Saturday, December 3, 2011
So you all know about the balloons, and the fact that I don't like them. Why would I allow young children to play with something filled with helium connected to a string? This morning, my loving husband cooked breakfast. Not uncommon in my house. Saturday morning, I sleep in, Josh cooks breakfast; it's great. There was one balloon left. I hid it in the closet the night before, because I had an irrational fear that it would somehow creep its way over to Jeremiah's crib, wrap it's string around his neck and hurt...you know, hurt him in ways I wish not to express. I was sleeping, groggy. I said (in a half-sleep-state in the early morning hours...I called out to Josh, " there's a balloon...do something with it..".) nobody heard me. I kept dreaming of the balloon, angrily floating through my home, but I couldn't break myself away from blissful sleep to do something about it. Where is Jeremiah? My subconscious called. Then I heard Elijah yell (he can be very dramatic) "OH MY GOSH!" OH NO...OH NO..." Dream state- .GONE. Why hadn't I gotten up sooner. I knew...I knew... that stupid BALLOON. Have I said how much I dislike them? It turns out that Christian had tied the balloon around his wrist so tight, his hand was turning purple. Not good, but...you know. Could have been much worse. Thank you, Lord. Another lesson learned; danger is lurking behind every corner. I need to be more watchful. I'm so glad the Lord protected my baby. Had it not been Christians wrist? I proceeded to wake from my *slumber* a little bit of a different person.