Unlike the ongoing heat in South Carolina, and the need for central air and ceiling fans, Michigan weather was often cool in the evening and warm during the day. We had our windows open for a nice breeze, and when it got terribly hot they were closed and a window air conditioner was all that was needed for the main part of the house.

It was wonderful to have a basement to work in. There were two rooms in addition to a recreation room and the office. In the laundry room was a washer/dryer, wash tub, a place for folding my clothes, to iron, as well as walls lined with jars of home made jams, fruits, vegetables and other storage. The sun came in through a couple of small windows, but the concrete floors and older foundation allowed for a cool, comfortable place to work.

As the day progressed and I was ironing clothes, I felt a bit overheated and grabbed a nearby cloth to remove the perspiration from my brow and face. Later in the afternoon our oldest son came in from work and saw me ironing.

“Mom, your face is red and you look hot.” He seemed concerned.

“It happens. I'm ironing after all.” I smiled.

”Don't you want a fan or something, Mom?” he asked.

“No, it has been fairly cool; I'll be done soon.” I said taking a drink of water from a nearby glass, removing some ice and cooling my skin off a bit.

He looked around at the clean crisp clothes and with a smile left the room. An hour later when I had completed my task and was checking the freezer for something I could whip up for dinner, our oldest son came back into the room.

“Mom,” leave this right here on top of the dryer, I made this for you.”

I saw an old shoe box which had a cardboard paper glued to it and a picture of someone ironing. Inside the box was a dollar bill and a couple of quarters, and next to the picture it read “Mom’s Tip Money.” I looked at the artwork and my son’s face and realized how much he appreciated the little things I did, that we often think go unnoticed or taken for granted. He had initiated a plan, and I was among the working class that earned tip money. The box remained on the dryer until we moved a few years later.

During the days that followed the kids gladly contributed dollars, or quarters and spare change, and my hubby threw in some bills to round things off. It had always been a clear understanding that Mom had dibs on any and all money found in jeans, pant pockets or shirts, and anything else of interest. But this box meant the world to me, not because of the change, but because I knew how much they all appreciated the small and everyday things I did.

Recently when our son came for a visit in South Carolina, although our laundry room is very small, and we no longer live in an area where a basement is popular, I did a few loads of laundry and washed his clothes. After he left I was striping the bedding and starting on some more laundry, when my eyes caught sight of something on the dryer. It was a small piece of note paper with a couple of dollars and some change on top. My eyes grew moist as I remembered a summer day over 15 years ago; his note was a reminder of a very special time. It simply read, “Mom’s Tip Money.”