The winner of the two subscriptions to All You magazine has been chosen, so if you didn’t hear from me it wasn’t you.
The response to the giveaway was so enthusiastic that I plan to do it again at some point — and in the meantime, the magazine is providing a little holiday consolation prize.
Maybe you read the article about the doctor with $555,000 of student loan debt. In addition to that horrific sum (which started out as $250k in 2003) were a few other scary numbers:
Gargantuan loans taken out with no clear idea of how they’ll be repaid. Sound familiar?
Actually, there’s a crucial difference between subprime mortgages and student loans: You can’t return your diploma to the school and walk away from college debt. In fact, such debt can’t even be discharged in a bankruptcy. With few exceptions, student loans stay with you until you pay them back.
I was at the post office today mailing two long-delayed giveaway prizes (sorry, Diana and Denise — they’re on their way!). A young man came in carrying an infant car seat. While waiting in line I saw him smiling at the baby and making the occasional funny face. What a loving father, I thought.
As I got into my vehicle I saw two little boys, aged about 3 and 4, in the adjacent vehicle. One of the children caught my eye and smiled. The car’s windows were rolled down. No adult was in sight.
I started to back out of the parking space — and then pulled forward once more. It just didn’t seem right to leave two kids unsupervised.
Eventually their dad returned. You guessed it: He was the guy carrying the car seat.
“What took you so long, daddy?” one boy asked fretfully.
Good question.
My hat is off to grandparents who wind up raising their grandchildren. A mere half-day spent with my niece’s kids makes me want to lie down with a cold cloth on my eyes.
The boys are funny and sweet but very, very high-energy. Bless their hearts.
That’s why today’s entry is short. By the time I got back to my host’s home last night, I wasn’t good for much besides having a bowl of oatmeal and visiting a short time before crawling up to bed. And I’m only 52.
This grimy little guy is my great-nephew, who’s almost 9 and the luckiest kid I know: His mom lets him play in the dirt. Or, in this case, the mud.
They’d gone to Kincaid Park, where Malachi and some other kids thoroughly immersed themselves in play on the muddy beach. Alison brought along dry clothes so he wouldn’t wreck the inside of the family car.
“I did have to hose off his hair at the house, before his shower,” she said.
Playing in the dirt is truly frugal fun: Give a kid a spoon and some old plastic containers and watch her go to town. What’s more, science seems to indicate dirt is literally good for our kids.
Here’s a recipe for frugal fun: Go watch some “coach-pitch” Little League. Go even if you don’t have any kids. And go to the bathroom before you leave for the game, or you will almost certainly wet yourself laughing.
Coach-pitch is like an extended bloopers reel on YouTube, minus the annoying music and captions. Think “The Keystone Kops,” only shorter, and with bats instead of billy clubs: