Pink Lemonade

For the past week or so, Andrew and I have had an on and off discussion over whether or not Pink Lemonade is pink because of the flavor or just because of food coloring. Yesterday he told me a story about how pink lemonade originated because someone accidentally used water that was dyed red for their lemonade.  Maybe so, but I think most pink lemonade tastes better than regular lemonade. (My brother, Nathan, makes a good point that some is probably flavored and some is probably dyed.)  Regardless, in my mind, Pink Lemonade will always be better than other lemonade.  Chick fil A lemonade is the only yellow lemonade I like. Yes, this is ridiculous, but it's how I function. It's similar to my unreasonable love for things that are purple.

Today, I left a very stressful/busy week of work and drove through the lovely neighborhood toward the grocery store.  I looked ahead to my left, and there were two cute 8ish-year-old little girls who were literally screaming "lemonaaaaade!!!"  at the top of their lungs.  What else could I do?  I turned my car around as soon as I could and went and bought a 4 oz. cup of lemonade.  The going rate was twenty-five cents; I gave them a dollar for being so dang cute. (I'm a sucker for cute little 8ish-year-old girls, because I miss my baby sister so much.)

I almost didn't stop.  I stopped for two main reasons: 
1.  I love pink lemonade. 
2.  I wanted to contribute to the development of these little girls' entrepreneurial spirits, because once upon a time...
Eric, Kelly, and Nathan Sundt were very small children.  We were probably 10, 8, & 6 or something like that.  We had so many things we needed.  I'm sure I needed dolls, barbies, purple things (I still need purple things), hats, and cool clothes.  Eric and Nathan probably needed basketball cards, legos, and other weird boy things.  We didn't live on a busy street, so a lemonade stand would not have been profitable.  We were smarter than that (or maybe our mom informed us).  So what could we do?  We needed these things, and we had no money. 

We had soil.  In the soil there were worms.  There was a lake up the road with plenty of fishermen who needed tackle.  Oh, yes we did.  We dug and dug in our backyard  for hours until we had thousands of slimy, wonderful worms that would surely make us millionaires.  Our parents are so cool.  They drove us to the lake to sell our worms.  I have no idea if we even made a dime, but I love this memory.  I love that I have brothers that sat in the dirt with me to dig up worms.  I'm grateful for parents who taught me to work hard for the things I "needed"  and who encouraged my entrepreneurial spirit by driving me to the lake to sell gross, slimy worms. 

Now, I still have an entrepreneurial spirit; lately, I really want to start my own bakery or maybe just enter my baked goods in a fair someday.  It's fun to dream...