Yup. Balloons. Nylon strips of Hell. Effing balloons.
Because you know what balloons mean in my household? Take your pick.
1. Fighting. If one boy has a balloon (like from a birthday party), then the other boy wants it. If they both have balloons, they fight about whose is bigger, whose is longer, whose is stronger (ignore the obvious male joke here, please).
2. Crying. Inevitably. Either because the helium balloon flew away or the non-helium one popped or it went up to the skylight or it isn’t red. Whatever. Let’s cry about it.
3. Death. I swear, my kids will be 37 and 40 and I’ll still be convinced they’re going to choke on a balloon. Little Brother recently decided it was a great idea to try to pop balloons with his teeth. Awesome.
Both boys went to a birthday party yesterday, met a real jedi knight and received, to their delight, giant balloon light sabers. They were psyched, to say the least.
Four total balloon pieces (including the attached saber handles). In the shape of swords.
So, because Mom is a total Scrooge and finally put the kibosh on bashing each other (and the furniture) over and over and over (and over) again, they decided the next fun task was going to be to spend the rest of the morning popping the balloons together.
Choking hazards! Yipppeee!
Oh, and then they moved on a giant punch ball balloon they found in the playroom.
Finally. Victory is ours.
Is it cocktail time yet?