Taking the Long Route

It was a Sunday evening in early June when Charlie and I stood staring at an overpacked display of cheap water toys buried in a back aisle of Walmart. Our gaze traveled from water guns to bubbles. From sprinkler type toys to tiny water pistols. And of course the inflatables that I know full well would break 43 seconds after taking them out of the package. Our eyes scanned the rows of randomness until we found what we were looking for–water balloons.

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I’m not exactly sure when our little tradition started, but I suspect Charlie couldn’t have been older than 3 or 4 and Chanelle 1 or 2. Of course, in those days there wasn’t a thought of a Meadow. I don’t remember any of the details, but I would guess all those years ago I was strolling the aisles of Walmart with one child tucked into the front of my cart and another buried in the back. I likely steered us over to the toy section so that Charlie and Chanelle could ooh and ahh at all the toys I wouldn’t buy for them and I could take a few moments to breathe and check-my MySpace page. (Yes, I am that old.)  (Okay, maybe there was no such thing as the Internet on the phone at that point?) Again, I am that old. I can’t be sure, but I would almost bet that Charlie’s eyes fell on a huge water gun or an inflatable pool with a slide and batted his big brown eyes at me with folded and hands and a pwease? I was two kids in, though, and my resistance was solid. As any good mom would do, I’m sure I ‘redirected’ him to the ninety-eight cent bag of water balloons.

Thus, (unknowingly) a tradition was born.

Each summer, Charlie, Chanelle and I wait for the perfect day to greet Chad after work with a water balloon fight. Through the years, the four of us have spent the better part of a day sitting in the driveway soaking ourselves with water, breaking balloons we’re trying to fill, getting frustrated, laughing, chattering, making a plan of attack, tearing our nails in the tying, and testing them on each other to “make sure they work”. Chad never knows when it’s coming and each year we go to great lengths to hide our plans.

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As Charlie and I stood looking at the water balloons this past June he pointed toward a package of balloons that could be filled up in seconds, 35 at a time.

Look at these, he told me pulling them from their rack.
I pulled another package down and examined them, those look too good to be true, I told him as I put them back. There is no way those actually work.
I pulled a more traditional package off the shelf. We took them home and hid them away from our target (Chad). A few days later I got a message from someone telling me about water balloons that fill up several at a time. They really work, she told me.

Okay, then. Off we went, back to the store to load up on the ‘too good to be true” water balloons.

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On the day of the “battle” Charlie, Chanelle, and I settled into the driveway to begin our preparations. Charlie turned on music, alternating between U2 and Switchfoot songs and we gathered around to begin filling the balloons. We took out a package of the to-good-to-be-true balloons and within minutes we had 100 balloons floating in a bin of water. We opened another package and another and in moments, we had hundreds of balloons.

That was no fun, Charlie said.
That was too fast, Chanelle commented.

I was feeling the same way. What happened to the process? The hours in the driveway? The complaints of it being too hot intermixed with squabbles intermixed with laughter and casual banter? What about the hurt fingers, soaked clothes, and working together to make memories?

Charlie went back into the house and grabbed our original water balloons. The old-fashioned kind. The kind that hurt our fingers and had a 50/50 chance of surviving our hose. We pulled them out one by one, filled, tied, got frustrated and spent hours making memories while U2 and Jon Foreman serenaded us in the background.

It was clear to me that this was the rare instance when easier isn’t necessarily better. Less hassle doesn’t mean better memories. The end result isn’t as important as the process.

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Shortly before we knew Chad would be home, Charlie, Chanelle and I dragged a large bin of water balloons and water to the side of the house. It took us about 7 minutes to cross our front yard because, water+water balloons > Summer+Charlie+Chanelle. As we rounded the corner to our destination we looked up to see Chad doing some work at the neighbors house.

Oh no, there’s Daddy, someone said.
Did he see us? someone else said.
I looked up to see Chad far down the hill, with his head down and ear buds in his ears, I don’t think he saw us, I said.

We quickly tucked the bin into the shadows near some plants and went back into the house.

A little while later, when we knew he had left the neighbors house and would be headed home soon, the three of us again, painstakingly, dragged the second bin full of balloons to the other side of the house. The best part of this process is always the element of surprise. He never knows when it’s coming, giving us an advantage. As we rounded the corner to put Bin #2 next to Bin #1, we found that Bin #1 was missing.

MISSING. Like, it wasn’t there.

The three of us stood and stared at the space where the bin used to be and I had the momentary thought that I had completely forgotten where we had placed the first Bin–which would not have been all that surprising.

But no, Chad had outsmarted us and taken our balloon filled bin and hid it for himself.

We did a quick search of our property, though, and found his hidden balloons and loaded them into trash bags and re-hid them, knowing that when he searched for his balloons he would find an empty bin.

Two can play his game. . or three. . for four. . or five.

Whatever the case, he finally rolled up in his car and three sets of hands held several balloons and the battle ensued.

Of course Chad was not going to waste the empty bin. . .

And sometimes, injuries happen. . . . . . but in the end it’s worth it.

This years battle was more than simply carrying on a tradition. It was defining why we do it. Why do we spend hours in a day filling up balloons, getting frustrated, breaking fingernails, soaking clothes? It has very little to do with throwing a balloon at an unsuspecting target and everything to do with the memories we are making in the process of creating the battle.

If there is a faster way to get from point A to point B, I will take it every time. If someone gives me a time saving tip on managing the chaos of our family–I will listen intently. But our battle this year made it clear that there are benefits in taking the long route. There are gifts in the process. That the journey is far more important than the destination.

Oh, and we also learned that Chad>Summer+Charlie+ Chanelle+Water-balloon-filled-bin.

Happy Monday, Friend.