Dear Reader, 

Part of the beauty of being five is that nothing is impossible.  Not even daunting. 

For the past year, Ximena has been determined to get herself a horse.  She has planned out exactly what part of our postage-stamp city yard will become the barn and what will become the grazing field.  And if that doesn't work out, we'll just move to the country.  She knows that she'll have to earn all the money herself.  Let's see... horse, saddle, bridle, hay, trailer... farm in the country... that comes to about... many thousands of dollars.  No problem!

She'll scavenge coins out of the sofa.  She'll do chores around the house.  She'll sell her toys and clothes.  She'll paint and sell her paintings.  She'll write and sell her books.  She'll create a museum of odds-n-ends-from-around-the-house and charge the people a dollar and a half to see 'em.

Most of her schemes are entertaining for me and fade after a few days.  I don't want to encourage her too much, lest I get drawn into helping so much to the point that I am doing all the work.  I don't want to discourage her too much, but I try to manage her expectations about what other people are likely to pay money for.  And usually I find myself saying, "Probably no one will pay any money for [insert whatever she is thinking of doing]."

Her latest business plan has been to make frig magnets and Christmas ornaments out of colored clay, and then sell them.  I helped her a little with the concept and some of the handiwork, but I never thought it would go anywhere.  But creating the crafts was actually so much fun for her and her two-year-old sister Xiomara (and even for me), that she kept returning to that activity day after day.  She built up an inventory of 25 or 30 pieces.

Then one evening a friend mentioned to me that her six-year-old daughter and a buddy had just finished a day of hard work at their new sidewalk stand selling centerpieces made out of bark and tea lights.  They netted about four dollars in one afternoon.  I was impressed. 

And ashamed.  Deeply ashamed.  Who was I to judge a little girl's dreams and tell her it can't be done?  I needed another little girl to prove it could be done before I would allow my own child to even try.  

This afternoon, a cold cloudy February Sunday, she set up shop at the end of the front walk.  She had two trays proudly displaying her colorful wares - magnets for 25 cents or 50 cents (small or large), and ornaments for 50 cents or 75 cents (small or large).  We added a third tray of chocolate chip cookies (free), to sweeten the deal. 

We wore our coats zipped up to our chins and sat on our little plastic chairs.  She was excited, but cautious.  She wanted to know - did I think anyone would buy anything?  I said I didn't know.  But I knew for sure that if we didn't try, the answer would definitely be no.

Ten minutes went by.  No traffic.  Then a few cars drove by and didn't even acknowledge us.  I suggested that she smile and wave to all the cars going by and try to make eye contact.  That way, even if they don't stop, they might remember her better, maybe come back later, or maybe tell their friends.  I said that if the driver smiles or waves back, that would be progress.  

From then on, she got smiles and waves.  How exciting!  At that point, I could have packed up and felt good about the day.  It was nap time for Xiomara, so I hauled her inside, telling Ximena that I'd crack the window open upstairs so I could hear her if she needed to call me for help.  She was a little nervous about being left alone outside, and I promised to come back as soon as Xiomara was in bed.  

By the time I got upstairs with Xiomara and looked out the window, a car had stopped by the sidewalk and the driver was paying Ximena for two magnets.  I dashed back downstairs to help and explain and answer questions and be important, but by the time I got there, the transaction was complete and the customer was smiling broadly.  The nice lady waved to me, got back in her car, and drove off.   

Ximena was thrilled, but not as much as I was.  In the next half hour, each time I went inside to put Xiomara back in bed, another customer appeared and bought something.

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