In this story about small town stranger appreciation, a mom learns lessons while her little kid grows up a little more, making kind decisions about safety, cats, and personal capabilities. Let’s nurture our relationships and read on. To begin, why is this balloon in the bathtub?

Short answer: to protect our cat (Rolo, who can open every door except a shower door) from GI distress caused by eating the string.

Long answer: My 4-year old son is building resilience, self-discipline, confidence, and communication skills. Today, he acquired a balloon from a Habitat for Humanity kiosk at the local Berthoud farmer’s market (which makes up for its well-known lack of vegetables by being located at the new splash pad park, bringing multiple sourdough purveyors, and hosting the beloved Wildfire Arts kids art table. Today there were even dancing local ladies and a massive drum circle. And it’s really not the town’s fault about the veggies. We have a notoriously short growing season, etc etc).

My kids love balloons. Yes, I know they’re dangerous… a family I know had a child fall from a large mylar one at his own party and get seriously injured. In our family we aren’t allowed to put them up to our mouths, and so on. Mine play with them a few times a year under supervision…. STRONG supervision. This is partly because we have a large cat who loves to eat that curly, delicious, devilish shreddable balloon string. He gets very sick from eating it, and he just can’t stop. If it’s in the house, he’s gonna find it and have it for his own.

So we got a balloon anyway. They were gleeful, knowing this was rare. The kids ran to the playground, clutching their strings. Enter some sort of spinning playground equipment and a spill. No scrapes, no blood, no bump… but snap! My son’s balloon was gone like that, soaring to the sky as if we’d meant to poison nature. I’m so sorry, birds. I really should have known.

Well, there was another family observing. I’m not going to say they caused the disaster, but they sure fixed it. (In truth, a park dad had been giving all the kids massive pushes on this spinning piece of park equipment, which led to riotous laughter and a moment for me to call my own father to check on him after some difficult health issues early this month). I saw the spill, the cut string, the loss all play out in slow motion and was ready when my 4 year old sprinted to me screaming as I slammed my finger down on the phone fast to spare my dad the screams in his phone ear. Are you hurt? “No.” Are you ok? “NO!”

That darn balloon. I went into triage mode. The kids were given some options from which to pick (stay here and play a little but we have to use nature friendly voices again; taste a pickle and calm down with mom; go home right away, etc). Kid opted for a pickle and kid 2 went on spinning, her balloon much more securely attached to her hat band. It’s a pink cowgirl hat and she is NOT taking that thing off. But her 4-year old brother was SO SAD.

You know those moments, parents? You know when you COULD go get another (whatever spilled-melted-dropped-broken-ruined) thing, but it’s a long way away, and isn’t there a lesson here crammed in there that you don’t want to miss and don’t want your kid to miss? (And what about the voice from your past reminding you that when you were a kid and that lady next to you at Disney broke your balloon with her 1980’s cigarette and she didn’t apologize and your parents did not buy you a new one and how will he learn a lesson if you don’t inflict on him the pain you felt when you were 6… just me? To be fair, I didn’t remember it. My dad reminded me about it later as I recounted the blue balloon story.)

“OK but mom, it was not his fault!” my brain argued. “He fell and the string broke and he. is. SO. SAD!”

Yet I stuck to my proverbial guns. I wasn’t mean, I was soft and sympathetic, walking with my crying kid back to the car as he suffered loudly and his sister bounced along with her balloon. And guess what happened before we left the parking lot? If you live in Berthoud maybe you already guessed.

The stranger family re-appeared. One of the kids was clutching a lollipop- Oh please don’t let my kids notice that, I prayed. Too late, my daughter instantly said the quiet part out loud. But that didn’t matter, because… the stranger-family-dad (sorry kind sir, this is what my children have dubbed you) was holding out a balloon. “He took a pretty big spill back there,” he said apologetically. “We decided we didn’t want him to have to leave without a balloon.”

Glory be! Is this the small town feeling creeping up my arms, a mix of chill bumps and gratefulness and humanity and embarrassment (my toddler was just about to leave without one and darn it I was going to make sure he was ok with that)?

We humbly and gratefully said big thank yous. My little guy’s eyes were dazzling blue worlds of gratitude staring up at this family, accepting his balloon. He clutched the string like I clutch his hand at Trail Ridge Road overlooks while we stare over the edge.

There were so many lessons today. First, the amazement of my son: “I didn’t realize a stranger would be so kind to another stranger!” Then, the detailed discussion of situations when it is ok, versus not ok, to take things from strangers. We discussed the role of my presence, of the dad asking me “can I give this to him?”, and other nuanced questions only a 4- and 6-year-old can generate. We rode home happy.

And now it was nap time. Here’s where his character development really comes into the story. “Mom,” he said sleepily, “I really, really love playing with the balloon. So I think we better work together to find a safe place that is not inside my room. Especially for Rolo. Can you help?”

Yes, son. I got your back on this one. He’s asleep now, napping after all the excitement, while the cat lies in wait outside the bathtub and I take in the wonder that is 4-year-olds growing up.

Oh… and I love other families as well. I provide mentoring to families, therapists and teams that gives them the tools to transcend trauma. See my courses at www.cuspemergenceuniversity.com, join a group with me, book an appointment, or just email me any time.