Grow Up and Blow Away

Last weekend we had a birthday party for Logan and a few of his friends from school. Enough about that.

For the party, I blew up a bunch of balloons. They pretty much migrated into the boys' room that night and have been there ever since. Tonight, while attempting to get the boys to clean said room, they got into some sort of fight over the balloons. I decided it had been long enough and it was time to de-balloon the house. I told them each to pick one balloon to keep and bring me the rest. As I was putting them on the counter, Logan asked me what I was going to do with them. I said, jokingly, that they were going to a balloon farm in the country to run and play with other balloons. Not for a second did I think the boys would believe that. I was very, very wrong.

Crying.

I remember there was crying.

Logan walked back to his room to cry in privacy. Declan just planted his feet next to the kitchen counter and started sobbing. His face was red, tears were streaming. At this point I felt a strange mixture of emotions: relief that I didn't tell them the balloon truth; bemused at their strange attachment to a bunch of balloons - they aren't even helium!; confounded at how to stop the crying.

Logan was worried the balloons wouldn't be safe getting to the balloon farm. I assured them they would be fine since they were all traveling together in a big group.

Declan wanted to know why they had to go to a farm and not live here with us. I said that's what happens when balloons grow up. They go to the balloon farm and meet other balloons from other birthday parties and they play and tell each other about the parties they came from.

I said they would have a happy life. Logan cried some more. He wailed at me, "Why do they get to go be so happy while we're here being so sad?!"

There's a song that we listen to sometimes in the car called "Grow Up and Blow Away" - I told the boys that song was about balloons going to the balloon farm.

As all these balloon farm tales were coming out of my mouth, I marvelled at the fact that the kids were believing every single word.

Finally, finally, the boys calmed down.

We will not speak of the balloons again.

Thankfully I didn't get caught with a pair of scissors at a balloon's neck. Thankfully Chris didn't get caught popping a balloon. We're crossing our fingers that the kids don't find any balloon pieces in the trash.