I’m starting to think that I need a new blog, one that just focuses on my six year old. He’s great blog material. He’s my little blogger boy. He’s a blog-o-rama. I often tell him he should have his own show. Take yesterday, for example, when he greeted me in the morning as I was getting ready for work with a fistful of dollars in his hand.

“I found some dollars,” one boyish hand holding up about four, crumpled, single dollar bills. “Found them in my room.”

“Hmmm…,” knowing he had no wad of dollars in his room the night before, “exactly where in your room did you find this money?” He took one, long, calculating look at me before responding. I know what he was thinking. She’s getting ready for work and is, therefore, distracted, so my chances of getting one over on her are greatly improved. I’ll hold still for a second and see if she blinks. Huh. She’s not blinking. Darn.

“I mean, I found them downstairs.” Downstairs are the bedrooms of his older brothers and the family room.

“Well, then,” I explain, “those dollars must belong to one of your brothers and you’ll need to put them back. You can’t take money that doesn’t belong to you. That’s stealing and it’s not acceptable.”

He immediately looked crushed, dreams of a bagful of Club Penguin trading cards quickly dashed.

I turned to the counter to grab my purse and prepare to leave the house when I noticed something funny. My wallet was sticking up out of my purse and a few single dollars were hanging loose as if they’d been partially tugged out along with a few of their friends but stayed behind, being too tightly tucked into the fold of the wallet.

“Ryan, did you take those dollars from Mommy’s purse?”

“No…yes.”

“Ryan, you don’t take money from anyone else. You know better. Why did you do that and then try to lie to me?”

Shrugging his shoulders, he reached down to pull out the empty pockets of his jeans like a sad sack from the ’40s, and said, “I was broke.” I had to turn my head away in laughter. He’s a ham, alright, but he didn’t get to keep the dollars.