Drake

We got a couple packs of regular white dollar-store balloons for The Little Sis’s birthday last month, putting them up all over the house to make the occasion festive for her. If it’d been up to the girls, I’m certain they would have kept the balloons up indefinitely, but I got tired of the clutter after a few days and took them all down, letting them play with all of them for a day or so before setting aside one each for them to keep and getting rid of the rest.

Before popping the rest of the balloons, however, The Big Sis and The Little Sis passed time one afternoon making a balloon train by tying the balloons to a long string. The Big Sis also decided to color many of the balloons with a Sharpie, giving each of them a name. (I don’t know WHY she gave each of them a name. But why not, right?)

I’m not certain what happened to the balloon I let The Big Sis keep — I haven’t seen it in a while — but The Little Sis’s balloon is still kept in her room, right on top of her toy box. That balloon’s name is Drake, and it cracks me up whenever she refers to her balloon by name. “Stay right there, Mommy, I going to get Drake!” And now I’ve started referring to the balloon by its name. “[Little Sis], you need to put Drake away so we can read stories now.”

In all seriousness, who needs toys from a store when there are packs of balloons from the dollar store?!

The balloon train:

Drake the balloon:

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