The weekend could have been a real lemon. It’s not like there wasn’t anything going on around town, though. The kids were begging me to take them to the Delta Fair. Down near my favorite burger at Phillips Grocery in Holly Springs we could’ve gone to the hummingbird migration festival at the Strawberry Plains Audubon Center. In conjunction with its Impressionist show, the Brooks had a Creation Station where my kids could’ve crafted their own masterworks of pointillism. But Josh was laid up with a sinus infection and I took on his low energy as if it were my own.
To put a more positive spin on it, I gave in to the idea that we didn’t have to do it all this weekend. That keeping it simple might be our best bet.
My looser approach actually started with some impromptu kite-flying down by the river last Thursday, when the weather was still so cool and breezy. I’ve long kept a kite in the trunk of my car. So long, in fact, that its string had become almost hopelessly tangled with its tail. But only almost. After 20 minutes of determined unraveling, the kite was good to go.
When was the last time you flew a kite? Do you remember how fun it is, and how suspenseful? Thursday, the unreliable wind tugged it up into the blue, veering sharply towards a cottonwood, then dropped off precipitously, forcing my son to reel in frantically. And then it surged back up, nearly dragging the spool out of his hands. I did my best to stand back, offering help only when asked. It’s not easy for me to relinquish control — I do it only imperfectly and in bursts.
I had the opportunity to practice detachment a couple of other times over the weekend. On Saturday morning I brought the kids down to the Memphis Farmers Market. Before we brought Solly home from Ethiopia, I volunteered down there pretty much every weekend. Once I had two kids, though, the thing I loved about the MFM — that I’d always run into loads of friends — became a difficulty. Gus began to resent the way I’d drift into conversation with vendors and friends. And maybe he wasn’t so happy with how much attention his new little brother got either. So we kind of stopped going. This Saturday, though, I just let the kids run off to do their own thing. They found friends, listened to music, got robots and dragons painted onto their hands and picked up balloon swords from Dimples the Clown. And when Gus returned, he was ready to help me decide which field peas to buy.
By the time we got home, we’d also decided that he’d put up a lemonade stand near our house the next day. We knew that Sunday would bring hordes of visitors to the annual home tour in our neighborhood, and he stood a good chance of earning lots of Lego money by slaking their thirst. So while Solly napped, Gus and I concocted sugar syrups infused with lemon and lime peels and basil. We pre-made iced tea concentrate and debated the merits of adding cucumber to the limeade. On Sunday morning, Gus elbow-greased his way through dozens of lemons and limes, wringing every last drop of juice from them so that he’d be able to boast that his drinks were “home-made, fresh-squeezed.”
On Sunday at around 1, we set up on a corner half a block from home and right near the house that we suspected would draw big crowds. At the same time, a group of Boy Scouts was setting up its own stand, hawking cans of soda and bottled water. Gus and his friend Nicholas immediately got into the competitive spirit. To their credit, so did the Scouts. It Was On.
Two hours later, my boys had earned more than $60 and had sold completely out of old-fashioned lemonade, fancy cucumber-basil limeade, and Bangkok iced green tea. Gus found out later that he could’ve gone to the Delta Fair with another friend, but didn’t seem fazed in the least. He was too busy plotting his next business exploit. We agreed that there are a few things we’ll do differently next time. Most importantly, Mom will not be crouching on the ground next to the boys, mixing individual drinks like a matronly bartender. Gus will use a portion of the profits from this venture, set aside and earmarked, as his own startup fund. He will also negotiate the profit split with his friend — who is clearly destined for wealth, fame and power — before the start of business. And I will wander off to see a few of those houses, secure in the knowledge that my kid can manage risk, buy groceries, get over disappointment and run a small business.
{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
As always, I delight in reading your blog! Hugs to you and yours!
J-
Thanks, Janie! Maybe we can fly kites together next summer!
LOL!!!!
Jill, the kid’s got talent — he’s a born huckster!! (Of course, he has so many other talents, too…)