And Ode to the Trampoline.

The trampoline is a god-send. The trampoline is a miracle-worker. If I could meet the man/woman who invented the trampoline, I would shake his/her hand, give him/her a huge hug and then offer him/her my first born child in thanks.
The trampoline is the only way to keep both girls content and happy at the same time, consistently and continuously. Its the only way I have so far found to play with both girls at the same time without one getting jealous of the attention the other is getting. It works better than bicycle rides, better than walks, better than Ludo and Snakes and Ladders combined. I will go in to fight for the trampoline against all the people who want to sue trampoline makers for their child's broken arm/leg/head, I will be used as an expert witness, a character witness, whatever, I will stand up in court, take an oath and swear that it was not the trampoline's fault. That the trampoline is good at heart, and it only ever wants the best for children, and tries to give them the happiness and fun they desire.
And its so simple! Its just bouncing! We jump in circles, we jump in circles the other way. We bounce together, we bounce separately. We pull up our knees, we do star jumps, we do pike jumps, we do somersaults, we play 'crack the egg', we play '1,2,3', we play 'lickety-loo' (games of my own devising). We ignore the sign that says one person on the trampoline at a time (and we won't sue if someone gets hurt). We pee our pants we're laughing so hard and jumping so high and so long. All three of us.
The eldest giggles all afternoon (giggles! ALL afternoon! No tantrums!), she screams, 'Higher, Jenny!' 'Faster, Jenny!' 'Do those funny sounds again, Jenny!' She encourages me (encourages!!) to hold her sister's hands so she doesn't fall over. We have conversations about visiting Mr. Trampoline and eating sorbet and ice-cream and tea with him, we have conversations about the haunted house on the hill, where the white witch also lives, who is the queen of the white witches and also queen of the ghosts, and who eat green sorbet and sorbet of all the colours of the rainbow. We talk about the white witch's crown, and sparkly dress, and sceptre ('Its kind of like a wand.' 'Oh, yeah, I saw the Queen of England once and she was carrying her wand.' 'Sceptre.' 'Yeah. That one'). She's chatty and imaginative and nice to her sister and its all because of the trampoline.
The only problem I can see with the trampoline at the moment is, I went out last night to Clonakilty with the uncle and his mates and had one too many pints of cider (pints are really big. No, seriously. They're really big. Like, really, really big). And when the eldest gets off the bus this afternoon I know she will demand to go on the trampoline straight away. There will be no discussion, no room for negotiation. I will try and suggest she and the youngest go on the trampoline without me. This will not be acceptable. I will make up reasons why I don't want to go on the trampoline. There will be pouting. I will say I'm feeling sick. The eldest will not accept this. Then, there will either be a tantrum, or I will bravely (stupidly) agree to get on the trampoline, which may end with me throwing up in the garden.
Oh, the trampoline.