Running Lady

The public high school nestled in the center of the borough serves five districts. During my four years at this school, it seemed as if there was an even distribution of family incomes represented by the student body. My cohort, of the 450 students in my class, included 100 or so students who enrolled in AP classes for the better part of their high school experience. I'd estimate that the majority of these kids would be excluded from free tuition were they to be accepted at Harvard.


For this reason, it's not uncommon to see high school students, obviously still in puberty, hurtling down the road in their parents' late model BMW X5 or Lexus RX 330. My vehicle of choice was a 2000 Toyota Sienna XLE, a very, very late model soccer mom-mobile, may it rest in peace. Back in high school, I had the privilege of driving this fine "desert sand" vehicle to and from school. Without fail, my copilot, Miss Diva-in-Training would push our departure closer and closer to 7:15, the last possible minute to leave and still be on time. We would hurtle down the hill at 40 miles per hour in rain or snow, for there are no other weather patterns where I live. It is during these briefer and briefer trips that I found my idol, Running Lady.


Every morning, we would pass a tall, thin blonde woman in her late fifties happily jogging on the side of the road with a happy yellow lab. She was always stylishly dressed in the latest activewear, presumably from lululemon. I assume this because it is expensive, but worth every penny, but I digress. There she was, a vision of middle-aged fitness in lavender and black. After accidentally nearly killing her a few times, I knew that I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. That and alive.


With this in mind, I was very excited to begin my journey to be like my role model and start running again. I noticed that the local drunk kids prefer Nikolai liquor, whatever that is, as evident by a count of two bottles within two miles. I am also very proud to report (again, I know) that during my 6+ mile run, I only walked up one hill, which was vertical. Good for me! So far, no shin splints and the hips and knees are feeling fine. I like to think that I am well on my way to achieving my goal.


Running Lady (I bet your name is Marsha), wherever you are, may you live a long and accident-free life! May your joints never wear out and may your dog always be happy and well-hydrated!

A Christmas rat, perhaps?

It's Christmas Eve and the family has already broken through the Xmas goodies. The Doctor called it Xmas because we are having "fake Christmas," or December 24th Christmas. The next order of business: to exit the premises by 3:30 pm for Florida. A few quotes:


"How will we wake up the Diva and the DJ? Let's get Pepper (one of the three guinea pigs). She's the scurriest!" What a precious awakening.


"No, Tweenie, you cannot bring all your Christmas presents to Florida. They will rip off the wrapping paper and we [are too cheap] to pay for more baggage."


"Ah, yes, a Christmas hound." The beagles enjoyed a good frolic through the wrapping paper before they headed off to the kennel. That was not their best Christmas surprise, to be sure. Poor babies.


In my rushing around the local strip mall for essentials such as medication, Timothy hay (we also own three guinea pigs), and gluten-free goodies, I stopped by the small animal cages at PetCo. Unlike those of us who have a plane to catch rather than a Christmas eve service to stumble into half an hour late, much of the western world is taking advantage of one last shopping day. With regard to pets, 'tis the season to find a furry little friend under the Christmas tree or the Hanukkah bush. In other words, domesticated animals are in very high demand. This is taking into account that birthdays and animal feedings occur at an equal rate undifferentiated from other times of the year. Of all the animals to be found under the tree, the common white rat, Rattus norvegicus, is not one of them. Regardless of the high demand for pets, the supply of rats exceeds the demand for the beasts. This is what we call a surplus. There's your principles of microeconomics lesson of the day, a "simple gift" from me to you.


On a brief personal note, I gave myself a fantastic Christmas present. It is probably the best so far in my brief adult life. I gave myself the gift of fitness. Since being home, I went to the JCC-happy Hanukkah!-and worked up to running/jogging/continuously moving more than six miles! This is a most appropriate gift before a beach trip. I built up my willpower, pushed my boundaries, and held off gratification. Excellent.


Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone!

Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk or Wasted Concert Tickets

The other day, the FutureDJ and I were threatened with the negative consequences of our inaction. MBAMama had purchased four tickets to an indie band as per the request of the little broski and myself, with the anticipation that he and I would be bringing a couple friends. Broski's friend bailed and I very quickly discovered that my friends would be back from finals the following week.

Thursday afternoon:
"I'm not really feelin' it," commented Broski.
"Me neither," I answered, hoping first to side with my brother and second to leverage the cumulative past 21 years of semi-responsible oldest sibling cred.
"WHAT? Are you serious? I paid $12 apiece for you to go see this concert and you aren't going? No. You are going and you are paying me back for not following through."

Another day, another economics lesson! Though paid for with a credit card (I'm not opening that can of beans, thank you very much!), the concert tickets were paid for as soon as Mommy dearest clicked the "purchase" button on ticketmaster. At that point, we were technically owners of the tickets, free to use or not use them as we please. This phenomenon is called a sunk cost in economics.

It's also associated with a fallacious perception of waste. I'm sure you've encountered it. Grandma, child of the Great Depression force-feeds the grandkids the last of the leftover mac and cheese to the tune of "waste not, want not." Although Grandma clearly has the agenda of fattening us up, the validity of which I am certain, you don't have to eat the last crusts of mac and cheese. It's already made. It's your choice as to whether you will actually eat it. And don't you bring the "starving children in Africa" into this. We are rational people, here!

Though MBAMama knows about sunk costs, she also knows that self-interested kids can have the propensity to introduce unnecessary spending into the family budget. She knows that when we feel a lightening of our own wallets, incentives really start kicking in. And that corresponds to real internal emotional responses that deepens the brain-grooves of convincing, cajoling, punishing, encouraging, and all the rest that is parenting.

If you want a more in-depth example of sunk costs, check out The Sunk Cost Fallacy by You're Not So Smart. Good stuff.

Reading List

This is one of my absolutely favorite books. It's a 1974 NEBR publication discussing the economics of the family. I'm more of a microeconomics and behavioral economics person myself, so it's a very interesting read. It's a bit of a dense read with econometrics formulas and what not, but it's definitely worth it. Great Gary Becker material to enrich your snow day or lunch break.

Economics of the Family

What did mama say?

Back in high school, MBAMama required that we children set boundaries. Not boundaries in dating, though that probably is applicable to most children who date humans rather than AP textbooks, but boundaries in time management.

What did Mama say: "Choose one activity that you can do really well and stick to it."

What did Mama mean: "Find some way to be the BEST."

In real life, this manifested itself through a series of endeavors that became a series of life lessons in which we as kids learned to overcommit ourselves in order to find out what we really loved. For me, this meant realizing that I wouldn't be an olympic swimmer any time soon. I'm sorry, Michael Phelps, but you will have to find someone else to marry. In order to pursue that dream, I spent an excess of 20 hours per week slaving away in the distance lane-God bless 'em-in order to end up with a permanently damaged shoulder. It wasn't as terrible as all that sad and grossly exaggerated description, but in some ways, I did waste my time with things that I wasn't that good at doing.

Perhaps the Doctor said it better: "Do something you love. Go to work and be at play. Find your passion. If you can do that, then it's never 'work.'"

So, here is the transformation that the EconGirl underwent:

What did I start doing in high school? Forensics, Latin Club, Fall Play, Model United Nations, Orchestra, Swimming, Crew, AP classes, and friendships on the side.

What did I end up doing in high school? Forensics, On-camera performance/production, AP classes, and friendships on the side.

Almost as naturally as spring steps back to be replaced by summer, my overcommitment became very fortunately unsustainable. I figured out that I didn't want to do it all. I couldn't do it all. I learned that in many of these activities, I hadn't really liked what I was doing, and I didn't miss it when I stopped. I learned not to be afraid of the less resume-worthy activities. I learned to play.

Even as a college junior, I'm still working on figuring out what MBAMama really meant sometimes, but I caught on fast with this one.

The Blog

Once upon a time, a Business and Economics major-turned CPA-turned Harvard MBA from a New Jersey suburb married a family doctor from eastern Pennsylvania. The rest is history.

This blog is devoted to the ways these two very different people raised their four very different children: an Economics major, an opera singer-in-training, a future DJ, and an all-around sweet energetic child.

Love it or hate it, here are their insights.