When my family was here a few weeks ago, we paid my niece to do little jobs around the house so she could buy herself ice creams. Her favourite NZ coin is the 10 cent piece:
It’s a picture of the head of a tiki, but my niece was having none of that. “Look, it’s a face. There are his eyes, see? And he’s poking his tongue out, see?”
“No. It’s a butterfly. SEE?”
So now, in our house, 10 cent coins are called butterfly money.
We found all sorts of little jobs for her to do around the house in return for butterfly money: feeding the cats, putting toys away, picking up dead flies… Towards the end of the holiday, she turned to my sister and said, “Mummy, what jobs can I do at home? I can’t pick up dead flies because we haven’t got them in our house.”
When she’s grown up she’ll remember me as the auntie whose dirty house smelt of cats and dogs, and was full of dead flies.