Poor Ol' Wormy...

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There are many things as a parent Inever thought I'd say, including, but not limited to:

• “Don't use your pant leg to clean upthe pee on the floor!”
• "Did you really just barf in your boot?!"
• “Eek! There's a rat in my laundry!”(It was a toy the boys put in there as a “surprise” for Mommy...)
• “AUGH! What th--?! Don't pee on thetoilet lid!!” (OK, so that was my husband, but I think it's fair tosay he never planned on needing to say that either.)
• “Thank you so much for making mebreakfast in bed, honey but I'm just not quite ready to eat peanutbutter filled pretzels at 5 am, m'kay?”

     But yesterday I had a discussion with myson I can pretty fairly say very few other families have had. Yesterday,we buried a friend. He was a good friend. If you were to ask my sonabout him right now, he would probably forlornly tell you his sadtale and maybe shed a tear. And he would mean it. He is mourninghis loss as you would a beloved pet. The difference being, ofcourse, that Wormy is a balloon. That we had for 24 hours. Hewas steadfast until the end. He started out as a sword named“Sword”, became a hamster (apparently, if you looked at him justright) named “Hamsty”, and then, finally, tragically, he became aworm named “Wormy”. That's right. My son lost his balloonsword. We buried him in the yard. There were tears. Andthen, my son asked me something I never thought I'd have to explainabout a former balloon sword. “Mom, will Wormy go to heaven?”
     Now, my son's grief is real. This isnot a kid who is crying because he's angry his balloon popped. Hesobbed because he lost a friend. For nearly a day, he cried. Granted, he probably could have used a nap in there somewhere, butthe sadness is real. I cannot tell him it's silly to be so sad over“just a balloon” it's Wormy. It's “the best balloon [he's]ever had.” His friend gave it to him and now it's gone forever. On the other hand, how can I tell him that balloons go to heaven? Idon't believe in lying. Even in comfort. I can't even say I handledit with some magical all-encompassing answer that will follow himthroughout his life and be Pinterested and Facebooked for eternity byvirtue of its profundity. Mostly, I said maybe God has lots ofballoons in heaven to which he assured me that none of the balloonsin heaven would be as good as Wormy. Talk about deflated!

     I can say though, that I held my boywhen he cried. And I didn't laugh. We buried him because he couldn't bare the thought of his wilty orange carcassgoing into the trash. And we will have, for a while at least,a small chunk of concrete in the back yard marking the place whereol' Wormy was laid to rest. Kids have real feelings whether we feellike they “should” or not. It's important to recognize andrespond to them appropriately. Even if we don't always use the rightwords. Sometimes a hug is the best response.  Unless they are wiping pee off the floor with clothing.
    And maybe a tiny bit of comfort food never hurt, either. This also happened to be convenience food for Mama since I had fruitspoiling. Also, I put cream in it. I know what you're thinking. He was in mourning, people.


Goodbye, Wormy ShakeYields: 3-4 Servings 4 C fresh pineapple chunks2 tangerines8 oz cream (or coconut milk)1 tsp Agave nectar (opt)(optional ingredients: banana, dates,coconut flakes)
Put all the ingredients into a blenderand combine until the cream is frothy and the fruit hasdisintegrated.
Notes:If you are adding the banana or dates,you could omit the agave. Or if your pineapple is super sweet. Ours wasn't really.
  This was served with a side of sorrow*and a splash of salty tears*, but those are entirely optionalingredients. In fact, I suggest you try it when you're at yourhappiest moment and see if it doesn't taste even better.



(*Notreally, he was totally fine by the time we drank these, but itsounded poetic didn't it?)