Sunday, September 27, 2009
Thursday from 2:00 PM to 8:00 PM:
"Mom, tomorrow we will go to Fred Meyer at 7:00 AM (he didn't have school Friday). We will use the Self-Check. We will spend $35.35."
"Mom, if we buy three things for $10 each and one thing for $3.35, then we will spend exactly $35.35." (We don't have sales tax in Oregon, thank God.)
"Mom, do you think Swedish Fish cost $10 each? Should we buy three bags of Swedish Fish and one more thing?"
"Mom, wake me up at 6:45, I will just boom, get dressed, eat and brush my teeth, and we will go to Fred Meyer at 7:00 AM. Don't forget. Promise you won't forget. I can count on you, right? You won't let me down?"
Friday I awoke, ate, dressed and was just about to go get him when he woke up on his own (it's a rare thing for him to sleep that late, so I was sure I wouldn't need to "remember").
"Mom, I'm so proud of you for remembering! Good job in remembering! You didn't let me down! I'm so excited to go to Fred Meyer and spend $35.35! Let's get ready."
We were at Fred Meyer by 7:10. They open at 7:00. The boy needs new sweat pants as he's grown and all his are too short. I thought, perfect, that'll take us close, then we'll find one more thing and be out of here.
We walked straight to the sweat pants, found a pair he liked in his size. $32.00.
"Look!" I cried. "Now we just need to spend $3.35!"
He was thrilled. We walked hand in hand through the deserted store, and I cursed myself for forgetting a calculator. We roamed the aisles and I kept scratching out simple subtraction on the back of my checkbook deposit slips. One by one our possibilities were eliminated.
After about 30 minutes of this it finally occurred to me that we could just buy the damn sweat pants and then buy a gift card for $3.35. Smugly we proceeded to the Self-Check. We beckoned the one checker that was stationed in that area to help us "load" the gift card, and we swiftly swiped.
The &%@# sweat pants rang up for $22.40. The first time in my life I was unhappy to be saving a few bucks.
It took me longer to realize than I care to admit, that I could simply increase the value of the gift card. The nice (and lonely) checker helped me void out the $3.35 and change the value to $12.95.
We walked out of there with the sweat pants, the receipt with the "right" number at the bottom (the only thing of value as far as Rojo was concerned), and a gift for Rosie's birthday, too.
As we held hands back to the car Rojo looks up, flashes the dimples and says, "Tomorrow we're going to try for $20.20."