Makin' Whoopee!

I'm ashamed to say that it was me who started it. In Target, of all places. The Mailman said no, but the temptation was too great. I put the package of rocket balloons in the cart anyway. The kids will like them, I thought. They are only $2.49 and will keep them quiet for a while. They will enjoy seeing them zoom all over the living room.
Being a female and over the age of 12, it never occurred to me what else they would like about them. When you let them go and they fly about the room, they make a most magnificent farting sound. I'm surprised they could still hear it over the giggling and the peels of laughter and the arguing over whose turn it was to blow one up and "let it rip" next. Morning, noon, and night they tormented me with these balloons.
This time also happened to intersect with a trip to the boardwalk and the arcade. What better to buy with your skee-ball tickets than a brand new whoopee cushion? Nothing, apparently. Well, nothing but more packs of individually wrapped rocket balloons. So, in between launching rocket balloons, each of the kids took turns being angry with me for not buying the kind of furniture with detached cushions that you can hide a whoopee cushion under. No worries, though. It would seem it's just as much fun to blow it up and sit on it yourself.
I can only imagine what the neighbors think. I doubt I'll invite them to dinner any time soon as they must be highly suspect of my cooking. In fact, there goes one right now! A rocket balloon, that is, not a neighbor. I suppose it could be worse. I can't help but wonder if the Summer of Whoopee will be something they look back on fondly when they are older or something they collectively deny ever happened and use as proof that Mom is losing it and put me in a home. Either way, for me I think it will be like so many other things about being a mom. As maddening as it is right now, once it's gone I'm sure I will miss it.