Get your own balloon

I took James and Thomas to the shoe store and the kiddie barber today. (I will say that running these errands back to back with a 3 and a nearly-2 requires the same grim determination as moving a full bookcase.)

I had never been to the kids' shoe department at Nordstrom's before, but our usual shoe store was out of the boys' sizes so we dropped by N's on our way out of the mall. It was excellent. Within ten minutes we had their shoes AND helium balloons on special weighted handles. A brilliant innovation. I usually dread stores that give out balloons because the rest of the day is consumed, first, by fear that the balloon will get loose; second, by inconsolable grief upon the balloon's escape; and third, by wailing for a new balloon. ("No." "But why? Why?")

This time Thomas let go of his balloon as I was loading him into the car.

The balloon dropped neatly to the ground and stood at attention, waiting for me to pick it up and give it to him. Hallelujah!

On the way out of the store, however, an old guy who was trying to be cute pretended to steal Thomas's balloon. James was incensed. "That old man needs to get his own balloon! GO TO THE SHOE STORE, OLD MAN!"