Hopping Helium

Helium is a wonderful thing. It can make festive balloon bouquets for parties as well as the equally fun munchkin voice. I'm sure it does all sorts of other important things in the world as well, you know, the whole periodic table thing. But in our house, helium is touted merely for it's ability to make a balloon airborne. And thus follows the story of the run-away balloon.

Ella is slightly preoccupied with the pursuit of balloon ownership in general. She is attracted to the shiny Mylar like a fish to a lure and, for her, I think they can be equally as dangerous to her fragile emotional psyche.

Last week, she bought a balloon at the store with her own money. (We are trying to teach her this since she has recently developed a very obnoxious case of "I want that!" directed at every item at every turn.) She was incredibly proud, helped count out the money and hand it to the cashier and very deliberately tied her balloon around her stuffed kitty so it wouldn't blow away (or if it did kitty and the balloon would perish together- I shudder at the thought.)

We got the balloon home safely and then she accidentally got it caught in the outside screen door and it popped. Her cries and screams could have rivaled those heard at the wailing wall.

This week, she did an incredible job at the dentist getting her teeth cleaned so I offered to get her a balloon at the store. We did a refresher "basic balloon safety" course before we left the confines of the store. She was totally on board and clutched that string like one of those lifesaver rings. We get into the car without issue. We drive down the street and I (please don't ask why) had the windows closed but the sunroof open. You can see where this is going...

I say, "Ella, the sunroof is open. Make sure you hold tight to your-"

And out the balloon goes, swooped up through the sunroof as though it is tied to a zip line.

Now these screams even rival the ones from the previous week. She is leaving nothing for later, letting the agony poor out of her eyes in liquid pain and heart wrenching sobs.

I kept my head in the game. I looked behind me in the rearview and saw the balloon (mercifully attached to a small weight) hovering over the traffic lane we had just occupied. I seriously considered going back for it and had to give myself a talk about how irresponsible it would be to get hit by a car with my kids strapped into their car seats, all for a $2 balloon. But mothers will do desperate things to heal a breaking heart.

Suddenly, something miraculous happened. A car went by and the balloon (just for a visual it is a red heart-shaped balloon that says "I love you") lifted, crossed to the other side (crossing 3 lanes of traffic) and attached itself to the guardrail. I did a quick assessment, did a u-turn which meant I had to wait for a light, all the while praying that more cars passing it wouldn't give it more wind and rocket it into the ethers of the atmosphere.

I threw my flashers on (this was an emergency after all), pulled over onto the non-existent shoulder, ran with lightning speed around the car to the guard rail, untangled it with the deft skill and desperation of a Survivor contestant at an immunity challenge, and reveared that glorious silver string in my hand like the prize that it was. I ran back to the driver's seat, thrust it at Ella (and closed the sunroof) and took off like I was in a car chase.

Ella's scream stopped with a sudden, silent halt. And then, "How did you do that, Momma?"

"Simple." I wanted to say. "I'm super mom."