My kids are always thinking up ways to earn money. From selling used pencils on the front steps to strategizing what of their siblings’ things they could sell in a yard sale, the depth of ideas continually astounds me.
On a warm spring day, two of my kiddos compiled all the leftover candy they could find in our cupboards and took the bowl out to the front gate. The two joined voices and shouted to the neighborhood like a baseball stadium peanut vendor, “CANDYYYYYYYY! CANDY FOR SALE!!!!!!!” Every pedestrian on the sidewalk, every vehicle with its window down, every bicyclist, bus rider and house in a 4 block radius knew what item was being pedaled by my boisterous and enthusiastic children. That is until the next-door neighbor bought them out for a little peace and quiet.
We don’t currently give them an allowance and quite frankly I think that is okay. Occasionally they receive birthday money or find a dollar under their pillows from the tooth fairy. Most chores are expected as a contribution to the family. But we’ve reserved a few roles as opportunities for payment. Washing windows, raking leaves, wiping down doors and walls…and anything else rare that comes up.
While doing labor to earn money is a great life lesson, it is the ingenuity of their own money-making ventures that usually has me trying to decide what to do. I have downplayed, poo-pooed and flat-out discouraged them from pursuing these wild dreams of philanthropy. Why? For them: fear of failure. I don’t want them to feel that awful sensation of failing at something they really have their heart set on. For me: fear of the awkwardness of asking for money from my neighbors. Pressuring those I live by to give my children money for something they don’t really need (or want) is not my cup of tea.
But two winters ago, something happened that changed my perspective forever. My industrious kids were outside mining ice out of the backyard. They found long icicles hanging off the house, square chunks buried beside the sidewalk, curved ice pieces around the porch and loaded them all on a wagon to be sold. They talked about their marketing plan—pricing, roles in the sales process—and made signs. They came to me all ready to go and I honestly didn’t have a good reason to say no. So, I just let them. I let them go through with their plan.
My eldest was the muscle and pulled the heavy-laden wagon down the sidewalk. My next son was the informative soft-sell, letting them know that we mined the ice out of our own yard that very day and would they like to consider buying some. My daughter? Definitely the hard-sell. She told them the prices and shoved the money bucket into their midsection and waited there with hopeful anticipation….well, more expectation. The baby brought the cute factor up, although seeing this team of elementary aged executives was pretty adorable.
Then something amazing happened. Our neighbors bought ice from my children….in the middle of winter. One gentleman bought a specialty ice sculpture, small but with a smooth curve on one side that explained it’s $3 price tag. Another asked for a set of two, one for each side of his walkway up to the front door. Of course, he tipped them for the delivery service as well. A teenager was leaving with his friend when my kids rolled up and popped the question. His comrade seemed annoyed with the delay, but you could see the teen soften under our gaze. He said he didn’t need any ice but was happy to make a donation to the cause. I watched as he unzipped his backpack, unscrewed a jar and pulled out a dollar for each of them, even the baby. He went on his way with a tender grin and I stumbled down the brick path with tears impairing my vision. Simply touching.
They earned $23 selling ice, with the help of some phone orders from the grandparents. I was blown away. You see, I thought I was allowing my kids to learn a tough lesson in failure and instead, with their optimistic outlook and hard work, they experienced the wonder of sweet success. I was prepared for grumpiness and judgment, but was surprised and blessed by giving hearts. All because one day, I decided to just let them.
My tune has changed a bit since that day. I “just let them” do a lot of things I would have previously put the kibosh on. They’ve sung songs by request on the sidewalk for a quarter, had Ziplock bags of colored water for sale as home decorations, and come up with a business plan for their “Crazy Pancake Shapes” while preparing the morning’s breakfast. (Look for pancakes on a stick coming to a bus stop near you!)
We kept our ice money in a Tupperware and saved it for summertime. Whenever the ice cream truck rolled down our street, we’d grab our cash and run towards the music. And “just let them” get whatever ice cream they wanted. They earned it.
