“Come to my store!” exalted my daughter, pulling me up the stairs. I obliged, wondering which of my possessions she was going to try to sell back to me this time. That one has always been possessed of an entrepreneurial spirit.
” I have bracelets,” she said, gesturing to an array of beaded items she had crafted using the bead kit she got for her birthday. “And neck-a-laces,” picking up a pair of Mardi Gras beads she inherited at some point.
I picked up a bracelet. “How much?” I asked.
“5 cents,” she replied.
“I think you should up your price structure,” I told her. “To at least a quarter.”
“OK,” she said, taking my quarter and depositing it into a paper bag.
“What does that say?” I asked, squinting at her writing.
“Money for the pet store animals,” she said.
“You mean shelter?”
“Yes,” she said. “I want to donate all the money to a shelter.”
And oh, when she said that, my heart melted into a million little pieces and I realized I could die happy. I’ve never instructed her to fundraise, not for pets or for anything, really, so to see her do all of this out of the goodness of her heart just made my Grinchy heart swell two sizes.
“I have twelve dollars so far,” she said. Apparently before coming to me she had shaken down my husband, my son, and both sets of grandparents.
I gave her a dollar. “Thanks,” she said, pocketing the dollar. Then she eyed me furtively. “You ARE letting Santa know I’m doing this, right?”
Ah. It all makes sense now.
In the corner, Brody eyed all of this while chewing on a 50 cent bracelet. Despite his proclivity for naughtiness, at least he is pure of heart in his intentions. Nuaghty, nice, or somewhere in between, whatever he engages in, it’s with the most direct of intentions. I wonder if Santa cares about intent.