One Red Balloon

In the mania of life, I find myself sitting in a vet's office with Dylan and our chocolate labrador retriever, Haley.  Dylan scales the bench in the lobby while Haley trembles violently.  She sits tucked neatly under my legs and her head tightly adjacent behind my knee.  I know she is convinced if she can avoid eye contact with any of the office staff, she can prevent any further harm.

As we wait for the dog to get her immunizations, Dylan picks up the two ceramic treat jars that they staff have placed out for the pets corraling through the office every day.  Brilliant.  Wonder how they haven't figured out to keep these treats at a level for "grown-ups only".  But a shattered ceramic treat jar is the least of my worries these days.  So, I let him happily open and close the jar and feed treats to Haley.

As passers-by compliment Haley, she shakes harder and more violently.  She normally loves attention.  Apparently, not here.  Dylan tosses her the umpteenth treat.

The tech comes and gets Haley for her dreaded shots and I am left with Dylan and nothing to occupy him.  Dylan starts to play with all the items they have for purchase...  dog bones, dog toys, and the like.  I am just waiting for the argument to begin about taking home a new dog toy that Dylan will surely take under his care.  In this moment, a kind woman with the staff greets us and suggests they can give him a balloon if would like.  She asks Dylan directly, what color would he like?  No hesitation, he blurts out, "Wed!"

The two receptionists behind the counter laugh and one of them starts filling a red balloon with helium.  He excitedly takes the red balloon and grasps it tightly since last time his green balloon floated up to the ceiling and popped on a hot light.

Haley barrels out from her shots and the tech can hardly handle her strength and desperate pulling to get to me and Dylan.  Her loud crying can almost be translated as, "Thank GOD you are still here!  Get me home, get me home!"  She couldn't be happier to see us.

We all pile in the car to go get Michael from school.  Dylan's little fist clutching his red balloon.  We forge ahead with our day remiss in bringing Dylan's prized red balloon in the house after school and errands.

Dylan discovers the forgotten red balloon the next day as we depart for school.  It is still in our car, and surprisingly still floating.  Today is a day both kids are in school at the same time.  It's the only day of the week that I get two hours, YES TWO HOURS, without either one of my little guys.  Not really a break since I have to fold probably a mountain of laundry.  Let's just say it's a mental break.

Both Michael and Dylan are revved this day with energy and the sillies as they climb into our SUV.  The sillies are when the boys can't wind down.

No.  Matter.  What.

They are obnoxious.  They are silly.  They are savages.  I now read the book, "Where the Wild Things Are" with an entirely new appreciation.  And as we get into the car, Dylan is surprised to see his treat from our trip to the vet's office the day before.  He giggles and continues speaking their silly, gibberish with Michael.  What is it with little boys and the potty language?!  Four letter words alright, at least the tame ones...  "poop, poop, poop"  And I think if I hear the word, "balls" one more time, I will lose it.

Neither will get in the seat and we are running late because I was tempted to throw a chicken together in the crockpot as we were walking out the door.  Dylan starts taking the red balloon and hitting me and Michael in the face.  On the eighth time, I snap.  "That's it!"  I have ignored the nonsense long enough.  I grab the balloon out of Dylan's hand.  As I go to strap Michael in, in my haste, I let go of the balloon.  Not on purpose.  But not not on purpose.

OH NO.  Holy Hell is about to break lose...!  I lower my head.  Dylan starts screaming as he watches his red balloon float up into the gray New Jersey skies.

The balloon slowly drifts up.  Since the helium is tired presumably because it's a day-old balloon, it moves painfully slow.  But it's full enough of helium that it tracks upward with no end.  Michael yells at me about what a bad mother I am.  Mean Mommy.  Dylan is inconsolable watching the balloon waft up to the clouds.  I just have no words.  Dylan is sweating as scalding tears stream down his sweet, soft cheeks.

It is part frustration, part sadness swirling as the damn balloon lifts higher and higher.  While it was a mistake, I tell myself with brutal honesty, I was just trying to remove it for a minute and didn't realize that it was a 'gone forever' moment.  I just needed to get the uncooperative kids in the car.  I am not entirely sure if I didn't also sort of mean to let go.  I just needed to let go of it...  for a moment.  One less factor to already muddle my complicated day.  In this mental consoling, I realize that I need to just let go more often.  Just maybe not of my toddler's balloon outside.

I certainly wasn't trying to crush my three-year-old's heart.

After Dylan's tantrum of full throttle kicking and thrashing to hit home he is mad (as if the screaming and crying wasn't enough?!), the raw emotion in the car radiates from each of the three of us as I drive the familiar route to school.  Michael tries to give me his dissertation on the event...  how would I like it if he threw out all of my jewelry?  And maybe he will make me a new necklace now because he knows that I am sad and sorry the balloon is now gone.

Dylan pouts and is angry, scrunching is little mouth in a tight pout and angling his eyes out the car window.  I continue to mutter to words of apology to Dylan.  He scoffs at me.  I try to touch his leg and he kicks me -- hard.  There is no use in trying.

But I am a mother.  I gotta come up with something.  In this moment of awful dread, I weirdly need him to forgive me.  I love these boys so much, and we are all so overstressed with all the demands of early childhood and rigors of a chronic disease.  The stress in our lives is maxed out.  I fear it is all taking its toll and we are all unpleasant to each other these days.  I want us all to find the love.  The laughter.  And the joy.  This is not how it should be.

I gotta figure out something.  I tell them I will try to find the lost red balloon if they can both just go into school nicely.  "You're going to find it?!  How are you going to find it?"  Michael is reluctant.  I will, I promise.  Mommies can some times fix things...  some times not.  I will try to fix this.  I explain that might even call the "balloon people".  Michael says, "What balloon people?" in a serious and not-buying-it tone.  He is too smart for his own good.  I explain not to ask questions, but sometimes there are people who can help in these kinds of situations (yeah, like stores that sell latex balloons...)  He is satisfied with my answer and responds, "I'll bet they have tall tall tall ladders."  Yep, buddy, I am sure they do.

This is enough to motivate both boys out of the car and into their classrooms.  Dylan tells every grown-up he sees about the red balloon, but once in his classroom he is shy and withdrawn as I get him settled.  After a few minutes of playing with blocks, I hug him and whisper that I will do my best to find his balloon.  He gives me two pecks on the mouth and nods when I ask if he'll be okay.

Once in my car, I realize with all the commotion, I am left with about one hour to do anything.  So, I head to the store to buy the one red balloon with a red ribbon.  At the floral counter of the grocery store, the employee smiles warmly at me as I approach.  She is working on a massive floral arrangement of deep scarlet roses and green leaves.  The yellow daffodils also smile brightly at me.  I explain that I need one red balloon with a red ribbon.  She quickly fills it from the helium tank, I notice the balloon is HUGE, much bigger than the other day-old red balloon.  I politely ask her to let some of the helium out.  She gives me a funny look and I explain the situation.  "I am trying to replace it to match the one I lost for my three-year-old."  Maria smiles brightly and releases some of the air.  As she ties the knot of the ribbon on the balloon, she affixes a weight (no charge) to the end of it.  She winks as I turn to head to register to pay.

An hour later I enter the classroom to pick up Dylan.  The children enter as they were playing in a different room.  Dylan is the third tot to enter through the doorway and the millisecond he sees me, he darts for me.  I am crouched and waiting to hug him with open arms.  He nearly plows me over.  We hug long and hard and then he stops and pulls back.  Dylan stares deeply into my eyes and whispers softly, "Did you find my wed bawoon?"  I nod and his face slowly reveals a grin.  He takes my hand and guides me over to the hooks where his coat is hanging.  He is ready to get his red balloon.

As the rest of the day would go, there would be more outwitting, more silliness, and more reprimanding.  The chicken for dinner would be ruined, CF treatments would be a course in tactical negotiating, and hubby would not be coming home until late.  But even with all of this, for one moment in my day, there was love, laughter, and joy.  All from one red balloon.

Well, two red balloons.