About A Balloon

Yesterday, Stinkerbelle and I came home from school at noon, as we normally do. After we got our coats and shoes and bags put away, That Girl ran into her playroom to play, while I went into the kitchen to start making lunch.

She came into the kitchen all sad, with a seriously deflated purple balloon. She asked me to fix it and I said I couldn’t. But we normally keep a little bag of balloons in the junk drawer, and it takes a matter of moments for BDH to blow one up. (I, the asthmatic, am full of FAIL at balloon inflation.)  So, I suggested, maybe she could ask Daddy to get her a new one when he came home.

So she left the kitchen. And she fussed with her toybox for awhile.

A short time later, I saw that she had gotten her (disconnected, cast-off from Dad’s computer) computer keyboard out of her toybox, and brought it into the kitchen.

I asked her what she was doing. She told me she was typing a message to Daddy so he would fix her balloon.

“Good idea”, I told her, and left her to type while I finished lunch.

She typed very intently and then said “All done!” and put away her keyboard. She had “sent” a message to her dad to tell him about her sad balloon.

Off we went then, to have our lunch, and afterwards, for Stinkerbelle to have her nap.

When she got up from her nap, she came into my room and saw me typing on my laptop. She held up one finger very purposefully and told me that SHE had typed a message to Daddy about her purple balloon, for when he comes home.

“I see”, I said. And quickly fired off an email to let BDH know that he had been messaged about his balloon.

We went downstairs, so that I could start planning and preparing for supper while That Girl played with her toys. She went into the playroom and saw her sad balloon and burst into tears. I told her not to worry, because she had told Daddy about it and maybe he could fix it.

She got her keyboard out, and again set to typing ANOTHER message to Daddy.

Meanwhile, I messaged Daddy again, lest he did not know about The Balloon Disaster yet. He did, and, asking me to check that we had balloons in the junk drawer, made plans to “fix” her balloon. He asked me to put one out in the mailbox, but when I mentioned how it might not be good to have it out in the cold waiting for him, he changed his mind.

I went back to preparing supper.

Stinkerbelle did not forget about the balloon, however, and periodically mentioned her balloon and her messages to Daddy. Then, as he was on his way home, she went to the front window and began calling out “DAAAAADDDY, WHERE AAAAARE YOU” and “CAN YOU FIX MY BALLOOOOOOON PLEEEEEEEEEASE”.

Finally, I had to put a stop to the calling and the typing and such, and get Stinkerbelle started on dinner. She burst into sobbing. “Daddy’s NEVER coming home again! He NEVER fix my balloon!”

I got her calmed down by putting on some video of herself, dancing. Nothing That Girl enjoys more than video of herself.

Just then, Daddy came home. She ran from the table to greet Her Hero, who was holding a shiny red heart-shaped helium balloon and a plate of Valentine’s sugar cookies.

He had stopped at the grocery store to get Stinkerbelle a balloon, but found that the florist dept. (which sells the balloons) was closed. He had the manager called down, who explained that the floral department had recently changed hours and closed at 6 pm now, a full hour previously.

The manager left, and BDH found himself explaining the story to one of the checkout ladies, who ALL know Stinkerbelle well and fuss on her whenever she’s in. Just then, one of the senior checkout staffers, who ALSO knows Stinkerbelle well and has a dance party with her whenever she is in, stopped by and heard BDH’s story about the sad balloon and the emails from That Girl.

“Oh, just go cut him one of the display balloons!”, she told her colleague.

And with that, Stinkerbelle suddenly had a bright, shiny heart balloon. Free of charge, because they wouldn’t take any money for it. (BDH felt grateful and slightly guilty, so he bought the plate of cookies to make up the difference.)

Now, That Girl has a balloon that she loves (well, two actually, because BDH blew up the one in the junk drawer, just in case), and a Daddy she knows gets her messages that she needs his help. (And, as it happens, a couple of friends at the local grocery store who get them, too.)

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