Thank You, Pascal.

We have a giant, butterfly balloon that someone gave Eliza after her surgery, floating around our house. Because of this balloon it has become uncomfortably clear that we need a pet (no offense to Spike, our nervous guinea pig).   We (meaning Geoff and I - the kids are mentally and emotionally fine) have started to speak of the balloon as if it were alive.  Geoff may ask, "Where's the balloon?" and I'll answer with "Oh, it floated into the bathroom."  Then we'll both make a comment about it really liking the bathroom - kidding, of course, but inside each of us is starting to believe that maybe the balloon really does have feelings.  Before Geoff left for his business trip he noted that maybe the balloon didn't like having the long ribbon attached to it because it caught on the furniture and made it hard for the balloon to float around.  Yesterday, I noticed the balloon seemed to be deflating and moving closer and closer to the ground.  It looked sad.  So, I cut off the ribbon and he floated joyously to eye level with me.  Was he thanking me?  I'll never know.

I blame this whole ordeal on having to watch The Red Balloon as a child - a uniquely disturbing rite of passage for children of the 70's.  Thanks to this film, there is an entire generation of people out there who are very sensitive the to emotional well being of inflatables.

I'm wearing this today and, as an aside, taking pictures of yourself looks and feels ridiculous:

It was inspired by this:

I cannot over emphasize the value of a good Pinterest board.

gratitude:  hanging on the couch with the kids, a clean house, a successful attempt at poaching eggs, birds chirping outside

thanks and love.