I came home after my infusion and cheer-me-up quick thrift session with a Balzac.
“What’s that?” KK asked. Another one of our odd-couple moments — her phd in comparative literature versus my wasted youth held dramatically different notions of what constituted a “Balzac” and what made it so great.
Put on your Hammer pants, tease those bangs, and go back in time with me to
The early 1990s!
The world just looked different then.
Unwilling to wait a moment longer, I managed to blow it up — without passing out — and tossed it into the playroom.
Now, all I’ve heard for the last 30 minutes is galloping toddler feet and squeaks of joy.
As a kid, I thought a Balzac would be fun. But now, from a mom perspective, I think a Balzac is AMAZING.
For starters, for wearing toddlers out, it’s even better than the playground at the mall, with all its associated contagion.
It’s lighter than a beach ball, washable, and refillable.
It’s safer than a naked latex balloon, which at 15 months, the boys would bite, burst, and probably choke on.
And of course, it’s extra fun because I always wanted one of these and my parents wouldn’t get me one. “You have all kinds of balls already,” my mom would sneer. “Here’s some wrinkly leftover balloons from your sister’s birthday party.”
I never could make her understand that Balzac wasn’t a ball, or a ballon. It was a patented “magic action balloon ball — the newest, wildest, funniest, craziest ball on earth!” See?