The trouble started on Saturday night.  My 2-year-old suddenly decided he would not share.  And it got loud.

Two weeks ago a dear friend gave each of my boys a container full of water balloons.  My 7-year-old received green and orange balloons.  My 2-year-old received red and blue balloons.  Each of them was delighted.

The boys decided to share their balloons, using first one container and then the other, so that they wouldn’t accidentally get too many of the unused balloons wet (which can quickly result in a moldy mess).  This went very well, until suddenly it didn’t.

The boys had spent over a week making and playing water balloons together.  They shared, had fun, and laughed a lot.  Then, on Saturday evening as we were getting ready to wind down for the night and read books, my 7-year-old came up with the idea of using a green, an orange, and a red balloon to make a stoplight.  He asked his brother if he could please have a red balloon.  His brother said, “No!”

My older son is a pretty good negotiator.  He explained why he wanted the balloon.  No.  He offered to make his brother a stop light of his own.  No.  He begged.  No.  He pleaded.  No.  He cried.  No.  He screamed.  No.

My husband and I, each at separate times, tried explaining to our 7-year-old the value of simply letting the balloon go.  Instead of fixating on wanting that particular balloon, which was delighting his brother to no end, he should let the idea rest and ask again in the morning.

He couldn’t do it.  The balloon had become so big in his mind that nothing else would satisfy him.  And my normally generous 2-year-old was so enamored with his new-found power over his brother, there was no chance he was giving in.

In an effort to mediate, the adults offered other solutions: how about using a different red balloon for the stoplight project?  No, it had to be that particular size and shape.  We tried reminding the 2-year-old of how good it feels to share.  No, he wanted all of the red balloons.

We finally brought it to a tentative resolution for the night, but because it wasn’t a true peace, first thing Sunday morning the conflict started up again.

More begging.  No.  More pleading.  No.  Trades were offered.  No.  Crocodile tears.  No.

Finally, my husband pulled a different red balloon out of a stash we were keeping for my younger son’s upcoming birthday.  He blew it up and gave it to our 7-year-old, hoping that it would help him to continue with his project and put the issue to rest.

Emotions were running so hot by this point that this gesture resulted in a complete breakdown.  My 7-year-old was screaming and crying.  He absolutely did not want the substitute balloon.  He said he needed time alone and then stormed into his room, where he continued to sob and sob.

My 2-year-old sat on my lap very close to the 7-year-old’s door.  “[He’s] so sad,” he whispered.

“Yes.”

“[He’s] crying and crying.”

“Yes.  What do you think could help him feel better?”

“Maybe a red balloon.”

“If you gave him one, it might help.”

Then, my 2-year-old stood up, and knocked on his brother’s door.  When his big brother came out, he said, “Here, this is for you.” He handed him a red balloon and gave him a hug.

My 7-year-old was surprised.  So surprised he smiled and said, “Thank you.”

In a burst of generosity that aligns more closely with his general nature, my 2-year-old then said, “Here, you can have all of them,” and gave his brother the entire container.

The 7-year-old made his little brother a balloon stoplight.  The boys played together.  Peace and harmony were restored through their own efforts toward reconciliation.  I was crying, with relief (these times when emotions are running hot are tough on all of us) as well as with love and pride.  Even though they sometimes veer off course, my boys eventually find their way back to their true, loving natures.

This doesn’t only happen to young kids.  At times we all become fixated on some object, or on enjoying a fleeting moment of power, but in the end, it is love and our connections to one another that bring us back to what is truly important.  The red balloons in our lives are fleeting, but love is forever.