{by Julie Pippert from Julie Pippert: Using My Words}

I was standing outside my house, directly under my children’s bedroom window, in what passes for cold in Bay Area Houston. In my hands I balanced a big boom box, Say Anything style, except it wasn’t blasting music. It was blasting the sound of reindeer hooves on a roof, including snorts, and the jingling bells of their harnesses.

That’s when I knew it.

No, not that I had lost my mind; I knew that I had finally gotten my holiday groove back.

I knew that come what storms may, we could weather them, and when you have a chance to stand outside in what passes for cold blasting sleigh bells on a boom box to bring a little magic to kids, your kids, who still believe in, well, the everything sort of possibilities…you go for it, big.

This marked a huge change.

I’ve spent my life trying to find my footing during the holidays. My family had the general traditions – ham, pie, gifts, visits to family – but nothing terribly consistent. My parents had barely settled into our immediate family’s ways when they got divorced, then we had to transition into juggling two (very competitive) Christmases. That was barely settled when each got remarried and then a whole new set of traditions and expectations came into play. By the time I left home and married my husband, I was more a little confused about the holidays. I was, in fact, completely cynical.

Originally published on Julie Pippert: Using My Words.

It
was a pretty innocuous mother’s club meeting, and we were talking about
babysitters. I don’t even recall why it came up, the talk about
babysitters. Conversation unrolls so organically in these meetings,
these times we get together, without children, and get to just talk.

But
sitters came up in conversation and the turn of that conversation
surprised me. Greatly. Apparently around here it’s bad manners to quote
an hourly rate for one’s babysitting services.

“You know what
gets me?” a mom said, “You know what sitters I prefer? Who I pay the
most to? The ones who say ‘oh just pay me whatever.’” She went on to
explain that (and this is my paraphrase not her exact statement) to
her, it came across as very forward, rude even, when these sitters said
they charged X dollars per hour.

My mind rolled that concept
around for a minute: it’s cheeky and rude to state upfront how much you
charge if you’re a babysitter.

I looked around the room, seeking
the people who ducked their heads to avoid disagreeing or the people
shaking a no with their heads, and waited for someone to say, “Well for
heaven’s sake, it’s a business. Of course they need to—and
should!—tell you in advance how much they charge! How else will they
learn to value their own worth and services? How else will they learn
to deal with people and money? How else will you be able to figure out
how much to budget and how much cash to have on hand for the time?”

But not one person did. Not one ducked head. Not one shaking head. Not one verbal alternate perspective.

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