When Good Lemonade Stands Go Bad
It used to be so simple having a Lemonade Stand. I'd set up everything, the girls would make the sign, I'd make the lemonade and then the girls would sit and look so adorable that every single passer-by would pay a quarter for a cup of lemonade and sometimes a hand-drawn picture. The girls would split the profits and go to bed, sticky and knowing they had assuaged the neighborhood's thirst.
(Just to explain: the picture above was taken in 2004, which was the year that Jane refused to wear anything but pajamas. Yes, for an entire year. Seriously. What?)
So, yesterday, Ana and her good friend set up a Lemonade Stand. From the beginning there was dissension over who, of the kids on our street, could be involved and who got to do what important task. There were tears. There were apologies. There was a lot of talking about feelings.
There was a LOT OF DRAMA.
By the time I went to pick up Jane from school, things seemed to have settled down. At least, people had stopped crying and lemonade was being sold. I was pretty proud of Ana up to this point because she managed to not get involved in the "who gets to be involved, who's horning in, who gets left out" histrionics. Ana has been my child for almost all of her 10.25 years and she knows if she starts that kind of stuff, whatever event she is involved in will come to an abrupt end. I have so little patience for the politics of exclusion.
The introduction of her little sister to the mix soon changed THAT, though. Things disintegrated in a hurry. There was fighting. Jane said "Damn" in front of everyone, because, you know, I wasn't mortified enough. (It's not the worst word she could have picked up, but still.) She ran home crying. I was now pretty (damn) cranky. As time came to split up the profits, I actually found myself saying, "But who provided your seed capital? If you are not going to pay your labor force fairly, then you will have to pay me for the supplies you used."
(Call me Mrs. Big. Next, I'll be requiring an annual report and an audit that conforms to the SEC standards.)
And oh, look, everyone is crying again.
WHOO-KAY then, let's all just pack up. The other mother involved said, "This is my FIRST lemonade stand and this is my LAST."
Sometimes I wonder if what I really miss most about my life in Austin is the uncomplicated childhoods of my children that we seem to have left behind there. I mean, I remember when a staging a lemonade stand didn't resemble the Mid-East peace process.
I'm just SO not ready for the teenage years.