I think as grown-ups, we sometimes forget how simple little things can amuse and delight children. A ball seems so freaking boring. But give a kid a ball and all is right with the world. Bubbles never get old (sigh). No matter how many billions of bubbles a kid chases and pops, it’s like a fresh miracle every time you hold that slippery plastic stick in your fingers and blow.
God I hate holding that slippery plastic stick. It’s a mommy pet peeve. It skeeves me out.
And then there are balloons. To us – the grown ups – it’s a rubber or Mylar decoration for birthday parties or car lots. To a kid, it’s like a magnificent god on a string. It’s magic. It floats. It bobs ever-so-close to the ceiling fan. The harder you try to bite it, the faster it scoots away. If it’s a fancy balloon, the character on it smiles lovingly at you no matter where you are in the room. It’s like a cloud inside the house. And you can take it places, like the bathroom. Little kids’ necks will be permanently kinked for as long as there is a balloon in the house. It’s better than TV.
You’d think I would know better at this stage of the game. Will bought Stella Monkey Balloon when Felix was first born. That damn thing got caught in a ceiling fan and Stella freaked the hell out. From then on, if she wasn’t directly playing with it, Monkey Balloon had to be held at all times. By me. Since we were worried about her adjustment to her new sibling, Monkey Balloon didn’t have an “accident” as quickly as his predecessors. Monkey Balloon must have sensed my malice, because he started doing some creepy creepy shit. As his helium broke down, he would hover in strange places – often at eye level. I still sleep with one eye open.
Anyway, I had to pick up some stuff (liquor) at the store the other day, and Felix was dazzled by the balloons. The cute little shit wore me down and charmed a balloon out of me – a Thomas the Tank Engine Mylar number. He played with it all day. It was great. Until Stella got home.
You can imagine the rest. Mine! Mine! Screaming. Crying. Sobbing.
I should have bought two. Mom fail.
At least I don’t have to hold Thomas Balloon all the time. And if he shows up in my bathroom a la Monkey Balloon, he’s going to meet something pointy pretty damn quick.