When Life Gives You Lemons

If it is possible for a child to have an entrepreneurial spirit, Will truly does. His favorite thing to play is "store," and he has finally succeeded in training Carter to join him in a pretend game where they sell their toys, artwork and pretend food, at a price, to willing family members, namely, Craig and me.

Last year, for his birthday, Will asked his Aunt Colleen for a lemonade stand. And she delivered, giving him a nifty little contraption that looks like an old fashioned peddler's cart, squeezing lemons and dispensing the tart juice into cups.

He's been thinking about selling lemonade for many, many months. We decided it would be a perfect venture for him at the beach in Ocean City, where he could provide a refreshing beverage in the afternoon, just as tired-out beach goers are on the long, hot walk home.

Our lemonade stand took more planning than you might imagine. First, we took a trip to the farmer's market we like for some lemons, 2 dozen to be exact. The next morning, we went on a walk down the boardwalk, scoping out the competition. Since fresh squeezed lemonade runs about $4 a cup on the boardwalk, we knew we'd catch the bargain shoppers with our 25-cents a glass sale. Then came the actual lemonade making. Craig found a tasty recipe for the perfect cup of lemonade and made up a batch of simple syrup.(Here's the recipe:

http://www.elise.com/recipes/archives/000479perfect_lemonade.php). He and Will then squeezed the juice out of several lemons and added ice, putting our poor ice maker on over drive. Finally, the sign. Will thought long and hard about his wording, finally selecting "real, homemade lemonade," illustrating a picture of his wares as well. My favorite part of his stand was Will's tip jar, his very own idea. He took one of his lemonade cups and stuck a piece of masking tape with the word "tips" written in magic market on it, something he must have picked up on one of the boardwalk stands.

We set him up in front of our house, where he immediately attracted attention. Our upstairs neighbors were the first customers, requesting a cup to be delivered to them directly. Dog walkers and bike riders also stopped. Will went through a few batches right in front of the house and, unless Craig or I was there to remind him, he conveniently forgot to offer people change. He's cute enough that people must not mind paying a 75-cent premium.

All good businessmen know that three keys to success are location, location, location. And Will is no different. Once he realized that he was missing prime business from people walking down the cross street, past his location on Central Avenue, Will picked up and moved business to the corner--his own idea. Thinking I would help him out and buy a cup, I walked down to the corner only to find him absolutely mobbed--and sold out. He was devastated since many people had said they would be back for more. Craig consoled him by explaining that another key to business is to always leave the people wanting more. As you might imagine, Will is already thinking about his next lemonade stand.

Will's first day in business was a success and he banked about $18, a pretty good profit for a few hours of work, considering he didn't even buy the lemons. There's money to be made in the lemonade business, especially if you're a gap-toothed, smiling 7-year-old. Sure, I bought the lemons and Craig helped with the actual concoction, but Will, with a little help from sidekick Carter, did all the selling himself. He sat there in the hot sun, unwilling to disappoint his customers who might find themselves both thirsty and with a quarter in their pockets just as they pass him by. I'm sure by the end of the summer, he'll have a loyal following, and some fond memories of his first real store.

Working in a coal mine. . .

Workin' in a coal mine

Goin' down down down

Workin' in a coal mine

Whop! about to slip down



The lyrics to the old Lee Dorsey song are what go through my head when I watch my boys play on the beach. By the ocean, every kid has his game of choice. Some like paddle ball, others the boogie board. Some work diligently on sand castles, complete with sea shell kings and queens. But my boys, my boys like to dig.

We have a "only take what you can carry" rule when it comes to beach time, which pretty much means that each boy can take two toys--one for each hand. Will never varies in his beach toy choices--in one hand, his faithful boogie board, which he lets trail behind him as he pulls it by its leash, and in the other hand, a shovel. The handle of the shovel is bigger than he is. He purposefully swings the shovel up over his shoulder and marches off for a long day of play.

Once we hit the sand, Will finds his spot. As I set up my chair and towel, he starts to dig. And he digs until he hits water. Then he picks another, seemingly random spot, and begins the process again.

Today was no different. Will put his dowsing skills to work and diligently began to dig. But instead of water, he found treasure. No, not chests filled with gold and gems, but little boy treasure. He found parts of a horseshoe crab shell and various parts and pieces of other dearly departed crustaceans. With his big shovel, he plopped each find into my open beach bag, hoping to take his treasure home, to protect it all summer long, and to take it with him for show-and-tell on the first day of the second grade.

Will does not dig alone. Carter is often his partner in crime. And, the two of them have made fast friends with our new summertime neighbors, two boys next door named Michael and Matthew. Maybe it is a boy thing, because they love to dig, too.

Most of the time, I'm happy to supervise the digging process. Today, the moms got to join in. I'm not quite sure how it started, but before we knew it, we had four boys buried up to the neck in sand.

And then, after a long day of watching the boys' beach labors, we suddenly found ourselves with four still, quiet boys. And we enjoyed about five minutes of peace before their digging began. . .again.

Bikini Baby

Now that I'm the mother of a girl, I know why they make bikinis for babies. It's relatively easy to get a squirmy little boy into a swimmy diaper and then a pair of swim trunks. Now, try to get a chubby, wiggly little girl, slippery with sun screen, into a one-piece bathing suit. I imagine the experience is similar to making sausage. The two-piece make the process much easier, both on mom and baby. And who doesn't love seeing that fat, little belly.

Last year, Charlotte was a relatively easy companion on the beach. As an infant, I'd tuck her away in a sling and there she would sleep most of the time. At times, I'd dig a little seat in the sand, cover it with a towel and she would sit there, under the shade of the umbrella, quite content.

This year, a trip to the ocean is an adventure for both of us. As a new walker, she loves toddling around. Every so often, she'll plop onto her bottom and excitedly dig both hands into the sand, then throwing it up into the air like confetti. When walking gets too tiring, she crawls. The sand must scrape her little legs, so she prefers to crawl up on her hands and toes, little bottom sticking up towards the sun. In yoga-speak, I think they call this "downward facing dog."

We're often annoyed by uninvited seagull visitors. They strategically fly overhead like vultures, waiting for children to drop morsels of pretzels and goldfish crackers. Charlotte enjoys their show, calling out "dog, dog," her generic word for any type of animal. She takes steps towards them, as if she might like to catch one. As she learns to run this summer, she'll be a great way to shoo away these beach pests.

And what baby can resist a tasty sampling of sand for a snack. Not Charlotte, that's for sure. She enjoys eating it by the handful, leaving her with a sandy, five o'clock shadow on her chubby cheeks.

The sand is fun, but the ocean is better. She loves to wade into the surf, holding up her dimpled little hands to mine. At first, she would strategically lift up her feet as the waves would slide in. But now, as the cool water washes up over her toes, she giggles and stamps her feet.

Pure joy.