As I looked down at my finger I could see why it had started to burn. The skin had rubbed away in one section – the exact spot that I had been using to tie balloon after balloon after balloon.
That one spot had tied about 70 or so balloons by the time I had noticed how raw it had become, but I still needed it to tie a couple dozen more. A critical balloon arch, to be installed at the finish line of a color run at the kids’ school the next morning, was on the line.
Balloons are apparently serious business. So serious they can cause injuries – something I never thought I’d experience. Who gets hurt tying balloons? That just seems, like, villainous. Or something.
As I looked at my kitchen, with dinner on the stove, and the floor flooded with balloons, it became clear I was right smack in the middle of another one of those “What did I get myself into?” moments. And most times those moments come my way by my own doing. Not that I ask for it, but that I don’t say no to it.
But what was the payoff?
An immeasurable amount of giggles, which rang through the house in the morning as Miss Elliott did everything she could to keep a balloon from hitting the ground.
The acquisition of a new skill – sewing dozens of balloons together using a hooked needle and fishing line (hat tip Ashley for the suggestion). The ability to look like a colorful caterpillar or one of those Chinese New Year dragons on the way to school.
And getting dirty – or colorful, as it were. It’s pretty much one of our favorite things, ever. Turning into human rainbows was a big bonus. So yeah, I’ll need a band-aid for a little. And a shower. Not unlike any other day.
Yeah. Look what I did get myself into. Glad I did.