Three kids' birthdays in as many days calls for some sharp budgeting skillsI HAVE survived what is possibly the most stressful week of every year for me, emotionally and financially.
Christmas is bad enough on a budget, but thanks to some atrocious family planning and the curse of the cloned ones, I managed to give birth to all three of my life forms in two days less than a year ... is it any bloody wonder that I am as unhinged as I am?
No one is more surprised than me that I'm actually still here.
I was positive that I would either be dead or locked up by the time the kids were all 5. This week, however, we celebrated their 17th and 16th birthdays respectively and, to make it even better, I managed to cope with the financial pressure that came with the celebrations without the need to resort to crime or the selling of a live organ. For me, their birthday week is more expensive than Christmas, especially when it comes right on the back of Easter.
Why didn't I excel at art? I could at least fall back on a career of counterfeiting.
When they were much younger, I could get away with a big combined party for all three of them. Family and friends would share in the festivities and a buffet spread always did the trick to feed all the hungry mouths on hand. It only seems like yesterday that their slime-covered tentacles were grabbing pieces of fairy bread off the plate and their cheeks were bulging with cheerios dipped in Wattie's tomato sauce.
The balloons, the cards, the wrapping ... all gone. I don't even bother now, it really is just a case of saying Happy Birthday and slapping some money into the hand that is waiting, already open with expectation. A token grunt of thanks is given before I am sentenced to a day in the kitchen to create the cake of their choosing.
This year, it was a jam-filled sponge for Clone the Younger, a pear and ginger cream tart for Clone the Elder and a caramel cheesecake for the Firstborn.
It sure is a reminder though of just how hard it is to live on the benefit and the sacrifices that need to be made to allow even the simple things, like a birthday, to happen.
Times are tough, there is no doubt about that, and talk of real poverty in New Zealand is more prolific than ever.
And while I absolutely believe that no one chooses to be poor, there are some very poor choices made that lead to poverty.
Last year, on Campbell Live, I recall a series devoted to the issue of kids in school going hungry; yet the example he gave was a group of kids on their way to school at a corner store. No, they had no ready-made lunch in their bags, but they were given $10 and $20 notes on the way out the door. There they were, gathered at the shop buying pies, chips and horrifically overpriced but trendy energy drinks. While I do not dispute that there is real poverty in our country, I do not believe that was an illustration of it. My boys' lunchboxes are filled every day for a whole week for less than just one of those $20 notes.
There probably is a place for the whole Breakfast in Schools idea, but where does it stop? Then parents like me will think why should I bother giving my kids breakfast when they can eat free at school. Then we will start demanding lunches and on and on it will go. Our schools are already having to focus less on real education and more on social issues. Special classes for values, that should be being taught at home, even classes that teach our kids how to get the most out of Winz, can you believe it? Passing the buck isn't fixing the problem, it's making it worse and while I totally agree it is the innocent kids who suffer most, providing the solution through schools is just like giving the parents approval to carry on making poor financial decisions and so the problem still remains. You may have granted a temporary reprieve from hunger but the root cause goes unattended.
It comes down to priorities.
I live in a very poor neighbourhood, I see it everyday.
The clothes trucks that set up camp on the street. The residents walking at 8.30 in the morning with a cold beer in their hands. The huge flat screen TVs with Sky. The big V8 gas guzzlers. The trendy $200 trainers - and the electrician sent to cut off the power supply.
The parties are endless, until the police are called.
Poverty?
I make ends meet, only just, but it happens. Kids alive and well, in school and the bills paid. I haven't been out socially in the evening for seven years but that's the sacrifice I'm talking about and I'm OK with that. Trust me, my time will come and I'll make the little buggers pay! (Maniacal laugh)
I see light at the end of the tunnel ... it's probably the flames of hell waiting to embrace me but, hey, a change is as good as a rest.
The life forms are almost off my hands, the withered old crone's funeral is prepaid, I get to bore you poor peeps to death each week with my rantings, Waffle is by my side and I can still find reasons to smile each and every day. All is right with my warped little world. I guess I'm richer than I thought.
Students remain 'in the dark' about what comes next.