Thirty
June 30, 2010
Coming forward to admit that I hate balloons.
Hate them and the inevitable angst, crying, and rending of garments that occurrs when one of the balloons a) flies away upon getting out of the car, b) rises to the top of the cathedral ceiling in the family room, or c) pops.
The only thing worse is when this happens to only ONE child’s balloon. Then the cries of “No fair!” are added to the mix. Note: we ALWAYS get different color balloons.
Of course our local grocery store gives out balloons so approximately every other day we reenact one of the above scenarios. I actually found myself telling one of the kids the other day that if they didn’t stop whining about their balloon I wouldn’t even go to the grocery store the next day. Yup, you can add that to the ever growing list of threats I never thought I would levy against my children. You know, before I had kids. Now? That I actually have children? Nothing that comes out of my own mouth really surprises me much.
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