Weekend Stuff

Hmm, that unbelievably tedious post didn't seem to elicit a lot of comments there! I can't believe you all have better things to do than log in to tell me, "Yes, Sarah, that IS a nice shade of light brown/tan you have chosen there!"

Anywhays, I'm basically just typing without direction right now in order to stop my fingers from picking up a SEVENTH square of delicious, delicious cold pizza and cramming it into my mouth, which still thinks it's hungry even though its attached food receptacle is telling it that IT IS FULL. I used to think it was so gross that people ate cold pizza. And then I, um, ate some cold pizza. It is very nice. It's also the only thing stopping Eli from being a little ball of furious misery tonight. Well, that and today's third screening of Cars.

He came down with a sudden cold yesterday just HOURS after being a perfect angel at ye olde cheesy children's photo studio, where I had spontaneously dragged the kids in a fit of optimism that, for once, turned out to be well-founded. They were both lovely, about a katrillion times better behaved than the last time I was struck with the seasonal compulsion to pay a stranger to capture their precious childhood memories. (Memories of, y'know, being stuffed into matching outfits and awkwardly posed back-to-back.)

And speaking of memory-worthy situations ("And the grand prize for Worst Segue Attempt goes to Semidesperate Housewife!") last night Addy was out on the deck playing with one of the balloons left over from my birthday party when, inevitably, it slipped from her fingers and floated away. She burst into such piteous, heartbroken sobs, you would have thought she'd been grievously injured or watched her best friend die or something. "My balloon!" she wailed in genuine grief, huge tears racing down her cheeks. "It's gone! I lost my balloon into the sky!"

I held her and tried to comfort her, but it ended up being her own little self-soothing talk therapy that settled her down. In between hiccuping sobs, she would murmur, kind of to herself, "The balloon is ok? It's with the clouds? It's playing with them?" And I would say yes, that's exactly where it was. "And it is all fine up there, with the clouds?" Yes, the balloon is fine. "Maybe it can see me?" Yes, I suppose it could, I told her. "And I will have another balloon someday, maybe for my birthday?" she inquired, still crying. I assured that indeed she could have another one soon.

"And now tell me, 'Don't worry Adelay, it's ok, your little balloon is all fine," she instructed shakily. I did as told. "And now sing a song that is like, 'Hush little Addy, don't you cry, 'cause soon you will have another balloon...'" she specified. So I made up a song to the tune of "Hush Little Baby." But then it was the weirdest thing. I could barely sing it because I was crying too. And in my head, I was singing to myself, but not really about a balloon at all.