Lemonade Life Lessons

K.,

Jamie has been hounding us this summer to open a lemonade stand. I always groan, discreetly roll my eyes and ask in return: “Do you know how much effort a lemonade stand takes? Do you have lemonade? Do you have a stand? Do you have a sign?” Of course the details do not faze Jamie; “Sooo… can we open up a lemonade stand?” I exhale slowly and pretend I don’t hear him. In some ways I am a hardworking mom, yet a lemonade stand reeks of effort and the thought of it makes me want to take a nap.

My Better Half last week decided that a lemonade stand was just the thing to do. Why didn’t I think of that before? Lemonade stand? Go ask your father. He set the boys up with all the sign making materials and supervised the lettering and painting.

Safety First.

Seeing all this hard work, I went and took a nap. Once the sign was complete, the boys decided that our red wagon with one of the rails removed would make a good stand. They could roll Headquarters directly to the action and keep business mobile– a low-rent food truck. The engineers figured out a clever attachment system for the sign, so all that was left was procuring their product. I was making a run to the grocery store, so we all climbed into the car to shop together. While I was finding my food items, Jamie, Kai and Leo tracked down ice, cups, and frozen lemonade concentrate. Once we had checked out, we discovered one of the frozen concentrates was a much higher-priced organic. Let me tell you, Jamie received a stern lecture in Aisle 5 about dwindling profit margins. My Better Half scanned the boys’ initial investment and estimated they owed him $8 from their first sales before they’d make a profit. (It was probably closer to a $12 investment, but Jamie was lucky his investor has a soft spot and is no good at math.) Feeling guilty about my lack of commitment to Jamie’s first foray into capitalism, I offered to make the lemonade, and as luck would have it, our sole Tupperware juice container was clean.

Before I knew it, the boys were all set up and ready for business at the end of our driveway. No business, however small and childish, is ever free of drama, is it? Just as the boys were putting the finishing touches on their stand, an 8 year old neighborhood friend appeared from around our house. Jamie claimed afterward that he offered a position to eager, young “Owen”. From my vantage point at the kitchen window, however, Owen executed a business coup even a B-School MBA would have called underhanded. I see a big future for Owen when he writes his best-seller: “Making Money the Fast & Easy Way: How to cash in on someone else’s good idea and hard work.”

Owen is standing just outside the photo. He’s already aware to avoid creating evidence for any potential litigation.

The four boys now positioned themselves at the end of our driveway, a veritable wasteland of lemonade drinkers. Ever the optimist and champion of small children and their big dreams, I predicted no sales on our small, residential circle. Had they done any market research? Where did they expect clientele to come from?  It was a slow Sunday and I hadn’t seen a car or even a person pass in front of our house in at least an hour. Yet, like ants to a picnic, thirsty lemonade drinkers began to drift over. Most of the sales came from kind neighbors with small children who had seen the new enterprise from their windows. They strolled to our driveway for a 25¢ Dixie cup of lemonade. Jamie quickly realized he had difficulty pouring lemonade from our large, unwieldy Tupperware container, so he happily appointed Owen the Official Pour-er and he himself became Head of Cups and Ice Cubes. After surprisingly brisk sales, the four small entrepreneurs decided to relocate to a busier street nearby. More sales followed, including a grandmother who drove by, turned around, bought a cup of lemonade, and took a picture of the boys to inspire her three year old granddaughter. Apparently the little girl’s work ethic is lacking. Another customer asked Jamie if he was saving up for something special? No, I need to pay my dad $8 for the lemonade and cups. The customer looked a little crestfallen that his pity cup of lemonade was actually going to line the pockets of a mercenary father who wouldn’t even float the start-up costs of his kids’ lemonade stand.

At the end of their first afternoon selling, it became quite awkward; Owen expected to be paid for his effort. Since Jamie had only netted $4 and Owen’s own mother had scolded him that he was not to be paid, I encouraged Jamie not to give away half of his profit. “I don’t know Jamie, it doesn’t seem fair. It’s been your idea all summer to start a lemonade stand. You spent all morning making your sign. You went to the grocery store. You bought all the materials. What would the Little Red Hen say? Owen shows up at the fun part and kind of took advantage of your effort. “ (Yes, Curmudgeon is my middle name.) Sweet Jamie insisted on sharing the wealth and paid Owen $1. “He’s 8 and can pour a lot better than I can!”

The boys set up the stand again the next afternoon and made a little more money. Starting to feel flush with cash, something needed to be done. You know where this is going, right? Can we go to the store? We want to spend our money! And what did they want to buy?

Please note Leo’s camel colored Coach clutch.

Sugary drinks. They spent two days selling sugary lemonade to earn a few dollars to buy excessive amounts of Gatorade, a sippy cup with 17% juice and a Captain America head, and a small, pathetic bottle of toxic blue liquid.

Jamie: “This is the BEST DAY EVER!”

Lucky for the boys, we practice laissez faire economics in our home, so I let them decide with only the gentlest of coaching what they might buy.

I hope there has been some learning through this whole process, but I have no idea what life lessons the boys will take away from this experience. Hard work pays off? It takes a lot of effort to make money, that’s why we don’t waste it? Trust no one, especially 8 year old boys? Their mom is a lazy bum and they should go to their father when they want something done?

Ugh. All this writing has made me thirsty. I need to go find 3 ounces of lemonade somewhere.

A.