This past weekend was one for the books — MP earned her very first dollar.
The temperature reached the mid-60s Saturday before plummeting again Monday night, ushering in yet another round of snow Tuesday morning. Knowing all too well the weather’s fickle nature ’round these parts, we took full advantage of Saturday’s beautifully sunny day by washing the car. It was sorely needed.
Working in concert, Grammy manned the hose, I vacuumed the floorboards, and MP dusted, polished and buffed the interior.
I think she had ulterior motives for picking that job.
Now you see her.
Now you don’t.
Hear that noise? That’s the suckage that is my camera.
Anyhoo, she did such a great job, Grammy rewarded her with her very first dollar. If you can’t tell from the smugness, she thought it was pretty cool.
So last night, after picking her up from preschool, she got to spend her dollar. After a little comparison shopping, she settled on a fruit roll-up and a sucker. I DID have a few photos to document the event. I would show them to you, however, that would mean the memory card was actually IN the camera when I took the photos. It was not. Alas.
At any rate, I think we’re on the way toward instilling a good work ethic. And I already see hints of an entrepreneur in the making.
Like Daughter, Like Mother (er, kinda)
In addition to scouring between the sofa cushions and raiding the dryer for loose change, I too began earning money from a very early age. Around first grade, kids would actually pay me to draw customized cartoons of whatever their little hearts desired. Fools. The cartoons were really bad, and more often than not depicted a teacher saying something stupid. Belly laughs, I know.
And then later, somewhere in between the pet sitting and the lemonade stands, my puny second grade brain came up with a slightly seedy money-making scheme.
Back in the ’70s, my mom read Cosmopolitan magazine. Back in the ’70s, Cosmo was even … uh … bolder? … than it is now. Cosmo models were frequently topless, and occasionally fully nekid. This meant nothing to me, but apparently, somehow I knew it there was a buck to be earned. Naturally, I did what any budding entrepreneur would do.
I cut out the photos and sold them to the boys for a dollar each.
The details of exactly how I concocted the whole racket are fuzzy at best. Suffice it to say, after a good run, I was busted in the boy’s bathroom making a deal. Oh, the humiliation. My mother was notified that I brought obscene photos to school. I was grounded. And Cosmo was never seen in the house again. I have no idea what my poor mother thought was going on, but I’m pretty sure no one realized it was just business.
It could’ve been worse. I could’ve cut up National Geographic. Now THAT’s graphic.