EDIT**Check out what Dave did for Christophee. So sweet I about cried.
Am I completely lame because I just held a funeral for a balloon? Does it make it worse that I was stoned on Nyquil, and standing outside in my pajamas just wanting to die in my bed?
Christopher came home from school completely excited because of his balloon-friend, “Ghostie”.
He made him during the Halloween party at his school. He painstakingly wrote his name and Ghostie’s name on the sides of the balloon with a Sharpie marker.
“Look Momma! Isn’t he cute? I worked on him all during the party! He is my little pal. He has big eyes like you and I made a pumpkin mouth for him and everything!”
It really was too cute.
He insisted that I take a picture and then announced that he was going outside to play.
As I was preparing to go crawl back into bed, I heard a huge shriek outside.
Christopher was hysterical. He doesn’t deal with loss well at ALL. This seemed to be Particularly hard on him. My heart oozed just listening to him. Nothing that usually works made him smile. Not even the threat of taking him to “The Tickle Hospital” which is my Big Gun.
Finally, he asked if we could have a funeral for Ghostie.
I’m a soft wuss. I wanted him to feel better. So we did it. Sorta.
I refused to actually bury a balloon in the earth, but I let him tell me what he liked about Ghostie, put him in a ziplock baggie so that he “Wouldn’t get yuckky from the rest of the trash”, and we put him in the big black garbage can.
Do you go to hell for letting a minor say a prayer for a balloon?
We stayed outside by the garbage can until Christopher was ready to shut the lid and go play.
I am sure that the parents that were late picking up their kids from school had a great view as they drove by my house.
“The former PTA President is standing outside in her pajamas looking like roadkill at 3 pm. Hmmm…All the rumors must be true!”
(I’m way more important in my own mind than in actuality. Just in case you didn’t know.)
After we came back inside, Christopher was still just…GLUM. He went into his room and laid on his bed (A sure sign of true sadness with him). I told him if he could find a way to give me a smile, I would post about Ghostie on my blog.
(I will let you know if my son grows up to be a FedEx dude stranded on an island mourning the passing of his beloved volleyball, “Wilson”.)