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Balloon Animal

Internet, prepare to become a fool if you ever have babies. A fool for LOVE. And as we all know, love makes us do some pretty silly things. We won’t mention that time when I created an entire website to ask Simon to attend my sorority prom/dance/whatever you call it back in college. Nope. Not gonna talk about how cringe-inducing THAT was.

So you do crazy things for love because you’re head over heels in love with that man. But then you go and have his babies and WHOAH NELLIE. A whole new level of humiliation ensues. You begin making crazy faces to make that baby smile. You hop up and down on one foot to make them laugh. You read Green Eggs & Ham at ungodly hours of the morning because they are just so darn precious with their little boy morning breath and you cannot help yourself. No. No, you cannot. You sing “Little Bunny Foo Foo”. IN PUBLIC.

And then there was tonight. We were driving home from having supper, which, naturally, included having a balloon animal made by the local clown. (No, I’m not being mean, he really was a clown.)  Can I be frank? Our track record with balloon animals is deplorable. Goldfish from Walmart have better hopes of living a high quality of life with us than balloon animals. (Which leads us to a whole other discussion about why I excel at keeping myself, my child, and my husband alive, but NOTHING ELSE. Not even grass.)  Anytime the balloon animals meet their untimely but expected demise, Jude erupts into unintelligible sobs. So as we headed out into the windy evening, I made sure to hold steady to the balloon poodle, named Comet Nutcracker Santa Claus.  Then, as we drove, ambling through the neighborhood, I decided to roll the windows down in the car.

What happened next was nothing short of fate. It was like an invisible hand reached into the car – I kid you not – and snatched up poor doomed Comet Nutcracker Santa Claus. And I found myself literally gasping as I watched the balloon animal get sucked out of the car. Simon saw it and he too felt what was unsaid between us: “What do we tell Jude?!”

I know. Dramatic for a balloon animal.

So what did we do? After a couple of minutes, Simon turned that car around and I began searching the horizon for Comet. Simon spotted him (her? it?), and slowed the car down. Jude is still clueless as to what we are doing. Simon rolls the car to a stop and I leap from the car across the street and grab the sopping wet balloon animal out of the gutter where it is now covered in crap just as a pair of too-cool-for-school guys are jogging by.  I spring back to the car in my skirt and hand the balloon animal back to Jude.

“Smooth move there! Hehehehe Nice save har har har” chortle the joggers.

Excusez-moi?

HARDY HAR HAR HAR. See how funny YOU are, Mr. Fancy Pants Jogger Man in the face of a sad & crying boy missing his beloved balloon animal! Hrmph.

And when we get home? Yup. There lies Comet Nurcracker Santa Claus forgotten. On the floor.   So glad I bothered springing across the street in my short skirt, facing humiliating hipster joggers.

Fool for love, I tell ya.

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