my new best friend.
I haven’t exactly actually met her yet.
There’s that.
My teenage daughter is already freaking out at the idea.
There’s that, as well.
“It’s stalker, creepy,” she informs me.
“What? Dreaming of making someone I’ve not actually met my new BFF?”
This conversation is over.
There are only so many times she can tell me that anyone over 20 should not be using “BFF.” I can’t help myself.
This woman, my hero, has done something so wonderful. My admiration knows no bounds.
She’s been able to do in a single week something that has stumped my husband and me. She is my daughter’s economics teacher and she has taught my kid the value of money.
As kids go, we got a good one. Seems to be appreciative and kind. And as our lives go, I think we’ve dropped the ball on money. Days move fast, kids have stuff, the value of a dollar seems to get lost in the conversation.
Allowance? Yes? No? Pay for chores? Make kids get a job?
All conversations had.
I will not lie. I don’t think we’ve got it right.
Then along comes Introduction to Economics.
Ms. Awesome Teacher gave each of the kids a random profession, salary, and family and told, “Go figure out your life. Make a budget, buy a house, feed those kids.”
Our daughter was told she is a school principal. We’re so proud! How nice to think that college education we’re scraping up for will be paying off.
She makes $89,000 a year. She has a husband and three kids. All is not perfect. Of course it’s not. Ms. Awesome Teacher knows this is to be a lesson.
Disturbingly, my daughter’s pretend husband doesn’t contribute financially or take care of these kids. Add childcare to the family budget.
Oh, you know I got my two cents in on her choice in men. “Your pretend husband is a bum,” I informed her. “I don’t care how cute he was. There’s a reason they call it life ‘partner.’ You want someone who does their part.”
Didn’t take long for the fun to begin.
I soon heard the yelling coming from behind her bedroom door. “Not a chance! No way!”
“What’s going on?” I asked with great concern.
“Do you know what cell phones cost?!” she asked with great indignation as if she was delivering breaking news. “No way are these kids getting unlimited data on their phones!”
“You got to be kidding!” came later cries.
“What’s wrong now?” I asked seeing her laptop open to grocery store websites.
“It costs too much to buy all this food for dinner every night.”
“Really?” I smiled.
And my favorite moment as she got up from out dinner table later in the week heading back to her bedroom to continue working on her project.
“I’m so sick of making menu plans, budgets, and going to the grocery store,” she groaned.
“Welcome to my world, Sweet Daughter. Welcome to my world.”
By the time she was done, Sweet Daughter decided that her family would be living an hour away from her job, the free loader husband wouldn’t get a car, and those kids — they could share a room and eat macaroni and cheese for dinner most nights.
“Wow. You’re going to be like the world’s meanest, cheapest mommy,” I teased.
“No, this was just like a reality check,” she countered. “Stuff, like, costs a lot of money.”
Talk about a million dollar gift!
My kid gets it.
I’m not sure what my kid will get on her project, but Ms. Awesome Teacher gets an A+ in my book.
With that, my plans were sealed. Ask Ms. Awesome Teacher to be my new best friend.
And start saving up.
Looks like my future grandchildren have an austere life ahead of them. Someone will need to spoil them. Might as well be me and my husband, their future BFFs.
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