My youngest granddaughter Sarah, age nine, raked in a lot of cash on her birthday last April.
The birthday money, plus her share of the proceeds from the girls’ recent lemonade-and-cookies sale, adds up to about $300.
Sarah, it turns out, is quite frugal. She is loathe to spend money, especially if a parent or grandparent can be cajoled into footing the bill.
Her sister Maddie, age 12, is wired somewhat differently. Maddie (who also has finely-honed cajoling skills) believes money is for spending, and the sooner the better.
That being so, Maddie usually is “bereft of coin,” as my high school English teacher used to put it, and she often is envious, even covetous, of her sister’s comparative riches.
Maddie’s birthday was last week, and a few weeks earlier, she told me — no surprise — that she hoped she would get money from the family, not gifts. Greenbacks. Moolah. Cold, hard cash.
But she realized that asking her relatives for money would be rude. What to do, what to do?
Well, I told her, if the suggestion came from me, maybe it would be less rude. So I emailed the greater Smith clan about it. Everyone was okay with giving money.
Thus, at her birthday lunch, Maddie ended up with an impressive amount of the green stuff. As she sat at the head of the table, counting and recounting it with relish, her eyes sparkled.
And she already had plans to start spending it. She made me promise that immediately after the lunch, we would go to the mall to shop.
More about that directly, but first — about the lunch.
This year, Maddie had two birthday parties. The bulk of the relatives took her to lunch that day, and her parents took her to dinner.
The birthday lunch worked out well. We booked a party room at an Olive Garden near the Mall of Georgia — the mall being a convenient location for the Smith relatives, who are scattered all around north Atlanta.
The unlimited soup, salad, and breadsticks flowed without limit. The cake, at Maddie’s request, was red velvet with one symbolic candle.
My brother and his wife livened up the event by bringing her six-month-old great-nephew.
He entertained us by sucking on a slice of lemon and reacting as you would expect.
Maddie was surprisingly good with the baby, as well as gracious, polite, and on her best behavior.
With intermittent exceptions.
Sarah, as always, was the life of the party.
Later, among the various conversations going on, I spotted Sarah and her grandmother Deanna off to the side, talking in whispers. I noted that Sarah had relocated the Olive Garden sticker from her eye to the center of her forehead. I walked over.
“But Grandy,” Sarah was saying, “You said to leave my money at home.”
“Honey, I meant you should bring a little spending money, but not all $300,” said Deanna.
“But now I don’t have any money,” Sarah moaned. “And we’re going to the mall!”
“Sarah, how about this,” I said. “I’ll give you $40. It’ll be yours to spend as you like. When we get home, you just pay me back the $40. A simple business transaction.”
“Do I have to give you back $40 AND all the money I don’t spend?”
“No, no, you get to keep the change.”
So the deal was made. Two 20-dollar bills changed hands.
After the party was over and the other Smiths had departed, Maddie, Sarah, Deanna, and I drove to the mall.
“I want to go to the Lush store and then to Bath and Body Works,” Maddie said. “They have cosmetics, lotion, perfume. Things like that.”
“Yeah,” said Sarah, “Maddie is really into cosmetics and soap lately. She –”
“What’s wrong with that?” Maddie barked.
“Nothing. I’m just sayin’ you’re into that stuff.”
Lush, I learned, sells handmade soap, cosmetics, and such. The store is very colorful, very fragrant. In fact, Deanna said the scents were too much for her, and she left to wait outside.
I endured the aromas a bit better, but had to step outside a few times myself while the girls browsed.
After about 15 minutes, Maddie took her basket to the counter and paid for her selections. We rejoined Deanna.
“Bath and Body Works is this way,” said Maddie, heading away with Sarah skipping along behind her and the grandparents hurrying to keep up.
Around the next corner, Sarah suddenly stopped. It was a Build-A-Bear Workshop.
The store was loaded with countless bins of unstuffed animals beckoning to be stuffed and accessorized. Sarah was enthralled.
“Deanna,” I said, “You go ahead with Maddie. Sarah wants to stop in here and look around.”
Build-A Bear sells a variety of ready-to-be-stuffed plush toys, including teddy bears, dogs, cats, rabbits, Disney characters, Star Wars characters — you name it.
After you choose an unstuffed toy, you take it to a large fluff machine, where an attendant fills the toy with stuffing and sews the body shut. Then, on the way to the checkout counter, you pass a wide selection of clothing and other accessories offered at additional cost.
“I’ve never bought anything at Build-A-Bear,” Sarah said, pacing in front of the bins, sorting through the animals. I kept quiet to allow her to concentrate.
Finally, she announced, “I like this one” and held up a Pink Cuddles model, a shocking pink teddy bear. The cost was $16, one of the lowest prices in the store.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she added nervously. I assured her that a Pink Cuddles was an excellent choice.
Our next stop was the fluff machine. Sarah handed the bear to a smiling attendant, who sat down at the controls.
“Do you want to add a scent packet for $3.99?” asked the attendant. Sarah shook her head no.
“Do you want to add a beating heart for $6.99?” Sarah said no.
“Okay, pick out a regular heart to place inside your bear.”
Sarah selected a small red satin heart from a bucket of red satin hearts.
“Okay, hold the heart in your hands to warm it up.” Sarah held the heart in her hands.
“Place the heart against yours.” Sarah did.
“Give the heart a kiss.” Sarah looked at me quizzically, kissed the heart, and handed it to the attendant.
“Now make a wish,” said the attendant. Sarah gave me another look.
The formalities having been concluded, the attendant inserted the satin heart into the bear, then rammed the bear onto the end of a metal tube through which the stuffing would be blown.
“Honey,” the attendant said to Sarah, pointing at the floor, “The stuffing starts coming out when you step on that peddle.”
Sarah gave it a stomp, and the procedure commenced.
After the bear was stuffed and sewn up, we moved to a computer console to fill out the bear’s birth certificate.
Date of birth: 6/14/16
Parent: Sarah Smith
Height: 16 inches
Weight 8 ounces
Name: Sprinkles
Sarah decided not to buy Sprinkles any clothing or accessories. The total cost of the transaction: $16 plus tax. I was very proud.
“Rocky,” she said as we left the store, “It was awful when that lady rammed the metal pipe inside poor Sprinkles! How terrible! How gruesome!”
“And you know,” she continued, “I did NOT make a wish like she said. What does that have to do with anything? And kissing the heart? Seriously?”
“Well,” I said, “Build-A-Bear has a lot of very young customers. The younger kids probably enjoy all that.”
“Yeah, I guess I’m getting too old for Build-A-Bear — but I’m glad I did it!” She gave Sprinkles a heartfelt hug.
I learned later that Maddie spent about $100, not quite half of her birthday money, on cosmetics, soaps, lotions, fragrances, and essential oils. Sarah spent $16 plus tax on Sprinkles.
It was, in both cases, entirely in character.
And neither of them had the slightest regret.
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