When we were kids, the trampoline was no place for kids. A toy that was designed for kids or Olympians… It’s like having a battle-ax for professionals and a kid-safe hatchet that you let them go-to-town with.
Apparently, some parents took notice to the dangers of the original backyard trampolines. And they actually made them safe.
I remember going to the twins house to jump. We played karate and it wasn’t 10 minutes before Jody was kicking Josh clear off the trampoline. Yes, I still laugh at videos of this on YouTube, but it was probably terrifying for their mom.
And fast-forward to me being that mom. Well, you get my drift.
I was pretty resistant to the idea of adding a springing booby trap to our abode. Gymnastics trumps Dad, however. Emerson isn’t the most coordinated 3.5 year old, but put that girl to doing scissor kicks on the trampoline at the gym, she looks like the next Michael Phelps (sorry, Olympians. I don’t know any famous trampsters).
And then comes Prime Day and an 11′ miracle price beams onto my Amazon app just tempting me to get E.K. onto a Wheaties box. It was time.
Putting that mama bear together was a feat. The title of the post was “easy assembly”, which was just a direct assault on my manhood. I knew it wouldn’t be easy. Nothing of that size ever is. Yet these persons have the audacity to call me out.
Jess warned me to get someone else to help. Maybe she didn’t think she was strong enough. Maybe she remembered that putting Christmas tree lights on the trunk of a medium-sized tree proved to be our first real fight in marriage. Maybe she just didn’t want to watch me throw a metal pipe across the lawn. But, typical me, I didn’t arrange for a helper.
So there we were. Tools in hand. Boxes open. Emerson super excited to be jumping. I read a review online that suggested a middle-aged mom and her teenage son got this done in 2 hours. Mission: Impossible. Go.
After 2 hours of cross-looks, under-breath cursing, a throw of a wrench or two, and some “fine, you do it” moments, the trampoline is in place.
And I’ll admit, it’s pretty dang safe. The only battle-ax in this equation was the one I wanted to throw at Jess when she told me I was holding the extension rods wrong.