| | A Lemonade Stand in 4 ActsAct 1: Just Kill Me Now The thought of lemonade stands, even lemonade stands in our yard with paper cups and little to no traffic, made me shudder. It's what I kindly deem a production. Where my kids want the freshly squeezed lemonade that costs more to make than they could sell if they did a lemondae stand everyday for the rest of their lives. They need signage and "maybe brownies, Mama!" When I was little, we wouldn't have asked our parents. We'd have sold twenty cups before they knew what we were up to. Of course, one October, we also managed to pilfer loads of old sheets and ancient Halloween decorations, set up a Haunted House in my grandma's garage, and charged every kid within a five block radius admission to tour it, for almost two whole weeks before any of our parents noticed. So, when Pam on Momwriters posted about a Crayola sponsored event, (Crayola was sending 120 cans of pink lemonade, a lemonade stand, paint markers and stickers to 1000 kids nationwide. Then, allowing them to pick a cause/charity and sell the cans, donating the money to said charity.), I didn't think we'd be lucky enough to be one of the 1000. I'm terribly unlucky (never won anything in my life unlucky) normally. But wouldn't you know, luck decided to show up that day. Thanks luck! How about dropping by next time I play the lottery. I didn't tell the children at first, hoping the email was wrong. I'd even relaxed when the Wednesday before the slated event, nothing had arrived in the mail. Too soon to relax, it turned out, when the UPS guy showed up that afternoon. With 120 cans of lemonade and a "real live lemonade stand, Mama" taking up a large part of the living room, I had to confess. It immediately became a production. We needed poster board and regular markers because "paint markers don't work right on poster board, Mama". And Hannah could not help decorate the stand, "because it needs to be perfect and she's only 6. Well, maybe she can color in some of the pictures on the sides." Finally, it was location, which also happened to be my last great hope for salvation. The children had decided our local grocery store was the best spot due to the fact we'd sold soap there for Katrina recovery almost three years previously. "Plus, we won't sell a thing in our yard," Georgie informed me. I'd really thought they'd say no this time but they didn't. "Come anytime," the cheerful manager said. "Just set up on the sidewalk by the vending machines. Anything to help the community." I tried to think of the positives: helping a good cause, the girls learning to speak comfortably to people, about sales and handling money. Failing miserably in that, I thanked my lucky stars it didn't involve fake blood and Haunted houses. |
