There is something rather magical about blowing air into a piece of rounded latex, having it rise to the top of your ceiling and catching it with a shiny ribbon before  it floats away to parts unknown.  I remember my parents taking me to a restaurant called “big boys” when I was little. Kids would leave the establishment with one red balloon and a coloring book. I think that is where my love of balloons came from. I coveted my red balloon until it sank slowly in the corner of my bedroom.

I am a forty five year old woman who still loves balloons, so much in fact that I spent the last several weeks hunting the perfect balloons for the shop.  There are thousands to choose from in all sizes and colors. At one point my sweetheart called from the other room, “Luvvy, I think you may have a balloon fetish, you have been searching for hours.”

Perhaps I do.

I suppose that if one watches online videos of Hispanic and Greek men tying balloon butter flies and monkeys while speaking in their native tongue; that may be a bit of a problem for other members of the household who just want to go to bed at half past eleven.

Have you ever noticed a small child’s face light up when they are handed a balloon animal? The sparkle and delight in their little eyes is beyond rewarding for me. Many years ago I lived in and out of a children’s hospital. I had an excess of small mylar balloons that I would blow up and take to the hospital with me. I would either hand them to the attending clinic nurse and let her dole out the magic or I would drop my son off in his room with a nurse and then go room to room and let the Hem/Onc kids pick out a shiny balloon on a long stick. I cherish those memories and all the tiny faces that just glowed with a simple gift like a balloon. I think I did it more for my healing than anything.

So I discovered the greatest balloons awhile back. They are giant and I can get nets that go over them so that they look like a hot air balloon! How PERFECT! I call this balloon nirvana and to think that a small basket can be tied to this filled to the brim with treasures?!

Ahhhh ….the joy.

I have listed the prices on the boutique page just in case you would like to indulge yourself or someone else with a bit of this happiness. If you ever find yourself down and out my suggested remedy is to buy a bag of balloons, go to a park and start blowing and giving them away. The world seems a bit brighter if balloons are present.  When you come into LooBelles you can have one too. I am happy to tie up a pink poodle for you. ..or your child at no cost. It is my little gift to myself actually; just giving away balloons makes me happy.


It is true…I am one of those gals. We know every square inch of a Michael’s floor plan, we print internet coupons and wait for the sales, we never walk into a JoAnns craft store without our flyer, we buy plastic bins by the truck load so we can store and stack our piles of treasures. We hoard fabric with no intention of ever cutting into its beauty. Somehow we are content to just know that we have several yards of organza that we will get to die with some day. We have bolts of ribbon neatly stacked just to admire it and at times we twitch when yet another paper punch comes out and the little voice in the back of our head say’s, “stop the madness…you have too many already”.  We have old fimo clay that dried in the 90’s but yet it seems criminal just to toss it. Surely something can be made out of it.

Marshmellow PopsI have an attic filled with glorious supplies. I treasure everything as if I am hoarding a king’s ransom of gold. It is all just stuff awaiting my hands and mind and the someday that may never come before I actually open the wood burning kit I bought when Loobelle was in diapers. I use to tell myself I did not have a problem. I grew up in Utah…women are very crafty there. Have you ever heard of Provo craft? Uh huh…I swear the Mecca lies in-between the Wasatch Mountains. I can trace it back to my mutha. She handed me quarters and told me to go get some lace and buttons in firm ages. It started when I was five? I am now forty five.  I can’t stop. I still squeal with glee when I find a craft store that I have not been to.

Hobby Lobby arrived in western Washington last fall. When I found out I nearly passed out. I waited and plotted my adventure carefully.  My boyfriend had given me a gift certificate for a hundred dollars and I felt like the grand dame of creation when my feet hit their floor and my eyes scoured the racks and racks of stacks.  Four hours later and one hundred dollar less I had made a dent with solemn vows to return.

It is my nirvana.

My crack.

My escape from reality.

Upon my arrival on the displaced homemakers bus {aka divorce} I knew I had to rein my addiction in with a reality check. My darling spawn could not eat tubes-o-tulle and it was probably not in my best interest to get the latest and greatest toy…the coveted Cricket cutter.  I had to deal with my addiction and fast.  So I went to medical assisting school. That pretty much sucked the creative soul right out of me and instead of buying felt and rubber stamps I was buying scrubs at Wal-Mart. The addiction cooled for the first time in years but I was not the same. I had lost a vital piece of myself until one day I found myself entertaining two small children a clinic. They were there to get immunizations and I was the big bad clinic nurse who was suppose to deliver the pain and dread. I thought fast. What in the world can I do for these kids? Did you know that tongue depressors make really handy puppets in a pinch with a few Band-Aids attached to them? Rubber cloves make grand chicken balloons when the doctor is not looking. One can actually create a tiny dolly with the right amount of gauze tied in knots.  My craft addiction found its way into the medical community. I would just use their supplies to create a bit of happiness for the patients I took care of.

There are ways around everything.

So now I have a few rules to help myself cope with all I want to buy and create. I never walk into a craft store without at least a 40% coupon in my hand. I never shop the after holiday sales at 75% off.  If I feel the urge to splurge I just take my daughter who has zero tolerance for craft stores and a five minute stop watch on me, short collar and leash. It is the only way.