saving the day

Today was The Babe's last day of pre-school. wow. Her last day. Next year is kindergarten. wow. As a treat to celebrate, Daddy told The Babe she could pick a restaurant, and we would go out to dinner. The Babe picked Red Robin.

In case you are not familiar, Red Robin is a family friendly restaurant, complete with balloons for the kids. The rule in my family is that you get your balloon on the way out the door, as a reward for being good and eating your dinner. For some reason, the balloons are always a complete treasure to The Kiddos. They *love* the Red Robin balloons, and play with them all night. It was extra special tonight, because The Kiddos got to pick what color balloon they wanted, and they got to watch the host blow them up. The Babe picked blue and The Boy picked red.

Once we get home, it is important to let Daddy tie a metal washer to the end of the balloon, so it stays weighted near the floor and doesn't get tangled in a ceiling fan, or lost in the 2-story foyer. Daddy tied a washer to The Babe's balloon, and as The Boy was waiting for his washer, his balloon popped. I still don't know what happened, it didn't appear that anything happened that should have made it pop, but it did. It was, of course, quite loud. The noise startled The Boy, and he looked as if he were about to cry, but it wasn't until he noticed his red balloon in pieces on the floor that he really let loose. He was sobbing. "My balloon, my balloon! My pretty balloon!" Now, there is a part of me that wanted to roll my eyes at this, but I remember being three. I remember when a balloon was special, and I knew The Boy was genuinely upset. I picked him up to console him, and I carried him to the other room so he wouldn't have to see his balloon pieces on the floor. As I was walking away with him, I noticed The Babe looked near tears herself. I am certain the noise startled her, because I've met her before, but I also know that she's sensitive, and when someone else is as upset as The Boy was, it really upsets her, too. I left her with her Daddy and took The Boy to the foyer where we sat on the stairs.

I was hugging him, telling him it would be OK, and that we could get another balloon next time we were at Red Robin, when The Babe appears. Her face is tear stained, and she came to give The Boy a hug, and she gave him her balloon. She gave him her balloon. I almost died, it was so sweet, but I didn't want her to give up her balloon, so I said, "look, she said she'll share with you. Isn't that nice? You two can share the balloon". And all three of us sat in a little group hug on the stairs and admired the pretty blue balloon in The Boy's hands.

This is when Daddy enters the picture, holding a new blue balloon that he had dug out and blown up with the helium tank we had left over from The Babe's birthday party. Thank goodness for the Party City balloon pack. The Kiddos' faces lit up. The Boy and The Babe were both so happy to each have a balloon. Daddy had saved their day.

But my day had already been saved, watching The Babe give her balloon to her sobbing brother, even though I knew she wanted to keep it. Not much compares to that.