WTF - Why I Don't Buy Nice Things......

I always wondered why my mother never invested in a couch for our downstairs, how our couch started fraying at the edges, smelling slightly like sweat, and eventually needed a book under it because one of the legs broke.

Now I understand.

Kids wreck things.

Specifically kids wreck YOUR things.

The amount of trashing an item is in direct proportion to how much you paid for the item.

T-shirt picked up at consignment store - they'll spill some tea on it.

Expensive blouse bought for a cocktail party - they'll accidentally squirt soy sauce on it, or better yet, they'll spill their Red dye Number 5 Tummy Yummy down the front of it before you leave for the party.

It always goes the same:

"Mom, let me use your iPod/iPhone/Computer/GPS/Garmin?"

"No, because you'll break it.

"I will not!  I swear I will be careful, I will be SUPER careful.  PLEASE!"

"No."

"Come on Mom, I need it for my homework/essay/life well being."

"OK, but please, please be careful."

Child gets the item, then will usually do something like:

"I don't know what happened, it just dropped."

Me, "What did you press?"  Them, "Nothing I swear."  Me, "Why is everything resetting?"

me, "What happened to my iPod/iPhone/Computer?"  Them, looking at me stupidly.

I think all adults should be tased when they think about giving their child  their expensive item - because we fall for it.  Every.  Single.  Time.  .

Here's why we do not buy expensive stuff:

Kids will spill their Blue Icees in your brand new car with the tan interior.
Kids will pull your Beats headphones out by the cord until it tears.
Kids will wear your expensive running shoes then end up playing in a creek.
Kids will keep pressing buttons on your electronics until they don't work.
Kids will stuff their mouth full of goldfish and then sneeze in the backseat of your car.
Kids are holding the cabinet door, "I don't know how it came off the hinges."

So that couch stayed in the basement until we all were gone to college.  That couch held a lot of secrets from my teenage years, some consisting of throw up and others well, never mind.  My mother was smart as I watch my son dump his red Kool Aid onto my new leather couch.