by Martha Brockenbrough

When I was growing up, we didn’t get a weekly allowance. My parents would pay us for pulling weeds and the like, but they’re not the sort of people who believe in the dole, governmental or parental.

We knew kids who got allowances, though, and it really burned us.

“Sammy and Joey get five bucks a week, JUST FOR BREATHING,” we’d say. “Breathing is easy. Babies can do it. What kind of parent pays money for that?” Answer: the kind we wished we had.

Years later, but before I had kids, I read an article on MSNBC that cited some crazy national average allowance for teens—something like $50 a week. I’m not sure if this included money parents spent on clothes and sundries, in addition to the actual strings-free handouts. My head stopped processing information after the $50 part. $50 a week! Just for breathing! What kind of parent pays that money for that? And were they looking for an adult child to adopt?

We recently designated Friday as allowance day at our house. We had various reasons: I wanted to teach them everyday math skills. I wanted to show them how to set aside money for charity. I wanted to teach them what it means to save. Mostly, though, I wanted them to stop asking me to buy junk every time we went into the store.

So far, so good, especially on the last count. For example:

Before allowance…

Lucy and Alice: Mom, can we have this plastic ball with kittens on it?

Me: No. You will throw it inside and break things and then the dog will chew it and choke on it and we’ll have to go to the vet for emergency surgery and she’ll have to wear the Cone of Shame.

Lucy and Alice: Please? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease. We promise we won’t throw it inside. And we won’t let Rosie have it. And we will put lotion on your feet.

Me: Lotion? Really? ( Thinking…) No. NO! Stop asking!

Lucy and Alice: Then what about the plastic ball with dinosaurs on it?

Me: Grumble, grumble. You’re going to have to put lotion on my elbows, too.

After allowance…

Lucy and Alice: Mom, can we have this plastic ball with kittens on it?

Me: How much does it cost?

Lucy and Alice: $5.99

Me: And how much is your allowance?

Lucy and Alice: Five bucks.

I pause here for the inevitable whispered discussion about pooling funds, how much money they’d have left, and what they could buy instead.

Lucy and Alice: We don’t want the ball. We’re saving up for the flying moth. That will take six weeks’ allowance, or three, if we combine money.

Lesson learned! And it’s saving me a lot of those little checkout line impulse purchases I made because I do not have the strength to withstand my children’s puppy-eyes routine.

Other people get a lot fancier with the allowance business than we do. I’ve heard some families pay depending on the age. i.e., you get more as you get older. And I’ve heard that some families have three jars for each child, one for designated spending, saving, and charitable giving. I’ve also heard that some families tie the allowance to chores.

This is all good and well if it works for you. But as a second child, I object to the idea that the older kid deserves more money just because she’s been breathing for a longer period of time. Seriously. Does a nine-year-old have more material needs than a 6-year-old? Not really. Not until your kids have to start buying deodorant. Then we can revisit the topic.

And as a person with too much to do already, I’ve also realized I’m not gonna divide money into assorted accounts, even if I did like the idea of attractive color-coded jars (for this and other uses).

My kids have already figured out the virtue of savings because they don’t have enough for the flying moth they really want. They know they have to save for it. We do talk about making donations to our favorite charity, Water1st, but I’ve so far found that having the kids participate in the events (like a 5K walk) feels more concrete than handing a grubby $5 back to me for deposit by mysterious means.

As for tying the allowance to chores, I’ve decided not to do that, either. For starters, I don’t need anything more to keep track of. More important, though, I don’t want them to get the idea that I’ll pick up the slack for $5. The second they think, “Hmm….Mom could make my bed and do my other stuff, and it’ll only cost me a fiver” is the second they get the cheapest maid service ever.

The only thing I’m willing to do for $5 is breathe. Actually, that’s not strictly true. I pretty much do anything people ask me to do. But I’ve always wished it were the case. Maybe in my next childhood.

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