The trampoline was a present from my parents for their grandchildren for Chanukah. Chanukah is the Jewish festival of lights, traditionally celebrated with gifts of coins and doughnuts - or, in my offsprings' case, gigantic, expensive trampolines.
The gift was a surprise for my girls, but my 13 year old son was in on it - firstly because he guessed when the truck arrived with a giant box bearing the logo 'Trampoline' (I know, the kid is smart), and secondly because my husband and I were scared to be alone together during the assembly, and needed our son as a referee. So the girls were told that the giant box bearing the logo 'Trampoline' was a 'table', and were shipped off to friends down the road. This wasn't an issue for the 5 year old, who cannot read, but was worrying when accepted by the 11 year old, who clearly either needs remedial English tuition, or is quite frighteningly gullible.
|Our trampoline doesn't fly. But it did lean.|
However, the greatest fail was that of The Architect, who dug a ditch in our uneven garden to level the trampoline's surface. As we don't actually have a shovel, he was forced to do this with a pink plastic spade and a drinking glass. So focused was he on his task that the ditch turned out to be several centimetres too deep, causing the trampoline to lean dangerously to the left.
So the pink plastic spade was re-engaged to fill in the hole, and eventually the trampoline was leveled. And neither my son or I said one word to The Architect about his monumental stuff-up, although we *may* have done an interpretive dance of scorn around our perfectly constructed trampoline.
In the end, though, the girls were thrilled and the assembly was a huge success. My back is broken, The Architect's spirit is crushed, and my son has sworn never to work with us again, but they are but minor hiccups along the path to family bliss.
So Happy Chanukah to all, and may your Christmas presents come pre-assembled. And if they don't, may I suggest that you invest in a spade?