Both of my kids have summer birthdays. There are pros and cons to this setup. For instance, I don’t have to provide allergen-free birthday treats to a class full of kids whom I do not know and a few of whom my kids don’t especially like. Except when you have a kind-hearted teacher who lets summer babies celebrate in the last week of school. That means I now have to come up with dessert for two classes full of kids. Oh, and there has to be goody bags, too. Did you know this is a thing? I was not aware. The result was embarrassed children who needed to redirect those feelings, which were converted to anger, and then spewed at their mother.
Another one for the pros column is that for many years, we had combined birthday parties. With a pool in the backyard, I have a built-in party. And let’s be real, in the early years, kids don’t care about the party. It was essentially an opportunity for the husband and I to have all of our friends and family over. The down side is that with a tremendous family, the guest list gets to be about 120 and there is much cleaning, yard maintenance and prepping to be done. I freaking hate weeding. Also, figuring out party favors for 40 kids, of both genders, ranging from infant to 19, is a task that requires exhaustive hours of internet searching when you should be sleeping.
Oh, and here’s a helpful party tip: don’t kid yourself and buy a piñata with those pull tabs. Because when each and every one of those tabs fail, you end up with your husband on a ladder and a line of sweaty, sugared up kids who are armed, have bad aim and are focused on a moving target that’s dangling right about at the same height as said husband’s private parts. Unless you’re done having kids, this is a bad idea. (My husband would like to add that regardless of your parenting status, this is a bad idea).
The other pro we discovered is that you can get a combined gift. Now that they’re older and their wish lists don’t include $10 My Little Ponies or $20 Lego sets, but laptops and game systems, this is extra nice. Except when they want stuff that requires assembly. When it’s 87 degrees out. And you’ve purchased a 15-foot trampoline.
There were a lot of preventable errors that went into this saga. First and foremost was choosing to pick up the item on a weekday. I knew going in that we would have already put in a full day of work or school. Not a one of us was going to be bringing our “A” game to this project. However, there was also no way my kids, the Prince and Princess of instant gratification, were going to tolerate a single minute of staring at the box. And so it began.
Brian had other obligations and so I set outside with the kids. The box said it requires two adults for assembly. The combined age of my children is 23 so I reasoned that together they made one adult. If I was looking for an adult that is simultaneously morose, super-excited and easily distracted, then I had the perfect helper. However, those were not qualities I needed. I was drip-sweating before we even got the box open.
The manual specifies that one should read all the instructions before embarking upon this adventure. Really? The whole manual? That seems excessive. I’ve put together my fair share of IKEA furniture and feel like that should qualify me for expert-builder status. I mean, what could the people who make the trampoline possibly know that I don’t?
It turns out, they know a lot that I don’t. In particular, they know that it’s difficult to flip over a 15 foot diameter metal ring. Also, you can’t complete a step early, just because it seems like you should. Because then you end up doing it twice. And the second time, you’re mad. Like, Hulk mad. And like the Hulk, you want to smash things.
Did I mention that it was 87 degrees? I don’t like to be hot. It makes me irritable. It makes my children run inside and beg Dad to come help. Because they fear for their lives. Or at the very least, their egos. Because when I’m Hulk-mad, I say things like, “Seriously? You can’t find the springs? Cause there’s like four giant bags of springs directly in front of your face. Do you need a hand-written map?” I’m not proud.
When I get hot, or even think about getting hot, I start to sweat. I sweat like nothing else on this earth. I sweat from my knuckles and even my fingers. Not only does this make grasping tools difficult, it’s disgusting. When Brian came outside, he quickly took over the role of foreman. Then turned to me and said, “Wow, you really smell.”
I’m not sure why he felt the need to point this out. This was not news to anyone and only served to further anger me, which I’m pretty sure made me sweat harder. Later, when we had gotten into a rhythm and I was feeling slightly less furious, he stopped mid-spring attaching.
“I’ve been with you through a lot of tough times —child birth, 5K races —and you have never smelled this bad.”
“Can we just finish? Then, I can shower. But let’s always remember this moment as an example of excellent husband-ing.”
One of the other things the instruction manual made note of, but clearly did not emphasize strongly enough, is that each metal piece (i.e.: pretty much the whole thing) is coated with oil, to make assembly easier. I was sort of thinking they meant a light oil, like olive or sesame. But no, they meant motor oil. Or something like it. Soon, we were all covered in a fine sheath of gray grease. Also, we were assembling the trampoline in sand. So, we were greasy and sandy. I was ready to die.
When it was all over, the children were so happy. My daughter told me that jumping on the trampoline was the most fun she had ever had in her entire life. (Why did we bother going to Disney World?) The two of them jumped for hours and were actually nice to each other. And that makes it all worth it, right?
No. Absolutely not. The only consolation was beer.
And that’s today’s recipe. Beer. Really, really cold beer in a frosted mug. It doesn’t matter what kind. After that little escapade, I finally understand how people can drink Stroh’s. Because it doesn’t matter what the hell it tastes like, it just has to be cold and if it helps you forget the horror you just lived through, all the better.
Laurie Nigro, a mother of two, is passionate about her family, her community, and natural living. Laurie resides in downtown Riverhead and is co-founder of the River and Roots Community Garden on West Main Street.
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