Hail, trampoline!

There are certain things I have always considered decidedly tacky. Yards strewn with faded Little Tikes toys, huge satellite dishes, and yes, trampolines in the backyard. When I married my husband I breathed a secret sigh of relief that he is not a serious collector of anything, a dedicated handyman, or a car or motorcycle fanatic. No more would I live with the relics of my upbringing: piles of crap that might be useful one day, old broken cars that will be restored "someday," a garage that hasn't had a car parked in it in years, if ever.

And then we had children. Three of them.

Our vehicles ARE in the garage, albeit skillfully wedged between the plastic tote full of roller skates and bike helmets, current bicycles as well as the outgrown ones to be handed down to younger siblings and cousins, baseball equipment, cat carriers, and my non-handy husband's surprising new assortment of major power tools. A broken plastic sand and water table languishes behind the garage, its legs crumpled beneath it like some fallen creature from a Star Wars movie. The partially constructed jungle fort swingset stands as a monument to great ambition and limited time, and school ends in three days.

So we broke down.

Never mind the atrocious customer service provided, both in person and online, by the behemoth retailer that we all love to hate--we went to Wal-Mart. And bought. A trampoline. A big one.

The kids are ecstatic. The thing went together in under an hour, and soon they were jumping, bouncing, flipping, giggling hysterically. And miraculously, not fighting. They even persuaded me, an adult woman, to climb up and join them, and I have to admit--it was really fun. Thank goodness we live in the country, and as far as I know, no one could see me. The kids jumped on it for, count 'em, THREE hours. As for me, my fun was tempered by the fact that the births of these lovely children and the bouncing of the trampoline were a vivid reminder to go inside and do about 180,000 more Kegels. Ahh, womanhood.

So, now we have it. The big honkin' redneck yard sculpture. The summer is looking better already.