Friday, November 22, 2013

Farewell, Balloons

Abby received several helium balloons to spruce up the place for her birthday, two of which were mylar. The non-mylar ones were tossed the very next day, but the Mylar have remained, quietly haunting the halls of the house like friendly spirits. Though they doggedly press on nearly two weeks later, they're running dangerously low on air now, dragging closer and closer to the terminal floor.

Around the main floor and up the attic staircase they've traveled, bouyed by the warm air circulating from the heating system. I've barred them from the downstairs playroom due to the fights that always ensue in their presence, but they're a constant source of joy when spied on the trips downstairs for breakfast, upstairs for lunch, or out to the living room to leave for the day.

Michael had a jubilant jaunt on Sunday morning, just before church, as he chased a stray into our bedroom.

I knew of Michael and Abby's obvious fondness for the new occupants of our household, but I (wrongly) assumed that they were the only fans.

Not so.

A couple of days ago, Mia spied one hanging out by the base of the attic stairs and snatched its string out of the air as I turned the corner. She carried it with her all the way to our joint destination, and clung to it even as I placed her in her high chair.

Adorable hijinks ensued.

I always have mixed feelings about the introduction of balloons into the household. I have an irrational fear of the sound they make when they pop (though I can put my mind at ease about that when it comes to the mylar variety); I seem always to be breaking up fights when there aren't enough to go around (and sometimes even when there are); and I've been startled one too many times by the unexpected and eerie noises they make when hitting against ceilings and walls, and the freakish feeling of one hitting up against me as I walk by, unaware of its proximity.

That being said, I think I'll be genuinely sad to see these two go. The look of unbridled excitement that now appears on Mia's face every time she notices one hovering will be sorely missed, indeed.