Too Quiet?

At dinner a few nights ago, Sophia, my first-grader, suggested we play the “quiet game.”

For those of you without kids, it’s a standard weapon for any parent who’s been in a car with their children for trips longer than 10 minutes: The person who’s quiet for the longest time wins. With Tanya out of town on business, I was not about to argue.

Ella had just had a cavity filled that afternoon and her mouth was still numb, so she couldn’t eat yet. Sophia and I attacked our tacos, while Ella read silently. I figured this particular episode would last as long as previous ones: maybe 30 seconds. But something strange happened. Sophia made it almost 10 minutes without a peep, and Ella was completely absorbed in Harry Potter. I couldn’t handle it.

“It’s too quiet!” I lamented.

“Dad lost!” Sophia yelled, a huge smile plastered on her face.

I thought I’d relish the peace and enjoy my dinner more than usual. Instead, I found myself longing for a mere sliver of the chaos that normally envelops our house at mealtime. Confused with my own desire for noise, I wondered: Should I have felt bad for wanting quiet in the first place?

Take it from a guy who writes a column based on what kids say: Listening to children talk is rewarding. They offer a flowing commentary on life from a perspective that has yet to be jaded by negative experiences or unsubstantiated bias. They are funny, genuine and truthful. I have learned a lot from them.

Nevertheless, no matter how much I love my little animals, how much I want to hear their sweet little voices, how much I adore the funny, unintentionally brilliant things they say, sometimes I just wish they would zip it.

I’m convinced that Ella, my wise yet often logorrheic 9-year-old, likes to hear herself talk. From what happened at school to what she read about in a magazine to something she saw on television, the words flow like a flash flood, with no end in sight to the deluge. And though I want to be a good dad and engage her in conversation, sometimes the endless chatter makes me crazy.

I’ve been caught a few times not paying attention when Ella or Sophia go off on one of their verbal floods. I tune out because I’m tired or worried about money or work or other typical adult concerns. Surely I can’t be expected to hang on every word at all times. There must be times when my inattention is, while admittedly rude, at least understandable.

But on that night at the table, I found myself craving conversation with my kids. Maybe it was because Tanya wasn’t home. Maybe I had had enough silence after spending the day alone in my house, writing. Whatever the case, I realized that when kids win the quiet game, the adult isn’t necessarily a winner, as well.

Silence may be golden, but I guess I don’t need that much jewelry.

Parenting Should be a High Paying Job

Ella needed my assistance for a school project she was working on and was very appreciative when I helped her. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” I joked.

My fourth-grader must have understood my humor because she patted my arm and said, “You get paid in love, Dad.”

With our “fiscal cliff” near miss leaving the subject of economics at the forefront of the 2013 news cycle, I wondered: If somehow there were money in the budget (stick with me on this fantasy), what should parents be paid?

Generally, wages are determined by two major factors: supply and demand, and skill level. Salary structures can also depend on education, experience and location, and vary amongst and within individual markets and employers.

When it comes to parenting, duties are fairly consistent across the board. However, no other legal job that I know of requires the same long-term physical and emotional work, high level of consequences, time commitment and out of pocket expense, while yielding as pithy a financial compensation.

Prospective candidates need to be available all day every day and must absorb ultimate responsibility even when on a break. Parents need to be reasonably competent in many things, including but not limited to: first aid and health related issues, decision-making, creating and adjusting routines, educating, accepting frequent failure, cleaning, cooking, managing complex social and emotional problems, managing finances, multitasking and functioning on minimal sleep. A sense of humor helps, too.

Now, for the pay:

A live-in au pair who cares for children and helps with household tasks can cost about $25,000 a year, after expenses.

A private tutor runs about $35 per hour. Conservatively average five hours a week of help with schoolwork and reading practice over 30 weeks of 12 school years for two kids, and we’re somewhere in the neighborhood of $60,000.

An on-call nurse for about 14 hours a day (from after work until the next morning), 365 days a year, costs about $25 per hour, which adds about another $125,000.

So far, we’re at $210,000, and we’ve included only manpower without many basic out-of-pocket expenses needed to keep children comfortable. Let’s round it up to $225,000.

But the ultimate negotiating fulcrum is hard to monetize. Being a successful parent requires constant awareness, patience and flexibility, which is stressful. It’s not uncommon for many professions to see salary jumps of 10 to 50 times to compensate for a higher stress level and public visibility. (Think hedge fund managers and NFL quarterbacks.) So to adjust for the immense responsibility that goes with successfully raising a human, and incentivizing for a child’s ultimate level of generosity, kindness and overall success during 60-odd years of adulthood, a multimillion dollar yearly salary isn’t out of the question.

Sure, I wouldn’t mind being compensated even a fraction of that amount, but Ella still had it right. Parents are remunerated in less tangible and more valuable ways. The love that pays my salary will always be worth more than cash, with or without budget approval.