Conversation With a Balloon

The alarm went off early today. Amazingly, my little guy who's been doing the half-asleep march into our bed in the middle of the night did not stir. I got up to have my coffee to myself, since I can't manage to finish one without it getting cold these days as I simultaneously pack his lunch, convince him to eat breakfast, get myself ready for work, etc.
I noticed his Buzz.lightye@r balloon from his party 2 weeks ago (yes, I've kept it around that long, we paid $9 bucks for the thing, and we're getting every cent of enjoyment possible out of it :) hovering near the stairs. It had been against the wall on the other side of the house minutes before. We don't have forced air heat, but I chalked it up to something having to do with physics, and moved it away from the stairs in case a sleepy-headed pre-schooler went after it without paying attention to the locale.
Back into the kitchen I go, coffee cup in hand. I probably did a few things like scope out the fridge or put one of the many things out of their place back in it. I look up, and there's Buzz again. On the other side of the kitchen this time, actually floating outside the doorway. Chills wash over me, my hairs stand on end. I can feel them pull on my legs and arms. It's her, it's them. It looks as though a toddler could be holding the balloon string, as is slowly makes it's way around the dining room table. Then I begin to talk. I ask if it's them, my girls, or one of them. And I go on, for a minute or two. Things I want to say to them. I hope they can hear me. I hope they have graced me with their presence. The balloon has slowly floated up over the table, and sits itself in the chandelier. I release it, much as I would assist my son with a stuck toy. The balloon is still.
Just then, my little guy arrives, stuffed W**dy doll in 1 hand, his lovey in the other, and climbs into my arms. "I wish there were 3 of you here for hugs," I said half out loud. Perhaps there were.

I do realize there may be a totally logical and scientific explanation for our traveling balloon. But if there is, I don't care to know it. I hope my babies came to check in on us, because I need to. Even if it seems completely ridiculous. It makes missing them just a little easier, for a few moments. I hope they know they haven't been forgotten, that they are loved every day. Even if it means conversing with inanimate objects.