Trampoline of Hell

We've come close in the past but this was the real test. The Architect and I had set aside the day to assemble the new trampoline - one of those Anxious Parent ones with safety nets, and mats over the springs, and zips to make sure the kids don't fall out of the ten centimetre doorway.

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.

The first part of the assembly went very well. We removed all parts of the trampoline from the box and counted the parts carefully. Unfortunately the next part of the assembly - actually assembling the fucking thing - was slightly more complex. It took about 45 minutes to get all the springs into place, and then another 25 minutes to remove all the springs once we realised we were supposed to put the safety net on BEFORE the springs went in. We assembled the poles with the elastics facing in the wrong direction, which means nothing to you but meant something to us when we were unable to hook the net to the poles. And we couldn't screw in the screws properly, because I broke the special screwdriver trying to unhook the prematurely-installed springs.

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?