“Trampoline, trampoline, trampoline.”
“Trampoline, trampoline, trampoline!”
Yes. Finally. The trampoline has been unearthed from the basement, drudged up the stairs in bits and very heavy pieces, and assembled. It’s a trampoline now, not just a box with a picture of a trampoline on it. It’s inviting instead of taunting.
The girls have a new love. Bouncing. They loved bouncing before, and bounced the day away, but now…THIS is bouncing.
To paraphrase Crocodile Dundee once again: That’s not a bounce. THIS is a bounce.
And we’ve all taken our turn. The girls bounce from the time we get home until dinner, but they will occassionally call us up to join them. And who can say no to a) my cute kids’ faces, and b) a trampoline. No one, that’s who. That’s how we ended up with a trampoline in the first place.
Now, I’m pretty good. Not “doing flips and twists in the air” good, but I can get pretty high without falling. I can also bounce in a seated position using my arms to gain height. I call it My Trick. It impresses people.
Yes, this trampoline has morphed me from an adult into a giggly child. What of it? Only problem is…well…anyone who gave birth to children know what I’m talking about.
*cough* adult diapers *cough*
But that doesn’t ruin the fun, too much. And it’s really for the kids, anyway *dirtkick*.