Money. Money. Money.

Recently, the entrepreneurial bug has bitten our daughter Bea. Her ninang (godmother) gave her a toy cash register complete with play money. She is enjoying this plaything so much that she has decided to become a mafia/mob boss of sorts in our home. She’d block the door and refused to let us pass until we pay her some pretend money. She also holds impromptu garage sales with her toys, sometimes with my stuff. The scene usually goes like this:

Mommy: How much is this? (holding up a toy giraffe)

Bea: Eight thousand!

Mommy: That’s too expensive. Don’t you have anything cheaper?

Bea: (holds up a toy cup) this.

Mommy: Ok. How much is this cup?

Bea: Eight thousand!


Oh well.

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