Oops He Did It Again

I have often used this space as a therapy session for myself. Yes, you poor people have been the unwitting recipients of my psychological effluvia. You have probably already sensed this on some level, I’m sure. I hope I’ve not done any damage to your psyches, or have deterred any of you from having children of your own after reading about some of the exploits of my offspring. Having said that, I apologize beforehand for whatever damage I may cause you by reading the following.

It’s about my son, but then you probably already knew that was coming as it’s been approximately two weeks since he’s done something column-worthy. Its time to tell you about yet another mind-bogglingly stupid action that my son took this week. First, let me inform you that being of semi-sound minds and stretch-marked bodies, we purchased a trampoline for our children.

We believed the advertisements that touted the health benefits for our little ones. We wanted them to be active and healthy and not couch potatoes. We made this purchase out of the innocent good intentions of our hearts.

We poo-pood the worries of friends and family.

“Aren’t you scared that your son will do something stupid and paralyze himself, thereby necessitating 24 hour care and a respirator for the rest of his life?”
Nooooo. We’re good. We even bought one of those safety nets that entirely surrounds the trampoline so that no one can fall off and break their necks.

We sat the children down, the three girls and the one boy. We included the girls there so the boy wouldn’t realize that all our cautionary tales about jumping on the trampoline were really just aimed at him. We know the girls aren’t insane. We’re fairly certain the boy is.

So, off they go to play on their new toy. All is well for nearly a month. No one is hurt, there are no broken bones or wrenched limbs. All is right in the universe.

Until my husband mowed the back lawn.


You see, in mowing the lawn, he had to move the trampoline in order to mow under it. Where it was once sitting close to the back fence, it is now huddled close to the house. Right below the second story bedroom window of the girl’s room. Right below. Close enough, in some prepubescent minds to hit from the second story.

Do you see what’s coming?

Ayup. He jumped. Oh, he made it all right. Landed right in the middle of the trampoline, bypassing being skewered by the poles to which the safety screens are attached.

No one saw him do it, because if any of us had noticed him with his legs dangling out the second story window, we would, naturally, have attempted to stop him.

The first inkling we had that there was trouble was when the man-child burst into our room and fell across our bed. He was writhing back and forth and appeared to be having a fit of some kind. His face was beet red, he was sweating profusely and he kept saying, “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts…”

We went through the checklist of ‘what did you do nows’ and ‘are you bleeding anywheres’ and the ever-popular ‘what were you thinkings’.

He was in agony. He said when he landed, his legs snapped and his neck cracked.

The pain was everywhere. I was worried about internal bleeding. I was worried about everything, of course.

I’ve often told him that the number one treatment for any injury he sustains is catheterization. I tell him this in order to frighten him into not doing the first idiotic thing that pops into his head.

So far it hasn’t worked.

He was unable to walk upright for a few days without searing pain in his legs and neck, for which I am grateful. I have given him something, a mantra if you will, to say before he attempts anything he thinks might be in the tiniest bit dangerous. He’s to say to himself, over and over, “would I do this if my mother was watching? Would I do this if my mother was watching? Would I do this if my…you get the picture.

Let’s hope it works.