The Trampoline for Quarantine

“Want to get a trampoline now?” I asked my husband late one night. We’re quarantined with three active children who have been using the living room as a parkour course. For the sake of the couch, I needed an alternative. 

“Sure,” he replied. “But I want a good one. One with a high weight limit.” 

“Done,” I said. 

And we both went to work on Googling: “Trampolines for families. Trampolines with good reviews. Trampolines for adults. Trampolines that will last until the kids move out.”

“Maybe we should measure the backyard?” My husband suggested, mouse hovering over a “Buy Now” button. 

“Yeah, that might be a good idea.” 

We found the tape measure and haphazardly stretched it across the yard. 

“Isn’t the geodome like 10 feet?” I said. It’s a round climbing structure we have in the backyard. It takes up half the yard.  “We could probably do a 15 or 16 ft trampoline. I mean, we want everyone to fit.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he said. 

“Done,” I said. And made my husband go through the process of finding a coupon and ordering the trampoline. 

A week or so later the kids were on a Facetime call with friends when the doorbell rang. I gasped as I opened the door and stumbled into six gigantic boxes taking up my front porch. 

I debated on leaving them until Husband came home, but someone might steal them in my quiet neighborhood. They were clearly labeled with pictures of kids living their best life jumping on a trampoline. Better to bring them inside. 

The kids crowded around, phone in hand, to show their friends the boxes. “Out of my way,” I bellowed, wrestling one of the eighty pound boxes inside. Five more to go. 

Inch by inch I scooted the boxes in. Pulling and prodding with some assistance from my pint-sized associates. 

Finally, they were in, friends on the phone long forgotten, and my front door unable to open because that was as far as I could drag the boxes. Good thing we weren’t expecting visitors. 

Over dinner we watched a YouTube video on how to assemble the pieces. The male and female volunteers looked like average parents, inserting poles here and there, clicking things into place. At super speed (literally, the video sped up because who wants to watch someone hook spring after spring after spring after spring) the trampoline was assembled, and the safety net put on. It looked simple. Basic. Step-by-step attainable. Husband and I both hold college degrees. Surely we can assemble a giant trampoline. 

The next day after work, Husband wrestled the heavier boxes out to the backyard. Fighting gnats, I mean children, that continued to swarm around us, we laid out the foundation pieces. 

“Um, this is kinda big,” my husband said, watching as our lovely patch of lawn was dwarfed by the metal circle he now had laying on the ground. 

“Yay!” the gnat children cheered, running in circles and tripping over pieces. 

We put together the base, click click click. Maybe this would be pretty simple after all. 

The connecting pieces came next, finishing the circle of fun. After that the actual bouncy part of the trampoline was unrolled. 

The directions said to attach the springs one at a time, at alternating sides. The first few were easy, as the mat wasn’t fully stretched. Then we had to start counting holes and matching them up.  

“Let’s just go from here,” we said. Counting is for nerds. And we started to fill in one side of the circle. The springs started to stretch, my husband's muscles bulging as he matched them to their correct spots and tried not to blast his eye out from a ricocheting spring. 

Two hours later we had the base done. 

Next was the padding over the springs, which you’d think they’d have figured out some type of elastic to go around the frame. Like a fitted sheet. But no, we had to individually thread five million holes and tie the topper down. 

Now we were done. 

No, just kidding. Apparently it’s not “safe” to jump on a trampoline without a safety net. I don’t know about you, but we never had any nets on trampolines when I was younger. You either stayed on or fell off. And if you fell off, you just climbed back on and tried to be more careful. Or you ended up in the emergency room with a broken arm. Such was life. 

Anyway, we opted for the premium net. Nothing is too safe for our precious children (who were practically frothing at the mouth with uncontrollable excitement at this point). This net required more work than the trampoline itself. We take safety very seriously. Obviously. 

Ten poles had to be strategically connected to the trampoline base. Using his combined powers of super strength and rocket science reasoning, Husband meticulously latched and clicked and pounded when the clicks weren’t clicking. 

I went in to make dinner and feed the heathens. Next thing I knew, it was dark and the poles were all attached. 

Now, our backyard has a sorry excuse for a light to illuminate the patio. Really, it just serves as a graveyard for bugs. 

The oldest child fetched the floodlight from the garage and said, “Let there be light.” Not really. God said that. Regardless, there was light. Light enough to realize that the poles were on upside down. 

Yes folks, you read that right. Husband spent the next hour angrily righting his wrongs. 

I cleaned the kitchen. 

So the poles are hooked into place. Now what? Oh yes, the actual net to go around this behemoth and save all the children. We had to attach thin metal strips of alternating sizes in the correct spaces. But of course they weren’t color coded. We had to actually measure them to see which was longer. While maneuvering the fabric of the gigantic net-to-save-us-all. While standing on the trampoline. We only lost one metal strip, found it, had to rearrange a few, and then came the next part: hooking the net to the top of the now-righted poles. 

I held, he reached, and we may have performed a few illicit moves all around. The top portion of the net was now complete. 

“You take over from here,” Husband said. 

“Fine,” I begrudged. 

So we all went to bed.

The next morning the husband went to work and the kids jumped while I tied the net to the base. And tied. Over and under and through the hole in the net and through the hook in the spring and through the hole in the net and through the hook in the spring and through the hole in the net and through the hook in the spring. One hundred and seventy times. Tie off and done. 

For real this time. 

We might not have a lawn any more, but we do have a trampoline to last until the kids move out. With a premium safety net. No broken arms on our watch.