Last night: After an extra-long bedtime snuggle, I tucked the boy in and kissed his forehead. He held his arms up for one last hug. I obliged, and he gently nuzzled my cheek with his and whispered, “Thank you for my happy birthday.” My heart just about exploded.
This morning: “Look! This blue balloon isn’t going up any more! I throw it up, and it falls. I need to pop it.” Oh, blue balloon, your usefulness is at an end; your immediate execution is ordered.
Poor blue balloon. When I was Liam’s age, I couldn’t bear to euthanize my birthday balloons. They would live in my room and gradually sink to the floor until they were shriveled wrecks. I think my mother used to throw them out when I was at school. :)
I’m glad the birthday went well. Now to survive the next party! (Did my card get there in time? Canada Post is not always reliable)
I hate balloons popping. I have learnt to deal with it, because Sparky is extra-gleeful about popping them.
No, your card didn’t arrive yesterday; I expect it today. :)
I hate popping balloons too. Makes me jump/start every time, and after a few I tend to get a headache.
I am wishing you swiftly-popped balloons followed by soothing ocean sounds. :)