I was straightening up in the kitchen when my daughter runs up to me with a folded 10-dollar-bill in her hand.
She says: Here mommy, I want you to have this.
She says: Aww, thank you baby, but I don’t need your money.
She says: Yes, you do. I want you to have it, because I want you to always have money.
She says: That’s sweet baby girl, but it’s ok. It’s your money, you can put this back in your piggy bank.
She says: No, I want to give it to you. Because when we’re at the store and you say you don’t have any money, you can have money.
When we are out and she asks for something I don’t feel like buying, I ask her if she remembered to bring her money. She looks at each of her empty hands with exasperation and frustration.
“Sorry, I didn’t bring my money either,” I tell her. Technically I use my cards but I excuse my fib by thinking of it in a literal sense, and since it’s normally a vending machine she’s making requests at, it’s the truth.
I guess paying me off is one way to make sure she gets what she wants when she wants it.