At two and half, Sean has already become a very enterprising young man.
Today we went out into the backyard to pick up some branches that a recent storm had blown out of the trees. He worked diligently at collecting every branch and arranging them just so in his teeny tiny wheel barrow.
Antique Daddy and I haven’t arrived at a chores/allowance policy yet, so I decided that in keeping with my haphazard approach to parenting, I would make one up on the spot: If he works and I feel like giving him money, then I will. It’s the same policy I have for M&Ms and Cheetoes – all based on whim theory, which was derived from chaos theory and functions in the same manner which is to say devoid of logic or reason.
Later we went inside and found a little glass mug and wrote “Sean’s Bank” on it with a marker. Then we plastered it with Thomas the Train stickers to emphasize the respect that we have for money at the House of Antique.
When we finished I explained to him that I was going to pay him for his hard work and that he would keep that money in his new bank and that the more he worked, the more money he would have in his jar. Then I gave him a penny, a nickel, a dime and a quarter and explained to him that they were each worth a different amount. And then we put the money in the glass mug. He took a moment to admire it, then shook it vigorously and with glee like he was making a martini. After he recovered the coins that had gone flying, he ran off to show his daddy this fabulous new thing he had just discovered called money.
Later that evening, as he was running around the den, he bumped his knee. When he came running to me for comfort, I scooped him up and set him on the kitchen counter and administered a life-saving round of kisses. Yet even after that, he persisted in fussing, so I asked him what it would take to make him feel better and he immediately stopped crying and said “Money.”
Good Heavens. I’ve opened Pandora’s Box. And it’s filled with small change.