'grab that cash with both hands & make a stash'

This afternoon, my youngest son and I were sitting on his bed, fishing coins from a near capacity quart-size Ziploc bag and dropping them into his blue Little Tykes piggy bank (which has a far better interest rate than my own lousy bank and gives out Dum Dum suckers). The coins were a gift from my son's grandpa. Either that or my kid handed him a scrawled stick up note, told Grandpa to give him all his money, and no one would get hurt, which, based on my son's desire to buy every wrestling action figure Target can stock, I'd not put that past him.

As we pulled the various coins from the bag, I quizzed him on the value of each, and we tried out various mathematical equations before feeding the piggy bank. Several minutes into our task, my son sighed loudly, then threw his tiny hands up into the air and proceeded to shake them out like he was in some hyper parade.

"My hands are very tired from doing this," he explained. "This job is making my hands very tired from all this money."

This job.

This job involved not actually having to do any work, and yet still allowed my son to pull in a far bigger paycheck than I will this week. Grandpa, Inc., is a leading manufacturer in spoiled children, and their non-taxing work environment makes it a great place to punch in and put the hours in.

"Mommy needs a job like this," I said. "I wish I had a job where I could drink all the orange pop I wanted and bank baggies of money without having to actually do any work!"

His eyes shining like the brand new quarters we found in his bag, my son looked at me with a grin and said, "You need to get yourself a Grandpa, Mommy. We can find you an old man to give you money!"

Assuming the only way I'd get money from an old man would involve either an inheritance or doing the sort of job I can't put my resume (And they don't call that a job for nothin', mister. Oh, and also, when I relayed this story to my husband later, he winked at me, patted around his wallet area, and told me he'd give me a raise. Get it? A raise? Yeah.), I assured my son that my financial portfolio was doing OK.

Then, when he wasn't looking, I pocketed 50 cents (parental commission), and we went downstairs and enjoyed our Dum Dums.