I. hate. balloons.

I know it's not nice to complain. So I guess after this post I'm gonna have to go and get my Ann Voscamp on or something, but can I just vent for a moment?

I hate balloons.

Hate. Them.

I am convinced they are a straight from the pit of hell.

I mean first of all - the obvious: they are a choking hazard.

Not that my kids would ever choke on one because they are far too busy fighting over the balloon, or crying because it popped or hitting someone with the balloon, or crying because they let it go in the parking lot.

On January 10th, Sassy a child who shall remain nameless, released this balloon in my house.

Yay. My favorite. The helium filled mylar.

FYI, it is FEBRUARY 17.

That sucker is never coming down.

And you should have heard the wailing over this released balloon. You would have thought something died. And because it is there in our living room... occasionally she will look up longingly at it and bemoan its loss all over again.

And honestly, although it is a bit annoying to have a balloon semi-permanently affixed to my ceiling, at least it is stuck up there where they can't fight over it!

A couple of weeks ago my children completely abused a balloon-making clown at a family night at Chick-fil-a. They would not leave the poor woman alone.

They were obsessed.

My eye is twitching as I look at these pictures.

Please visualize me exiting the Chic-fil-a with my litter of children and some 20 odd balloon animals. Of course we had a casualty as we walked through the parking lot which incited much weeping and gnashing of teeth. There were accusations hurled, blame placed and bitterness rooted before we even made it to the car.

Now picture me strapping their little hineys into their car seats whilst balloon swords and flowers and kitty cats are bouncing around us and escaping out the doors and surviving angry swats and stomps as my children wrestle each other and fight over who gets to sit in which seat.

Because my children are peace-loving and kind.

I'm just saying, by the time I drove home with all that insanity and made another transfer of balloon critters into my house, I was ready to kill all of the things.

And the drama only continued once we were inside. They started beating each other with the swords and heads were coming off kitties and they were crying and freaking out at epic proportion. Every few seconds a child would run to me wailing because someone had taken HER balloon, or because HE had untwisted the wiener dog legs and now it was just a snake!

Brent came home in the midst of all of this and I directed all balloon related inquires and complaints to his department.

I don't mean to boast, but I feel like I put up with a lot of crap on a daily basis. I have a pretty high tolerance for chaos and filth and insanity, but I think balloons are the thorn in my side... the bane of my existence... my great nemesis.

But at the end of the day... I win.

Maranda