Festival of the Balloons
Our two children have birthdays that are two weeks apart, (born in different years, however--i.e. they aren't twins in which one was delayed two weeks after the birth of the other, which would have really sucked for my wife).
Mrs. Supreme Aglet makes the childrens' birthdays an opportunity to turn their bedrooms into colorful wonderlands of inflated rubber. The trick every year, of course, is to get the birthday child in bed, hope that s/he is consistent with his or her tendancy to sleep deeply (or, sleeply deep), pump up balloons in the master closet that is not inhabited by our cats, then fill the birthday room two feet high with the balloons while the child slumbers. (Note the liberal use of both genders in the preceding paragraph, indicating the sort of progressive individual that The Supreme Aglet truly is).
One byproduct of this practice is that these balloons find their way everywhere, seemingly multiplying on their own like tribbles. The spatial relationship of number of balloons to each birthday room somehow seems undisturbed as new balloons appear in other rooms of the house, including a blue and purple one right here in The Supreme Aglet's office. I am keeping them apart to ensure they do not attempt to reproduce.
Of course, a simple solution to addressing this balloon invasion would be to exercise my advantage as being on top of the food chain and destroying these balloons faster than they can appear. The problem, as any parent would be able to figure out, is that each balloon attaches itself to one or both of the children's heart strings, so that destroying a single balloon is tantamount to killing a pet, or flushing a fish.
Although the mechanics of the child-balloon relationship make it difficult to carry out the task of ridding the house of these cretans, we are still left with the advantage of a child's inability to keep track of so many beloved items and their tendancy to become easily distracted in their emotional tie to an object when a new object is introduced in its place.
Another way of slowly detaching the children from their beloved balloons is to invent games that involve violent interaction with the balloons. One of our favorite games is "Balloon Manager", which involves three to four players. In this game, one person acts as the Balloon Manager, choosing one of several balloons at random and throwing it in the air, at which time each of the other players takes turn volleying the balloon and calling out its color. At any random moment, the Balloon Manager can choose a different balloon as the one to be volleyed. If a player allows the balloon to drop, fails to call out its color when striking it, or calls out the wrong color, s/he is out.
Incidentally, I was thinking of packaging and marketing this game, but thought it unworkable considering how big the box would have to be to fit all those inflated balloons.
These tactics seem to be somewhat effective in allowing us to slowly reduce the balloon population through attrition; and eventually, all of the balloons are removed. It is unfortunate that this occurs only a few days before the next round of birthdays, but we cherish those few days of balloon-free living, and the world of the Supreme Aglet is once again in perfect balance.
Mrs. Supreme Aglet makes the childrens' birthdays an opportunity to turn their bedrooms into colorful wonderlands of inflated rubber. The trick every year, of course, is to get the birthday child in bed, hope that s/he is consistent with his or her tendancy to sleep deeply (or, sleeply deep), pump up balloons in the master closet that is not inhabited by our cats, then fill the birthday room two feet high with the balloons while the child slumbers. (Note the liberal use of both genders in the preceding paragraph, indicating the sort of progressive individual that The Supreme Aglet truly is).
One byproduct of this practice is that these balloons find their way everywhere, seemingly multiplying on their own like tribbles. The spatial relationship of number of balloons to each birthday room somehow seems undisturbed as new balloons appear in other rooms of the house, including a blue and purple one right here in The Supreme Aglet's office. I am keeping them apart to ensure they do not attempt to reproduce.
Of course, a simple solution to addressing this balloon invasion would be to exercise my advantage as being on top of the food chain and destroying these balloons faster than they can appear. The problem, as any parent would be able to figure out, is that each balloon attaches itself to one or both of the children's heart strings, so that destroying a single balloon is tantamount to killing a pet, or flushing a fish.
Although the mechanics of the child-balloon relationship make it difficult to carry out the task of ridding the house of these cretans, we are still left with the advantage of a child's inability to keep track of so many beloved items and their tendancy to become easily distracted in their emotional tie to an object when a new object is introduced in its place.
Another way of slowly detaching the children from their beloved balloons is to invent games that involve violent interaction with the balloons. One of our favorite games is "Balloon Manager", which involves three to four players. In this game, one person acts as the Balloon Manager, choosing one of several balloons at random and throwing it in the air, at which time each of the other players takes turn volleying the balloon and calling out its color. At any random moment, the Balloon Manager can choose a different balloon as the one to be volleyed. If a player allows the balloon to drop, fails to call out its color when striking it, or calls out the wrong color, s/he is out.
Incidentally, I was thinking of packaging and marketing this game, but thought it unworkable considering how big the box would have to be to fit all those inflated balloons.
These tactics seem to be somewhat effective in allowing us to slowly reduce the balloon population through attrition; and eventually, all of the balloons are removed. It is unfortunate that this occurs only a few days before the next round of birthdays, but we cherish those few days of balloon-free living, and the world of the Supreme Aglet is once again in perfect balance.
posted by The Supreme Aglet at 7:41 AM
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