Does everyone have a traumatic balloon story? Most balloon stories involve a balloon that floated away from them or popped unexpectedly. My story comes from when I was kid, maybe 6 years old. We had just finished eating at the Ground Round, and they gave us a balloon. A box of crayons was tied on the end of the balloon to hold it down, one of those two crayon boxes they give kids at restaurants. We got home and I placed the balloon down outside, most likely to tie me shoe as I did that a lot.
The balloon was placed on a table and a little gust of wind came through the carport. The box that held the balloon tipped ever so slightly, just enough that the two crayons held inside spilled out and landed on the cement below. The balloon, unencumbered with the crayons, abandoned me for the the summer breeze leaving me behind never to ponder me again.
Balloon stories are always more traumatic than they should be. They happen to us when we were kids and most impressionable. The balloon’s lifespan is just so short, and it always leaves us so dramatically. It either goes away in a loud, instant explosion that lets everyone know it’s done all it’s going to do, or it makes a quick escape out of our reach and taunts us from the sky for a very long time.
Eva and Eli are at an age where balloons are just awesome. We like to eat at Red Robin (yum) and after the meal is finished we grab a balloon on the way out (well, two balloons now). Unfortunately, we’ve run into a bit of an unlucky streak with the balloons once they reach home.
We’ve popped three. The culprit is the ceiling of our living room which is marked with a speckled pattern that has some some points that stick out. Most of the time the balloon hits and is fine, but not always.
The ceiling between our kitchen/playroom (seen below in all its glory) is tall and arched, and we’ve lost balloons while they’ve rested at the peak out of reach.
The Playroom (look close and you’ll see Eva and Eli in there)
Balloon lost to the peak of the house
The most traumatic of these happened to Eva’s pink balloon. There only was a green balloon ready when we were leaving the restaurant, but one of the fine hostesses said she would make a balloon for her and came back with a pink balloon. She carried it to the car and we tied it in the back for the drive home. Once home, we opened the back of the car and untied it. We handed the string to Eva to hold, when the event happened. In the haste to make the balloon for her, the hostess didn’t tighten the string to the balloon well enough.
The balloon slipped out of the loose knot and floated away, carrying Eva’s joy and leaving only a sad string behind. We had told her many times to hold that string so tight so she wouldn’t lose the balloon, only now she had lost it despite doing all that was asked of her. Only two and already learning that the world is not going to be fair.
Luckily the story ends happily. Eva has a good uncle who got her a pink balloon to replace the lost one, and all is well with the world again. As for me, some day that balloon will come down to earth with my crayon box.
Another lost balloon
I love balloons!
Me too! (a six month old Eva)