Calling dibbs on the trampoline, and a few (other) good things.
She doesn’t like to be alone in the trampoline anymore. A few months ago, I’d zip her up in there with a few bouncy balls and a faded pool noodle and voila! I’d secure twenty minutes to read my book. But now? She cries the minute I lock her in. Unless, of course, I offer to join.
“You wanna jump with momma?” I ask, both of us understanding when I say jump I actually mean sit.
Her face breaks out in a grin, a giggle to follow. Translation: yes. She has already mastered the word “no” as in no no no no no no no while shaking her head dramatically from side to side, hair whipping back and forth. I’ve heard her say “yeah” a few times, but usually not in the appropriate setting.
However, I know the grin plus giggle combo means yes in her little heart, because it’s the same combo she uses for Do you want a snack? and Do you want to go outside? and Do you want to nurse with momma? and of course, the ever-so-desired, Do you want to watch Elmo?
Grin. Giggle. I acquiesce.
I climb into the trampoline. She runs and falls and shrieks with joy, oblivious to the leaves getting stuck in her hair. I wonder how long I have to stay in here. I wonder what we’ll have for dinner, how much mail is sitting in the mailbox, if Roomba vacuums actually work. After a few minutes of watching her run circles around me, I lay down flat on my back and reach my arms overhead for a quick stretch. She takes the opportunity to copy me, only she lays flat down on her stomach, on top of my body. We stay there for a minute, making a T-shape on the trampoline, listening to the birds. Eventually she rolls off, but I stay there, frozen, staring at the tree branches swaying over our heads. The movement makes a soft, rhythmic swishing sound, almost on par with my beloved white noise app. For the next ten minutes, I’m in a trance, hypnotized by nature. I feel like I’m watching ocean waves, or a lone tumbleweed roll down the side of the freeway. I can’t look away.
When the clock strikes naptime, Brett whisks her into the house. I grab my book and climb back in. I spend the next thirty minutes on the trampoline, alone. Just me and the squirrels, who are scampering up and down the trees playing tag. It occurs to me I have no idea what my other two children are doing. It occurs to me I do not care. There’s a light breeze on my face and the air smells like grass and it is the most glorious afternoon I’ve had in a while, all because my daughter doesn’t like to be alone on the trampoline. All because she pulled me into her world.
We’ve had this trampoline for five years and knowing how rough my kids play on it, I’m impressed it’s still standing. This is where they get their energy out, where I send them when my patience is thin, where they do “recess” and “PE.” It’s their playground, their circus tent, their babysitter when I’m busy.
Who knew it could also serve as a place of solace? I’m tempted to grab my pillow, close my eyes, and take a full blown nap. I am reminded of the beginning of quarantine, when I started working out of my car in the driveway. Who needs an office when you have an empty passenger seat that reclines?
This feels just as nice, just as peaceful, just as quiet.
Remind me to call dibbs on the trampoline more often?
A FEW (OTHER) GOOD THINGS
*Books I’ve read and loved this summer: The Vanishing Half, Ghost Boys, One Beautiful Dream, Maybe You Should Talk To Someone, Human(Kind), Jesus Over Everything, On The Come Up. Books I’m in the middle of reading: The Art of the Essay, Mother to Son, Foundations: 12 Biblical Truths To Shape A Family, All Along You Were Blooming, The Unraveling of Cassidy Holmes (this doesn’t come out until 9/1 but I got an early copy through Book of the Month Club!). Next up: Sorry I Missed You, Still Writing, The Color of Compromise.
*If you know me in real life, you know I am borderline obsessed with popcorn. For two years, I’ve been making popcorn in our horribly gross, antiquated microwave (if you’re wondering if it’s possible for a bag to both burn and not pop all the way—the answer is yes). ENOUGH IS ENOUGH. I ordered this and am literally counting down the days until it arrives.
*I have a love/hate relationship with the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale. Having said that, curiosity usually gets the better of me once the preview becomes available. A few things on my loungewear wishlist (which, no doubt, will all be sold out by the time us ordinary humans are allowed to shop): these satin joggers (or, as I’ve been referring to them: quarantine dress pants), this fleece pullover, this bralette (which has been marketed to me 4,000 times on Facebook), these pajamas, this hoodie, and, just in case I ever leave the house this fall/winter, these waterproof booties.
*While my zip-the-baby-up-in-the-trampoline mom hack no longer works, let me tell you what still does: a cookie sheet filled with ice. All three of my children still find this activity fascinating. I cannot explain it. But if you have a busy toddler on your hands, I cannot recommend this hack enough. I dump a bunch of plastic spoons on the tray and she practices putting ice on them and this keeps her busy for half an hour sometimes. Go forth and be blessed!
*After confessing how much I underutilize my library on the C+C podcast, our Patrons (avid library lovers!) inspired me to FIGURE THIS THING OUT. So I did. And they were right. The library is awesome. Ours is still closed due to Covid, but the curbside pickup feature is amazing and easy and how am I just now getting into the library?!
*A few songs I’ve had on repeat this month.
*And, finally, I’m starting a newsletter! I know, I know, everyone and their mom already has one. But! I’ve wanted to do this for a while, strictly for fun. The e-mails will read similarly to this post you’re reading here: a short story or freewrite, along with a few links to things I’m reading, listening to, enjoying, etc. Sign up here!
P.S. True story—4 seconds after I snapped that picture of the tree branches, a bird pooped on my leg and foot. I literally heard the splat and have never been so horrified. My kids have spent 300 more hours on the trampoline than I have, and, naturally, that has never happened to them. Good times.
