Money

So we're still getting requests for our dear departed friend Clifford's money, several almost every day. And the requestors keep sending us trinkets, and notecards, and pictures "suitable for framing," and address labels by the thousands. And nickels. Nickels! Sometimes as many as 3 to an envelope! You're supposed to feel guilty and send them back, plus a contribution. I just take the nickels off and put the letters in the recycling bin. Thus we have a lot of nickels lying around.

Well, guess who in the household likes nickels? That's right, Baby A and Baby B. They like to put the nickels in their mouths and suck on them. This freaks me out, because I am afraid they're going to choke on the nickels. If I put 2 or 3 nickels in my mouth and went running through the house, I'd choke on them. "We don't eat money, spit it out!" I say, holding my palm underneath their mouths. They run away, furiously sucking on their money.

A few days ago, Rocket Boy and I were going to take the boys on an after-dinner stroller walk, but first I took away Baby B's nickels. He cried desperately: "money! money!" RB took him back in the house for a moment and when they returned, Baby B was suspiciously happy. I couldn't look at his mouth. "You gave him another nickel, didn't you?" I asked. "Sort of," RB said. I gave up.

The next day both babies had several nickels in circulation (from hand to mouth to floor to hand to mouth etc.). I had an idea: "Let's not eat money, let's find something to put your money in!" I said, rummaging through the cupboard. What I found were plastic snack bowls, which I usually give to them full of fruit or crackers. The irony of this did not hit me until I saw the boys spitting their nickels into the snack bowls, then scooping them out and eating them again.

At one point all the nickels had mysteriously vanished (I don't want to think about where), so I hypocritically got out my purse and gave them more nickels. What an awful little coin nickels are: so large and heavy. I'm secretly happy to get rid of them. But now the babies know that I have money in my purse, so they keep reaching for it, up on the counter, grabbing at the strap. Before, they were mildly interested in it because they knew it sometimes contained pens, and my car keys, plus the exciting clicker that makes the car go "beep-beep" and flash its lights. But those treasures are nothing compared to money. Cold hard nickels, that's all we want now.

On a somewhat related note, I went to a job fair at the base today. RB talked me into it; I didn't want to go. For one thing, I don't really want a job at the base. But it would be good for us financially if I had one. For another thing, I had nothing to wear. But the weather suddenly got cold this week, and I do have a cold-weather outfit that just barely "passes" for interviews, so there I was: no excuse.

The job fair was from 10 to 2. The babies and I got there around 11:15 and met RB, who came over from his office to babysit. "So we'll be over at the playground, and you think it'll be about an hour?" he asked. "Oh no, I don't think so, maybe 15 minutes," I said. Turned out it was more like 10 minutes. The space was packed. Most of the booths had long long lines of people waiting to talk to recruiters. I plastered a smile on my face and stopped by some of the booths without long lines (they were the ones not accepting resumes or doing interviews). Then I accidentally stopped by a booth that did have a long line. "Can I help you, miss?" the recruiter said, giving me a funny look. I noticed the line behind me. "Oh sorry," I said, blushing and getting out of there as fast as I could. My smile was starting to feel desperate, so I decided it was time to go.

I found RB and the boys at the playground. My happy little men were running back and forth on a jungle gym shaped like a ship. I'm glad no one choked on a nickel this week. I just need to do some more thinking about how we're going to provide an ongoing supply.