Say you, say me

Do you ever overhear a parent say something completely inane? And you wonder what exactly they're trying to accomplish? I said one of those very things in the grocery store today to Peanut: "If you take off your shoes one more time, I'm going to take them away."

Think about that for a second. Wouldn't you think that was exactly what Peanut wanted? To not have her shoes, because she was taking them off? Even as I said it, I thought, "That sounds really stupid." Believe it or not, it was exactly the threat she needed.

We were finishing up a longer-than-usual grocery trip. I knew I had a lot to buy, but this particular store always has lots of samples to get her (well, me) through all the aisles. So I thought it wouldn't be a problem. But I was mistaken. Peanut has become very crafty with her rebellions lately, and today was no exception.

The entire time we were in line at the checkout, placing item after item on the conveyor, watching the cashier zap each one, paying and signing the credit slip, Peanut was getting increasingly antsy. So, each time I turned my back to do something like get out my credit card, she took off her Crocs and threw them on the floor.

She accomplished the Croc removal twice before I was done paying for the groceries. The third time was just as I was getting ready to wheel the overburdened cart out to the parking lot. I picked up the Crocs from the floor and then uttered my seemingly nonsensical threat: "If you take off your shoes one more time, I'm going to take them away."

Her response? "Noooooo, I want my shoes!" And they stayed on all the way to the parking lot, the whole time I was unloading the cart, even for the car ride home. Take that, eavesdroppers.

Personal Jesus

Who is pretend? Who is not pretend? Jellybean asks this about almost every singer, character in a book and person on TV lately. Her definition of pretend in these instances has just one criterion: Can we visit him/her in the flesh?

It started with "Annie," which is her favorite music. She asked one day if we could go visit Annie at her house. I explained that Annie is just pretend -- there is a girl singing the songs who is pretending to be Annie. Simple enough.

Then, "Can we go to Sesame Street sometime? I want to visit Bert and Ernie." Again, pretend characters in a pretend neighborhood. Comprehension.

L and I read her chapters of The World of Pooh, and she asked, "Can we go to the woods where Pooh lives?" We have woods by our house, so she just assumed he lived there, until I explained that the whole concept is pretend. I cushioned the blow by reminding her that we can "visit" by reading the book.

As I've mentioned before, her preschool is at a local church. The other day, after preschool, I was getting her ready for naptime. We settle into her bed and she asks, "Is Jesus pretend?"

Quilt problem all stitched up?

Our quilt crisis may be solved. We didn't plan it, it just happened, and it was way simpler than I imagined.

Previously, I had thought we might be able to have Jellybean's heirloom quilt/security blanket repaired by a seamstress or quilter. My quilting neighbor graciously invited me to bring the quilt to a quilting circle. All of the ladies there examined the quilt closely, and the consensus was that it could be repaired, restored and redone, but it wouldn't be the same. For one, it would lose its softness from being hand-sewn and "loved" by so many children (it was L's and his brother's before it was Jellybean's). That would be significant, given that she sleeps with it every minute.

So I was pondering elaborate scenarios like leaving it for the "quilt fairy" to take and having the quilt fairy replace it with a new quilt -- similar to what some people do with their pacifiers. I hadn't come to a decision about the whole thing.

Then, a couple days ago Jellybean woke up in the morning and told me her quilt was wet. Her Pull-Up had leaked (yes, we're having this problem again) onto the quilt a bit. So, I took it away to hand wash it, and of course it wasn't dry by naptime. So I grabbed an organic cotton blanket we have that I LOVE, and had it on Jellybean's bed for naptime. I was ready for a mini-crisis about the blanket and prepared to explain that she'd have it back tomorrow, etc.

Instead, she saw the blanket and exclaimed, "Ooh, look at the new blanket! Ohh, it's so soft..." So, thinking quickly on my feet (for once), I went with it, and told her she used that blanket when she was a baby, just like the quilt, and that it was very nice to sleep with, etc. My sales pitch held her for naptime.

After her nap, I told her that the quilt was getting too worn out and it was time to put it away... I was flinching for her meltdown. Nope. No problems.

So, now I feel like a crazy woman for having worried about what to do this whole time. Then I remind myself that it has only been three days. The other shoe could drop at any minute. However, I never thought she could be in bed without her quilt for three minutes, let alone three whole days!

The quilting ladies will be so happy I've preserved that quilt. And I'm happy to have rescued an heirloom from its steady decline.

Garage-sale sociology

Garage sales are part business venture and part social experiment. That is my conclusion after my experience last weekend. Oh, and a whole lot of hard work. But that part isn't as interesting.

The sale is a business venture in that, as I explained to Jellybean, it's like setting up a store that is open for two days. You choose a location (for some, as simple as, garage or yard?), sort and price your merchandise, establish your accounting system and advertise your business. Aside from the location, the rest of those steps are pretty critical in making it successful. But the business end isn't the most interesting component.

To me, the social experiment is the diamond in the rough. Everyone knows that you see interesting people at garage sales. And I'm a sucker for good people-watching, so observing our "customers" was an added benefit for me. I feel like I have a whole new understanding of the people who live in my area -- and the whole country, for that matter.

Some of the people were kind of funny: the wheeler-dealers who will cut the price on anything just because they can, the lonely people who stay at the sale for 45 minutes mostly to have someone to talk to the whole time, the quirky people in altered states who try to stick the price tags on you when they make their purchase, you get the idea. It was great to be doing the sale with my friend, because we could exchange information about those people after they left, like what they bought and the reason we thought they bought what they bought.

Others of our customers seemed all right until you looked below the surface. There were many entire families shopping together -- dad, mom and all the kids -- and it was clear that they were there because garage sales are the source of their clothing and shoes and other necessities. I doubt many families with young kids would choose garage sales as their top weekend morning activity (some would, I'm sure, but I could tell that wasn't the case for many folks we saw). I wanted to secretly give them whatever they needed instead of making them pay.

There was another customer shopping with her little daughter whom I will probably never forget. I can't bring myself to go into detail here, but I will always question whether I should have intervened in an ugly situation. The little girl got a Dora doll, and let's just say I hope that doll will give her some sense of love and security.

As a marketing person, I can't help be most interested in why people bought what they bought, i.e., where the business venture and social experiment intersected. We worked very hard at presentation and making it easy to get to everything we had -- we had so much stuff, we were constantly shifting items around as other things were sold. We had "departments" like clothing, housewares, electronics, etc., so it was easy to find specific things.

The first things we sold? Some drapery panels, a dated duvet cover and several pairs of out-of-style ladies' shoes, including my worn-out Merrells. We had tons of baby gadgets, toys and clothes, yet that is what went first. Eventually, of course, many of those sold as well.
Children's books, old purses and baby hats all surprised us with their popularity. We restocked those for the second day because they had flown off the shelves. Same with used (once) gift bags, which we sold 2 for $1. People loved that.

The things that didn't sell? We thought these were guaranteed to go, and yet we still have them: a computer chair, a baby bouncy seat, Baby Bjorn, portable radio and DVD movies. Our stuff was cheap, so lack of demand must be the culprit.

As interesting as all these things were to Spin Mama the business person, Spin Mama the people-watcher and Spin Mama the marketer, I think it will be a while before I do another garage sale. At the very least, it will be several years (thankfully) before I can accumulate enough stuff to sell. And, even though I have an organized basement, clutter-free closets and fewer material things (ahh!) to add to my meager profits, I still put more effort into this single project than I have into anything in a long time. It's nice to have my life back this week.