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It had been a rough twenty-four hours. I’d volunteered to keep a friend’s young children while she went out of town, and to say I wasn’t used to caring for four kids at once (hers plus mine) was an understatement. I joked that the second they got in the car, I started calling my kids by the wrong names. I wasn’t the only one who struggled; her kids weren’t used to being either at my house or without their mom. When my oldest daughter opened a bag of balloons and blew them up for the younger kids, I think we were all relieved to find a fun distraction we could all enjoy. For hours, the kids played catch and keep-it-off-the-hot-lava-floor, then eventually moved outside to decorate my driveway with chalk.
When we saw my friend’s car driving down the street, her kids ran inside to grab their bags. As I was assuring their mom that they behaved just fine while also confessing my renewed admiration for moms of more than two kids, the youngest kiddo flew out my front door with backpack in one hand and balloon in the other. Though it wasn’t filled with helium, that balloon immediately got caught in a gust of wind. I laughed at first, because it surprised us all (and I assumed we’d catch it in just a few seconds) — but then, suddenly, it burst!
Second - Pretty - Pink - Balloon - Grass
One second, the pretty pink balloon had been dancing along the grass of our front yard and the next, it had exploded into pieces of plastic, victim to a too-sharp blade of grass. Stunned, the adults shook our heads as at least one child began crying. Who would’ve guessed that grass could be so dangerous?!
Later, as we picked up toys and tossed extra sheets into the laundry room, I thought...
Wake Up To Breaking News!
Been there, done that, twice...