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This post has been sponsored by Wealthfront. All thoughts and opinions expressed here are entirely my own.
Planning for your children’s future
Jude has been so much fun to be around lately. He loves to choose his own clothes, and try on outfits and accessories at every store we go to. When he’s satisfied with an outfit, he checks himself out in the mirror and walks as if he was on the runway. Full of personality, this one!
I don’t know what the future holds right now but if he follows his dreams, he’ll be a fashion designer or a runway model. Mom better start saving! Ever since I became a mom, I’ve felt like time goes by a hundred times faster. Each year that goes by, each birthday that my boys celebrate, I find myself in utter shock. How did that just happen? Didn’t I give birth just yesterday?
This year, it hit me. I need to start planning for the boys’ future, more precisely saving for Jude’s college fund. I’m not a planning-type of person. I’m more of a “let’s wing it” type of mom. It just seems so overwhelming to me to come up with a plan. How much do I need to put aside each month? Do I need to start saving now? Jude is only 3. What are my options? Is it even realistic to start a college fund with our current financial situation?
Wealthfront
I’ve decided to be smart about this and I’m using a useful automatic financial planning service called Wealthfront which has answered all the questions I’ve had and more. I’ve been using it for two weeks and I’m impressed with how intuitive their website is. In setting up my account, and deciding how to invest, I got help every step of the way. I grew up in France so our financial system is a bit different and having all the information I needed in one place made a world of a difference.
It’s really never too early to start thinking about your children’s future. The earlier you start to plan, the easier and more effective it will be. Sometimes, all I need is a little nudge in the right direction to get started, and thanks to Wealthfront, I’m starting the year on a good note with a plan for Jude’s finances. If like me you need a little help to get started, check them out. I feel like a real adult all of a sudden! Stay tuned for a second post soon where I’ll go into more details on how I’ve been using Wealthfront to save for Jude’s future.
This post has been sponsored by Wealthfront. All thoughts and opinions expressed here are entirely my own.
![[Snippet from my book about autism and grieving/Link in bio]
When Charlie needs something and I’m unable to understand what it is, it’s the most powerless feeling. I usually spend a few minutes showing him various objects and food items around the house in hopes that he’ll want one of them. When I’m wrong—and that happens often—he gets frustrated.
Cereal? Pushes it away.
Juice? Pushes it away.
Toast? Pushes it away.
You can feel the intensity of our growing frustration as I fail to comprehend what he wants to eat. He gets infinitely more impatient with each wrong guess. The restlessness, the grunts, and then the quiet whines. Believe me, Charlie. I’m trying as hard as I can to get you what you want, but I can’t because I don’t know what it is. Eventually, we’ve exhausted all our options, and this is usually the moment when tears slowly start rolling down his face, and he resorts to screaming. I feel sad and frustrated too. Powerless too. Once we’ve reached that point, there’s nothing else I can do. I’ve failed, and now we just have to wait. I wait until I hear the silence. Not the kind of silence you want to hear. It’s a silence full of tension. A silence that means that Charlie has given up because that’s the only thing he can do. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t communicate and he can’t make himself heard. The only thing he can do now is surrender.
Still, I love Charlie. All of him. I’m not grieving him. I’m grieving my dreams of him. I’m grieving the dreams of Charlie as a seven-year-old, sitting next to me outside, at sunset, debating which Pokémon is a better starter option in Pokémon Blue. I’m grieving my youth, the naiveté that led me to believe that all moms get to hear their child call them mommy in a purposeful way, the innocence that tricked me into believing that all children love and cling to their parents. I’m grieving the dream of speaking French with Charlie, and secretly laughing at the first putain he pronounces. I’m not grieving you, Charlie. I’m grieving my dreams. �](http://scontent-frt3-1.cdninstagram.com/vp/949748cae8dba4ebeaa2330943a1e957/5D1AECC1/t51.2885-15/e35/c22.0.1035.1035a/s320x320/52762732_282700752662877_556964404511934262_n.jpg?_nc_ht=scontent-frt3-1.cdninstagram.com "[Snippet from my book about autism and grieving/Link in bio]
When Charlie needs something and I’m unable to understand what it is, it’s the most powerless feeling. I usually spend a few minutes showing him various objects and food items around the house in hopes that he’ll want one of them. When I’m wrong—and that happens often—he gets frustrated.
Cereal? Pushes it away.
Juice? Pushes it away.
Toast? Pushes it away.
You can feel the intensity of our growing frustration as I fail to comprehend what he wants to eat. He gets infinitely more impatient with each wrong guess. The restlessness, the grunts, and then the quiet whines. Believe me, Charlie. I’m trying as hard as I can to get you what you want, but I can’t because I don’t know what it is. Eventually, we’ve exhausted all our options, and this is usually the moment when tears slowly start rolling down his face, and he resorts to screaming. I feel sad and frustrated too. Powerless too. Once we’ve reached that point, there’s nothing else I can do. I’ve failed, and now we just have to wait. I wait until I hear the silence. Not the kind of silence you want to hear. It’s a silence full of tension. A silence that means that Charlie has given up because that’s the only thing he can do. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t communicate and he can’t make himself heard. The only thing he can do now is surrender.
Still, I love Charlie. All of him. I’m not grieving him. I’m grieving my dreams of him. I’m grieving the dreams of Charlie as a seven-year-old, sitting next to me outside, at sunset, debating which Pokémon is a better starter option in Pokémon Blue. I’m grieving my youth, the naiveté that led me to believe that all moms get to hear their child call them mommy in a purposeful way, the innocence that tricked me into believing that all children love and cling to their parents. I’m grieving the dream of speaking French with Charlie, and secretly laughing at the first putain he pronounces. I’m not grieving you, Charlie. I’m grieving my dreams. �")
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