Wednesday, March 17, 2010

balloons, static and the midnight hour

Since we scaled back on the birthday presents (and no big parties) this year, I wanted to still do something memorable for the big day. So I enthusiastically persuaded Joel to help me blow up balloons that we would dump in Donovan's room while he slept. Let's establish right now that some of my ideas are better in theory than in practice.

I hereby declare that whenever I am presented with a task that falls into the better-in-theory category, I will wait until after 10:30 pm to do it. Because everything after 10:30 pm is exponentially funnier. (Except sitting up with your son until 3 am hoping that his croup/asthma attack will calm down enough for him to breathe so you don't have to go to the ER. So you watch a bunch of Backyardigans episodes until you quietly plead with him that maybe you should get some sleep and he very sympathetically tells you that you can go to sleep and he'll just stay up and watch movies. But then he agrees to go to bed and SCAMPERS up the stairs, bouncing off the walls, and you wonder where he gets the energy. All fatigue is momentarily washed away, however, as he wraps his arms around your neck and whispers, "Fank you for taking care of me. And fank you for letting me watch a lot of tv. That was fun." You then tell him this was a ONE-time deal and you will NOT be doing this again and can we all sleep in, and so we do. Until 7. THAT is not exponentially funnier.)

I'm talking about home repair or seemingly simple tasks or things you absolutely should never do. (Have you ever used a kitchen torch to melt a huge piece of metal so you can break it down for the garbage men to take in the morning? Have you ever shimmied an old dishwasher up onto a skateboard to get it out of your kitchen? Have you ever decided to install a new circuit breaker into your fuse box? These are but a few of the things we take on after hours. We're like the opposite of horror movies - when the lights go out, hilarity ensues.)

Anyway, blowing up balloons. It would seem that 35 balloons would be a good number. But then you'd get to five and wonder if your lungs could actually handle it. And then you remember that you swam a mile that morning so you tell the balloons, "Game ON!"

But they got their revenge.

How do you efficiently carry that many balloons up the stairs? I grabbed a king size flat sheet, laid it out, and proceeded to gather up all the balloons and put them on the sheet. Cue giggling. Those things are static-y. And sometimes they don't stick TO each other - they REPEL each other. Or they repel each other and stick to you. Or they grow legs and run away. I finally gathered them all up into the biggest Santa's toy bag you ever saw and carried them upstairs (Joel carried three stragglers). Balloons in a bag are surprisingly noisy. Joel is telling me to be quiet and I'm trying not to laugh and all the while those balloons are inside my grinchy bag rubbing together (spoiler: static-y things rubbing together is the electrical equivalent of the birds and the bees - they make a LOT of static-y babies, if you will). We opened Donovan's door and quietly crept inside.

Then I opened the bag. And nothing came out. ALL of the balloons stuck to the sheet. Have you ever opened something that has that styrofoam packaging that begins to disintegrate into tiny styrofoam balls that stick to EVERYTHING? That's what it was like. And the more we flapped our arms and tried to get them off (also trying to help each other and setting off numerous fuse-blowing sparks), the more they stuck. I'm trying to help Joel and he's trying to help me and while we're both BRUSHING at these things, you guessed it, we were creating more static. At this point we weren't so much worried about waking Donovan up as we were about just getting the stupid things off of us.

We finally conquered those blasted things, though as we quickly escaped and closed the door, I could still see some of them kind of floating around on the power of the electrical charges. I hoped they wouldn't float up and stick to Donovan's face.

I think his room looked great - the floor covered by these products of our lungs. In the morning Donovan told us that he woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. "I woke up and got out of bed and fought something looked wee-yud and den I saw ahl duh balloons and fought holy smokes, dare's a lot of balloons in here for me. And den a bunch stuck to me and I couldn't get dem off and dey came to duh bathroom with me."

Holy smokes, indeed. Ainsleigh asked if I was going to put a bunch of balloons on her floor. I told her I had a different idea. A surprise. I didn't tell her that it involves crepe paper, her ceiling, and that we will attempt to do it after 10:30 pm. I think it's a winning combination.


Nataluscious said...

hmmm, I think I want to come spend the night at your house. And happy birthday Dono!

Allison said...

I can totally picture Dono swatting at the balloons in the middle of the night, realize they're not going anywhere, shrug, and walk to the bathroom covered in balloons. And this makes me giggle.

Why didn't you ever fill up our room with balloons? That would be way better than the turtle.

loewymartin said...

Oh goodness that had me giggling! What a great idea-that-was-hard-to-implement :)

Such lucky kids...