Fifty bucks: Molly's picked up a chunk of change along with her dog-sitting duties … but can she hold onto it long enough to make a connection?

Girls' Life, April-May, 2004 by S.K. Dunn

But forget the work--let's talk about the sacrifice! Instead of spending the $5 my mom gave me every day for the pool's snack bar, I used it at the grocery store and bought things like Fruit Roll-Ups and granola bars to brown-bag.

At first, everybody thought I was kind of a goof for not getting fries and stuff, but then some of them decided to be my "support group." Pretty soon, there was a bunch of us who hung out at the picnic tables instead of the snack bar. The guards called us the Snack Pack, which was pretty funny. Austin even came and sat at the Snack Pack table once, but I could barely talk to him. I prayed it would be easier over the phone--when I got one.

One morning, I woke up early to count the money I'd made so far.

Babysitting: $10 X 6 = $60.

Dogwalking: $3 X 30 = $90.

Allowance: $12 X 6 = $72 minus $1 a day for snacks= $30.

Mike Reilly's paper route = $20.

I went straight to the money journal I'd been keeping and added up everything. I stared at the figure.

One hundred and ninety bucks!

Not bad but it seemed like I should have more. I'd been working so hard! I figured I still needed $60. I should have been so much closer. I stared down at the page, not fully believing. Did anyone still owe me? Was there a job I hadn't added in?

I swallowed the lump in may throat and walked into the kitchen. My mom looked up from her cereal and asked, "What's wrong, Molly? Are you sick?"

I shook my head, fighting the tears that were trying to spring to my eyes. "I only have $190. I still need a stupid sixty bucks!" I poured some cereal and milk really fast in hopes of not crying for real.

My mom scooted her chair closer to mine and pulled my notebook over. "Well, let's take a look," she said while I crunched on my cereal. She scribbled a second before announcing, as if it made some huge difference, "You actually have $200! You should always double-check your figures, sweetheart."

My father, who'd been reading his newspaper, bent the corner of the paper down. "Hey, but what about ..."

My mother interrupted him. "What about expanding your dogwalking job? You should see about walking some of the other neighbors' dogs."

My father put his paper down. "No," he said, "I mean, isn't she forgetting ..."

My mother interrupted him again--I was glad to see she didn't only do that to me! "Yes, hon, you're right," she said. "She's forgetting that she has two babysitting jobs lined up for this week. That's at least $20 right there."

But I didn't want to be in the presence of my mom's optimism anymore. "It's just getting on my nerves that all I do is work, work, work, and it seems I'm getting nowhere!" They both laughed at that, which I really didn't appreciate.

Then, my mom finally started making some sense. "When I was in college and we needed money," she said, "my roommate and I scrounged our closets and drawers for stuff we didn't need anymore. Then we'd set up a card table and sell it. Like a flea-market boutique!"

"A yard sale," my father offered.

"A boutique," my mom said firmly.