Money, money, money

Post shopping trip at Ikea, my mom bought the kiddos some ice cream, letting them 'pay for it' with their 'own' loonies.  Girlio was beyond excited to get to pay for her purchase, but more than this, she was transfixed by the loonie.  She kept holding it up proudly, announcing loudly for all who were in earshot, that she had her very own 'golden money.'  The people in line all around us were getting all gooey at this big-eyed cutie and her wonder at this beautiful loonie treasure, which of course, does a mama's heart good.  When it came time to pay, she handed her treasure over willingly for the coveted ice cream treat.  But as soon as her golden money slipped from her chubby little fingers into those of the poor high school kid working at the snack counter, she was crestfallen.  'He took my golden money!' she cried, indignant!  Over and over.  It was a pisser.  By this time, the people in line all around us are having difficulty containing their laughter at the little nugget having a crash-course in the meaning of payment.  Boy-o, myself and my mom tried to explain to her that she had to trade her golden money for the ice cream, but she was having none of it.  And now Ikea will forever be the place where the horribly mean ice cream man stole her beautiful golden money.  

(Though I'm sure this will not be any consolation to her at all, Ikea has stolen a good chunk of my golden money, too!)