What’s the Hardest Part of Teaching Kids About Money? Real Tips From a Parent In the Thick of It
Last August, I stood in the middle of Target’s shoe aisle, my back aching, the smell of buttered popcorn drifting from the front of the store, and listened to my 10-year-old Lila beg for a pair of $120 glitter Nike sneakers. We’d already gone over the rules: I’d given her a $200 back-to-school clothing budget, and if she wanted to spend more than the tagged price on any item, she covered the difference from her own allowance.
By all the standard money-teaching checklists, I was doing everything right. Both my kids have had allowance since they were 8, their piggy banks split into three labeled jars: spend, save, give. We drop 10% of every paycheck (chore and side gig money) into the give jar every quarter, and vote on a local shelter or food bank to donate it to. I’d quizzed them on adding up change at the grocery store, let them pick out their own snacks with a $5 limit when we check out. I thought I had this money thing figured out, until that day in the shoe aisle.
When I reminded Lila of our deal, she crossed her arms and said, “All my friends have these. Why can’t you just pay the extra $70 this one time?” I opened my mouth to snap that $70 isn’t nothing, that we don’t just throw money around on trendy shoes, then I stopped. I sat down on the plastic bench next to the display, and motioned for her to sit with me. “Let’s do the math,” I said. “You make $10 an hour babysitting for Mrs. Henderson’s 3-year-old down the street. How many afternoons do you have to work to make $70?” She counted on her fingers for a minute, then looked up surprised. “Seven?” That’s right, I said. Seven whole afternoons of playing princess and cleaning up goldfish crumbs just for the extra money for these shoes. Is that worth it to you?
We left the store with a $40 pair of plain canvas Vans that she admitted were actually more comfortable, but I couldn’t stop thinking about that moment on the drive home. I’d always assumed the hardest part of teaching kids about money was getting them to understand how it works, how to budget, how to save instead of spending everything the second they get it. But that day, I realized I was wrong. The hardest part isn’t teaching them about numbers. It’s teaching them to value something different than what every part of the world around them is telling them to value.
Every day, they see ads on their YouTube videos pushing $50 water bottles and $100 backpacks. They go to friends’ houses where every new gadget gets upgraded the second it comes out. They scroll TikTok and see influencers showing off their new clothes and trips, and get the message loud and clear: more expensive equals better, having the latest thing makes you fit in, you deserve to buy whatever you want the second you want it. And honestly? Sometimes I send that same message without even meaning to. I’ll order a new throw blanket for the couch just because I saw it on Instagram, even though the one I have is perfectly fine. That’s the competition our money lessons are up against. It’s not a kid being bad with money. It’s a kid being a kid, growing up in a world that’s constantly telling them to want more.
Over the last year, I’ve tried a few small things that have worked way better than just saying “no” all the time. The first is I stopped hiding my own spending decisions. I used to order things online when the kids weren’t around, and never talk about how I decide what to buy. Now, if I want that $60 sweater I saw online, I say it out loud at dinner: “I really want this sweater, but if I buy it this month, I won’t have enough room in our fun budget to go get ice cream and mini golf next weekend. Do y’all think it’s worth it, or should I wait until next month?” It doesn’t feel like a big lesson, but it normalizes that every purchase is a trade-off, even for adults.
The second thing is that “hour math” trick I used with Lila’s sneakers. Instead of me telling them something is too expensive, I make them calculate how many hours of their own work it costs. My 13-year-old Jake mows lawns for $15 a yard. A few months back, he wanted a $75 branded hoodie all the kids at school are wearing. He did the math: that’s five extra lawns on top of his regular weekly route. He thought about it for two days, then decided he wanted it enough to do the work. He bought it, wore it twice, and now it’s crumpled in the back of his closet. Last week he told me he regrets buying it, but guess what? That lesson stuck way better than if I’d told him it was a waste of money and said no.
We still have messy moments. Last week, Lila came home and said all her friends have the new iPhone 15, and she hates her 3-year-old SE. I didn’t shut her down, I just walked her through the numbers: she has $180 in savings, the phone is $800, that’s 62 more hours of babysitting. Or she can keep her phone for two more years until my family plan’s upgrade, and we can put that $800 toward the art camp she’s been begging to go to next summer. She thought about it overnight, and decided to wait for camp. She still complains about her phone sometimes, but that’s okay.
I don’t have this all figured out. Some weeks I’m tired, I just order takeout and don’t talk through the budget trade-offs, I just say yes to an extra snack at the store to keep the peace. Lila still scrolls TikTok and sighs over those glitter Nike sneakers sometimes. But that’s the point, right? The hardest part isn’t something you fix once. It’s just showing up, over and over, and giving them the tools to make their own choices, when everything around them is pushing them to choose the shiny, expensive thing right now. That’s enough for me, for now.
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