Driving the Lessons Home to Me

I have a sixteen year old. He is learning to drive. Sometimes he hugs the road a bit too close to the curb and I silently will the trees and the mailboxes to jump back about two feet.

We have high ceilings.

Enter one five year old child full of joy, lighter than the balloon tied carefully to his wrist by an unreasonable parent. Said child is clever and knows that school scissors will cut the ribbon and allow him and the balloon their much deserved freedom. The deed is done in an instant. The balloon is now 25 feet up and the child crushed, all before Mom has finished unloading the car of all the other children.

I came in to find my son shooting his glider at the balloon. One presumes he hoped to lance the loop at the end with the nose of his plane and have the weight of the airhog bring the balloon back down to Earth. Needless to say, it didn't work, though it did take down a cover from one of the lights on the chandellier.

He was very sad when I declared this a no fly zone. I told him to let me think on the problem over dinner. He agreed. That evening, while he was taking his shower, I used a broom to perform the manuever that the plane could not, leaving the wayward balloon stationed in his room over his bed.

"Wow! How did you do it Mom?"

Visualizing my son attempting to steer the broom towards the balloon and taking out a few pictures that like the mail boxes and trees, couldn't get out of the way, I punted.

"It's technical. I'll teach you when you're older."
"Like how old?"

"Sixteen?"

Amazingly, he accepted this answer. Now I just have to help the older brother with the driving. Maybe I could put this off for another nine years too!