My little entrepreneur

Last Sunday, Mark washed my car to earn some money for Kathleen's birthday present. He made $5 and it got him thinking...

"Hey, I should ask Kathleen if I can wash her car for $5," he told me. "And Edra, and Monica, and Vicki, and..."

He proceeded to name any and all of our friends with cars. I could almost hear the little cash register ringing nonstop in his head, and see all the toys he imagined himself buying with the loot.

So as soon as he'd finished washing my car, he hit the phone. He left a message for Edra and Monica, and when they called back, he set up appointments for them.

I thought he might whine or grouse a little when the time came, since he's deathly allergic to work of any kind. But he surprised me. He got out his white bucket, clean washrags and drying towels, and even his step stool. He was ready to go.

Edra had the first appointment, on Saturday. She parked her Ford Explorer in the driveway, and Mark's eyes grew big.

"I can't wash the top of that car!" he exclaimed. "It's too high!"

Edra excused him from the top, then joined me in the garage. We drank sodas and watched my little guy work.

When he finished, he pocketed the money into his folding velcro wallet. He even changed his clothes, because his shorts had no pockets. He found a pair that did, so he could carry his wallet in them.

On Sunday, Kathleen's boyfriend Tim came over. He hired Mark to clean Kathleen's tires, and paid him a couple bucks. He also left Mark a scrubbing broom, and gave him some helpful tips ("Start from the top, and rinse off the soap before it dries").

Mark listened carefully to Tim, and when his next customer, Monica arrived, he put Tim's words into action. Monica asked if Mark also vacuumed the cars, and without missing a beat, Mark answered, "Yes -- for another dollar." Monica agreed that was a bargain.

While he was working on Monica's car, our neighbor backed out of her garage. She rolled her window down and said, "What does it cost to be next?"

"Five bucks!" Mark answered.

"That's a deal!" she replied. She hired him to do her car when she returned.

By the end of the weekend, Mark had washed four cars and cleared $25. He was thrilled with the money, and I was thrilled at his work ethic. (I'd never seen him voluntarily work before!)

By the end of the day, he was exhausted, but that money was burning a hole in his pocket. I took him to Target so he could spend some. He picked out some little toy skateboards popular with the fourth-grade crowd.

Mark spent 30 minutes in front of the toys, choosing which ones he wanted, and running back and forth to the scanner to check their prices. He added up the prices over and over again, to make sure he had enough money.

Even though he'd added up the prices 10 times, Mark held his breath as the cashier rung them up. He ripped open the velcro on his wallet, and counted out 19 dollars, handing them over to the cashier. And then, with a joyful grin on his face, he grabbed his bag and ran out the door.

It was such a great lesson, from beginning to end. He worked hard, earned money, and got to buy a new toy with it. He even had money left over, because he wanted to save some to buy a bigger skate ramp later on.

And I was happy, too. I saw my son work hard, and earn his money. I also got to visit with my friends while they got their cars washed. The best friends a person could ask for -- the kind who supports and pays my kid to wash their cars, even though they were washed professionally last week.

A really big show

Work has been a little stressful lately. There's a new software release coming up, which means loads of prep work to do before I even get to writing the help. In addition to that, my boss asked me to give a presentation about my project.

My immediate response was to break out in hives. Luckily, he asked me over the phone, and couldn't see the hives, nor the cold sweat that quickly followed. (I'm a writer -- we like to hide out in our offices and write dazzling prose. We don't want to actually talk to people -- we pride ourselves on written, not spoken, words.)

He took my fearful silence as tacit agreement, and ended the call with an upbeat, "Well, it's settled then. You'll present at the next department meeting." I could almost hear him smiling over the phone.

I sweated it out for the next few weeks, planning, re-planning, scrapping plans, and planning anew. I finally felt pretty good about my presentation, until I gave a dry-run to a couple fellow writers. I tripped over words, forgot whole sentences, and pretty much choked. It was ugly -- I started out okay, then tripped over one slide with too many technical words. I lost my momentum, and apparently any prior knowledge of the product I'd just spent the last six months writing about.

But the writers gave me good feedback (more examples, more pictures), and the department head moved the meeting back a week, giving me more time. I used every last minute of it.

The night before the meeting, I gave Mark the presentation. He was very excited to hear it, bless his little heart. He listened to the first few slides, then held his hand up to stop me.

"You need to slow down," he said, channelling my mother.

"You're right," I answered. He told me to take a deep breath, and start again, slowly.

So I did. I read a few more slides, and started tripping over words again.

"Just read what's on the slide," Mark told me. "Stop adding stuff."

"But it's really boring listening to someone read exactly what's onscreen," I explained. "People can read that themselves -- they want more information."

"Well, then use smaller words," he said. "Or say the ones onscreen better."

What's that about everybody being a critic?? I was proud of him -- I thought he'd be bored silly, but he was giving me really good advice! I was so proud of my mature little man, and how quickly he was growing up.

Until he asked the next question, one I was pretty sure no one else would ask during the presentation.

"Can I sit on your lap?" he asked. I nodded.

And so we went through the remaining slides. His eyes finally glazed over, but it was about 10 slides later than I thought they would.

I was still nervous, though. "I totally choked," I told him. "I'm gonna mess this whole presentation up tomorrow!"

But he hugged me and headed for bed. "No, you won't," he called on his way out the room. "Don't get choked out -- just do a good job."

Wise words from a little guy. But I still worried if I messed this up, my boss really might choke me out.

But it turned out okay. I got to work early, and found the server for my demo was down. Got that fixed, paced a bit, bit my nails, and ran to the conference room, which was empty. Time was running out, so I called into the meeting from my office instead. I took a deep breath, imagined Mark telling me to slow down, and gave my presentation.

And didn't choke! The irony was that I did slow down, but the meeting ran late, and I got cut off at the very end during the demo part. But I didn't care, I got through the slides, and the demo worked perfectly. I sighed hugely, and tried not to throw up.

I was grateful to be done. I survived speaking in public (well, over the phone, but still...) I realized that I could do it, and that I owed a big debt of gratitude to a little guy. A little guy who likes to sit on my lap.