A major deal made in the backseat of the minivan

"Maaaa-aaaaax, can I have your backpack?" Sabrina asks in the singsong voice she uses when she wants something from him.

"NO!" Max answers.

We're driving home from a program at the Friendship Circle. At the end of every summer they give participants a backpack filled with school supplies. It's yet another reason I'm eternally grateful for this organization. Max is happy with the contents but prefers to keep his good old fireman backpack, and Sabrina knows it.

He's generally a good-natured kid. But: sibling rivalry.

"What if I give you a dollar, Max?" asks Sabrina.

"Five!" says Max, and I grin.

Up until pretty recently, Max didn't care much about having money. He's been learning the different denominations at school, and now he gets allowance, but unlike Sabrina he has not gotten gleeful about collecting cold, hard cash.

Do I want Max to learn everything he possibly can? Of course I do. But there's a limit to what he can focus on at any given time and what I, as his parent, can focus on, too. At school, he's getting good instruction in reading, math, science, social studies. His homework is mostly about math, with the occasional social studies project and weekly current events and book reports.

We try to help Max better understand money when we're at stores and getting or giving change. Although like his sister, and probably many kids, Max thinks you can get everything through this magical piece of plastic known as a "credit card." (Sabrina is also in awe of Amazon one-click shopping, and it's all my fault.) In general, teaching Max about money hasn't been a priority. Which doesn't make me a lesser mom—it makes me sane.

Max is coming along, doing stuff when he's ready to. A lesson I had to learn the very hard way years ago when Max was a tot and I kept expecting to be able to make him progress if I pushed hard enough—with crawling, with walking, with talking, with everything. But, no. Max is on his own timeline, and nobody else's. It's the way it was back then, it's the way it is now.

Sabrina said, "Max, I'll give you ten dollars for the backpack just to be nice!"

Max responded, "No! Five!"

Sabrina: "Max! Why don't you want ten? It's more money!"

Me: "Max, are you just being nice?"

Max: "YEAH!"

OK, so maybe Max is too good-hearted to ever be a business mogul. But, wow, this boy wants money. Coming next: Max starts saving up for an actual fire truck.

Image source: Flickr/ota_photos

When life gives you a lemonade stand...teach kids about money

Sabrina's been wanting to do a lemonade stand all summer long, and we finally got around to it this weekend. Max was into it, too, both because he loves lemonade and he's been wanting to raise money to purchase batteries for the Cars 2 Talking Lightning McQueen he wants for his birthday (so considerate of him).

I had it in mind that we'd donate money to a charity. Then I read about Lief, a 5-year-old with cerebral palsy whose parents are fundraising to cover his therapy this fall at the Anat Baniel Center in L.A. I talked with the kids about him, showed them photos and explained that Lief has CP, like Max, and he needed to get therapy that cost a lot of money. We decided we'd give most of the proceeds to him. "That's nice!" Max said. 

Until this year, Max didn't care much about money one way or another. He knew the different currencies, but it took him awhile to get that money can buy stuff people need and want (I suspect the Lightning McQueen car qualifies as both for him). I thought donating money to Lief would help him better understand that we can give money to help other people. 

At the end of last summer, I'd snagged a Discovery Kids lemonade stand kit on sale at CVS, so I just hauled it out of storage. I hate it when the cardboard box proclaims "Easy assembly!" and it takes you and your husband a good 15 minutes to figure out, leaving you feeling like the world's biggest blockheads. 

What to charge was a big debate. If a cup cost $1, the kids and I discussed, they could get a higher price—but if they sold it for fifty cents, they could sell more cups.

Their first major business decision

Getting it all together

Taste-testing (Max downed several cups, just to be sure)

Waiting for customers

Score!

I nearly keeled over from all the cuteness. Also: They got along amazingly well, a rare feat. When people asked how much a cup cost if they didn't notice the sign, Max would say "eh-eh ense" and Sabrina would translate (we didn't bring the iPad/speech app to avoid it getting baptized by lemonade). Sabrina would hold the cup, Max would pull up the tab on the jug's dispenser to let out lemonade and add a straw, and she'd hand it off. 

Me: "Sabrina, can I get a discount on a cup?"

Sabrina: "No, but you can have two straws!" 

When people asked if we'd made the stand, I'd say "We bought it ourselves!" and when they asked if we'd made the lemonade, Sabrina would say "We mixed it ourselves!" (Thank you, Country Time.) One neighbor said it was the best "hand-mixed" brew ever. 

The kids drank so much of the stuff I think they'll be on a sugar high till they go to college.

Bicycle break

Cute dog break

We were out there for a few hours. We met two families in our neighborhood we'd never seen before, an unexpected bonus. The kids raked in $20; they each kept $2.50, and we went online to Lief's YouCaring page and donated the rest.

Max put his money away in his Cars 2 wallet. Sabrina is saving up to get a dog (well, this week, anyway; next week she might be back to wanting a baby). Meanwhile, both kids are asking when we can do this again. I sense a fall hot cider sale coming on.