I found these two bills on the kitchen counter today. Not surprising. Well, actually the one surprising thing about it is that I did not find them behind the bed, or jammed in the crate that holds the shoes. Or lying in the floor of the play room.
Boys destroy pretty much everything at one point or another, and cash is no different. For some reason, boys take great pleasure in turning cash money into something that looks more like one of those horrible preschool projects involving dark markers, glitter, and way too much glue. Just look at Washington in that photo. He has like 9 pieces of tape on him. This is no way to treat the founding father. But hey – at least they’re trying, I guess. Not sure why boys always try to repair the money after their destructive methods are complete, but they do. Once I found four staples in a dollar.
I tried frightening them with tales of how defacing bank notes is a federal offense, which means they could get like their Razor Scooter taken away by Ben Bernanke, or get sent to the penitentiary until they are eleven. They were not impressed.
“What’s peniten-shun-ary dad?”
“Do they have snacks??”
And don’t think it’s because they have no understanding of the face value of a dollar. Oh, they know. Boys have already figured out they can trade the green paper for SpongeBob frozen frutti concoctions from the ice cream truck. The ones where his eyes are those black bubble gum balls. VERY high value item among boys.
They get it. They just don’t care if they are trading with dollar bills that look like they have emerged from an intestinal tract. Very embarrassing. I caught Nathan busting out the door and headed for that awful ice cream truck last week with a bill that literally was hanging together by less than a few dozen atoms. It was 99.876 cents worth of busted. Hanging onto its life by less than a penny.
“DUDE!! You cannot give that to the ice cream truck!” I yelled.
But then again, the ice cream truck guy is probably just thrilled he’s not getting another 225 pennies in exchange for SpongeBob. And I do hate that ice cream truck, anyway. Evil distributor of overpriced corn syrup… So, maybe we have arrived at a suitable disposal point for the busted cash.
Good luck with all the staples, ice cream truck guy.
Yes, you have the right be be astounded that I have actually surfaced and written some words. It’s been a while. Despite the fact that I’ve changed jobs, been on family vacation, and had more work on my plate than ever before in the history of myself, I should have at least been able to have kept up with a few posts. Also, it’s been a rough summer. I must admit that there were a few weeks in there when I felt that the boys had ultimately conquered, leaving me so beaten down by “everything” that I was never again going to even attempt to act like I find this situation even remotely humorous… And if you think “everything” is a lame way for a writer to sum up the frustrations that nearly caused their online demise, then go read posts 1 through 44.
Done? Good. THAT is everything.
But I’m back! At least on a limited basis. I shall attempt to press on…
In the battle to survive boys. 🙂