The Red Balloon

Thursday was a rather blustery days around these parts.  Adam and Sam had a delightful time flipping balloons around the house. When we went outside for a moment, Adam brought his red balloon with him. He ran around the yard in his usual manner with his arms full of red. Then, the balloon was whisked from his arms and was rolling in the wind down the street. I thought of Winnie the Pooh. Adam turned to me in terror, crying great sobs and pointing as we watched his balloon float as high as the neighboring houses then scuttle across the road, only to be swept back up into the air. His sobs wrenched my heart and I chased his balloon. I was half way to it, half way down the street, when the balloon entered an open lot full of thorny weeds and there it popped. I retrieved the broken balloon and headed back to my boy. Ever one to not obey and stay in the yard, Adam was half way down the block by the time I got to him. I picked him up, handed him his broken balloon and carried him home as he huddled against me in the wind. He hates the wind on his ears.  It was a terribly sad moment and one so like a story book too. He wept, I laughed. Hopefully I am not  a horrible mother for loving the moment.