“Mom, at school today we found out about a family that we are all going to help for Christmas!”

“Oh that’s nice honey, what are you going to do?”

“Well, we are all chipping in whatever money we can donate so the family has a good holiday. So I was thinking I could give them twenty dollars from my own money.”

“Wow, where did you get twenty dollars cash?”

“From massaging your legs and helping babysit the kids.”

This girl is eight.  Had I really paid her twenty dollars?  She pulled out her wallet and said, “See!!” As I peered in, I couldn’t believe my eyes.  It’s no wonder I get to the end of my budget and wonder what happened to all of the “extra” money.  Eighty dollars just snuggled up in her cute little shiny pink purse, like a baby doll tucked in for the night.

Just the night before, I was begging for her services.

“Ella, will you massage my feet? Paaaleeeeeaaaassseeee?!

“Sure, how much money will you pay me?”  I thought about it for a minute, “Um 5 dollars for an hour?” She looked at me, “How about 6?”  “No Ella, 5” “No, SIX” “OK, FOUR” After we bantered back and forth for a bit like two dogs fighting over a bone, we settled.  Five it was.

She ran and grabbed a piece of paper and sketched out something.

“Ella!” I called through the house.  “I’m not going to pay you if you aren’t here massaging my dry cracked overworked feet!” She ran in with a bottle of lotion and had me sign up for my appointment.  I didn’t check the box that said manicure, I didn’t have time for that.  She started massaging me and I was so impressed that she had learned so well how to rub my calves at the end of a long day.  Who needs massage therapy school anyway?  Come one, come all and practice on my tired legs.

I started to melt into my off white chenille couch.  Well, it used to be off white, now it is camouflaged.  All foods that make it off of the neighboring dinner table find a home on this sad forsaken couch.  Red from the pizza sauce, brown from the pudding, and green from a marker.  I have tried to wash it over and over again.  What was the point in replacing it anyway?  Someday my kids would grow up and I will pass the embarrassment on to them.  ‘Everyone needs an old beat up couch sitting in their first house anyway’ I thought?

“Mom, I’m getting tired.”

“Just a few more hours honey.”

“But mom, I have to go do my homework!”

“Oh, ya.  Homework.  Remember what they teach you in that school of yours? ‘first things first’.”

“But MOM, I want to get straight A’s”

and I knew she was right, “Ella, just finish up and I’ll pay you.”

“MOM!”

“what.”

“You are SO cool!  You are pretty much like Spider Man because he has little black hairs on his legs too!”

And that was it.  I pulled my half asleep body off the couch, looking like a rouge mangled body from “The Walking Dead” and made myself crawl to the bathroom for a bath and to shave my Spidey leg hairs off.  Then I had the thought, “Maybe if I left them I would be able to climb walls also?”  So I decided to keep them.

Ella will just have to deal with it.  After all, she is supporting a family for Christmas because of my selfish needs.  Who says I am not preparing my kids for the future?  A girl with straight A’s and a talent as a masseuse will go far.

If you want to read more stories like this, hold tight.  I have decided after three years of blogging that I find sharing funny stories quite entertaining.  The fart story that I posted last week had me crying and wheezing as I typed it.  The thing is, I’m not in a funny or serious or reflective mood all the time.  Pink Moss is a combination of all of the, plus events with the family.

I have chosen to start a new blog *in addition to Pink-Moss* where I will share the funny things that happen in our home.  I think it will be a great collection of stories to read whenever I feel like laughing at the fun memories of raising my kids.  I won’t write on it every day.  Maybe just once a week, I am not sure yet.  I bought the domain last night www.mamaswitsend.com.  That’s right,  

Mama’s Wits End is the name of the blog.  I chose it because Jon calls me MaMa (and I hate it), combined with an old column written by Erma Bombeck called “At Wit’s End”. 

I had never heard of her, but after repeated comments from my Aunt RaNae that my blog reminded her of Erma, I went online and did some research.  She was right!  This lady spoke my language.  So, watch for the new blog!  The only problem is that I have decided to start it on Word Press to learn how to use it, and so far all I have done is logged on and stared at the screen of directions for unfathomable amounts of time.