Writing Wrongs

February 25, 2006

Give me a red pink balloon on a long black string
I can whistle and I can sing
With my red pink balloon on a long black string
Oh I’d be richer than any king

Laughs are many and tears are few
Life's exciting and always new
In a world of girls and boys
In a world of simple joys

Last night we went out to dinner, the kids and I, to one of those hamburger places with stuff on the walls, with warehouse style architecture, which makes it loud and the acoustics are terrible. But the food isn’t bad. The kids ordered for themselves, very grown up, and the waitress had no problem interpreting Kyra’s “macalo cheese” for macaroni and cheese.

They colored their kid menus (I’m sure someday we’ll graduate to restaurants that don’t have menus to color and crayons), received helium-filled balloons, and in general had a good time.

Andrew took special care of the balloons in the car, so they made it home without popping (the balloons, not the kids). Once inside, they galloped around, Andrew invented some sort of game that involved leaps and pratfalls. Kyra walked around, the balloon’s ribbon attached to her wrist so the balloon followed her everywhere.

When she passed by me, I heard her say, “Come on, pink balloon. Want to be my friend?”

Oh, to be three, when a pink balloon could be your friend.

Charity Tahmaseb wrote at 8:36 a.m.