So I was fixing lunch at 2 yesterday afternoon when Boots tugged at my shirt . “Mommy! Somebody sent us balloons.”

“That’s nice, babes,” I said absently, figuring I was entitled to answer absently if it was 2 and I still hadn’t had lunch. Besides, I figured he was talking about balloons that had floated to an overhead ledge in the living room during our Valentine’s Day party and still were stuck there. Old news wasn’t going to disrupt my turkey sub.

But a few minutes later,  Big Guy said the same thing. “Where’d the balloons in the tree come from?”

Turns out, they were right. I finally looked out the kitchen window and saw two balloons bobbing in the breeze. They weren’t even the cheap ones I usually  buy. They were mylar like the guys beg for in the grocery store — a dog and a smiley face, both saying “Get Well.”

Within 15 minutes , the original owner wasn’t the only one who needed wishes for a speedy recovery. So did Boots, after Big Guy pulled off a classic evil older sibling caper.

Boots claimed the smiley face one first, before we’d even gone out to extricate them from the tree  — he loves smiley faces right now, with a passion  usually reserved only for Thomas or Wubbzy.

So of course Big Guy decided he wanted the smiley and proceeded to pout when I told him Boots had claimed it already. I pointed out that the other balloon had a “cute little beagle puppy just like Mawmaw’s” and Big Guy appeared to be mollified.

Good thing there was a third, previously hidden balloon when we got outside. The deviousness lurking in Big Guy’s little mind made it a necessity.

I walked outside to empty the garbage a few minutes after we’d gone back in, and Boots met me at the door in tears when I returned.

“Mommy! He broked my smiley balloon!”

“He told me to,” Big Guy quickly countered.

More like, Big Guy tricked him into it. When I finally pieced together the story — Boots tattled but Big Guy confirmed — it turns out that Big Guy had asked Boots if he wanted to see if a pencil would burst the balloon.

“Sure!” Boots agreed, being only 3 and not able to realize what was about to happen.

What happened was “pop!” Like I said, good thing there were three balloons.

Now, you could give Big Guy the benefit of the doubt and assume that he really didn’t know what would happen when pencil met balloon. Except Big Guy has seen me use pencils to pop withered remnants of mylar balloons before.

Oh, yes, he knew what he was doing.

I took Big Guy aside and gave him a Serious Mom lecture about how it’s not nice to trick people who trust you because it makes them very sad. He at least had the grace to look embarrassed.

In a way, I have to admire the craftiness that went into the caper. But only a little.

I’m just hoping the next time the balloon fairy drops a delivery in our back yard, she leaves a matched set.

Copyright 2009 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.

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