Just a Typical Saturday...

So our grocery store gives out balloons. Score. I tie them to the cart for each kid. But I never let the kids take them home. I tell them we have to leave the balloons for the next kids.

This is a lie.

I’m sure the next people to use the cart either don’t want balloons or don’t want balloons that have been slobbered on. I’m just guessing.

But I won’t bring the balloons home.

Because, inevitably, this happens:

Why yes, those ARE two balloons stuck at the top of a 2-story room

And when that happens, there are tears. I have a very low tolerance for tears. This is problematic since I have a 3 and 4 year old. But anyway, I try to minimize situations where there might be tears.

The husband doesn’t necessarily follow protocol, though. Which is how the above happened. Actually, it went like this:

Husband takes kids to the grocery store. Kids come home with balloons. I say, “Don’t let them go. And definitely don’t bring them into the living room.” Which, in kid speak, means bring them into the living room, let them go, and cry.

Anyway.

We had to get them down. So the husband and I came up with a plan. It involved a toy helicopter:

Do you see it there? Hovering under the green balloon?

Our plan involved getting the string caught up in the rotor. It didn’t work. So then we added a paperclip to the front, but that screwed up the balance. So then we added one to the back as counterbalance. Which kind of worked, but the battery power couldn’t really sustain the excess weight.

At this point, a good hour had passed. And Kid #1 was yelling, “Hey! I have a better plan!” (Her plan involved a ladder. BORING.) (But then another unsuccessful hour passed and we used a ladder.) (It wasn’t fun anymore.) (But anyway.)

I am writing. Well, I am revising. And by revising I mean kind of re-writing, kind of re-structuring, kind of re-logic-ing. I am sure there is a simpler way to do this than the way I’m going about it. But my way is kind of fun. It involves multi-colored pens and an assortment of sticky notes and allows me to yell at my computer screen while simultaneously punching at the delete key.

I’d imagine if Kid #1 were to look over my shoulder, she’d start yelling, “I have a better plan!” and suggest something very logical and practical and effective that would probably suck the joy out of revising.

Because revising is fun.

Seriously.

Try the hot pink. Just don’t look at my delete key.