When the bouncy castle arrived last night in my backyard I think I was the most excited. As the generator blew up the 20 foot yellow crayon castle I swore I could hear the word, FREEDOM, rustling through the tiny white fan. Its reverberation echoed throughout the neighborhood as I could see my girlfriends peeking out of their kitchen windows as they knew that they also would benefit from the majestic nylon sight. For at least 24 hours every adult on the block were could be assured that they would not hear those two words, "I'm bored" muttered from the mouth of babes. It started out as a fantastic idea...rent a bouncy castle, sponsor a sleepover with seven third graders and follow it up the next morning with a good ole fashion neighborhood kids only block party. Cue foreshadowing music? We guarded all entrances to the house, as this was an outdoor party darn it and during this recession time, we were not accustomed to allowing $5 bills to fly out into the yard because the kids kept the doors open. You know I remember when we were young during the summer you had a choice "out" or "in" once you chose out, you would have to stay out until the street lights came on or dinner was served. We peed in bushes when we had to use the bathrom and when we were hungry we scavenged for food in the most unlikely of places, but we never thought of going inside the house.
Not this generation, this group of natives were relentless, they tried and tried again to outwit, outplay and outlast us, with their droopy eyes, little red faces and parched little throats. But we always a step ahead, armed with pitcher upon pitcher of ice water, popsicles and the sprinkler. These kids could hack a couple of hours outside in the 75 degree weather, and we were the one to teach 'em.
Not this generation, this group of natives were relentless, they tried and tried again to outwit, outplay and outlast us, with their droopy eyes, little red faces and parched little throats. But we always a step ahead, armed with pitcher upon pitcher of ice water, popsicles and the sprinkler. These kids could hack a couple of hours outside in the 75 degree weather, and we were the one to teach 'em.
However, the "cry of freedom" I had heard less than 24 hours before changed throughout the morning and by noon on day two, it sounded more like the battle cry of Mel Gibson rallying his troops of Scottish misfits to fight the English in "Braveheart". Only the battlefield was my backyard and we (my husband and I) were the poor English saps, keeping the soliders from their land, were outnumbered and exhausted. As I started threading the needle for the white of surrender, we came up with a new plan, FOOD, so we started lunch. As hubby was grilling, one little boy who had complained most of the day, had a problem with the day's menu of hot dogs. To his mortification, hubby answered, "well we could plop some ketchup on the plate and give you a spoon" about that time I walked in and followed with the one, two punch combo, "or you can walk home and have your mom make you a turkey sandwich".
Ups and downs, downs and ups, literally speaking, plagued us for the rest of the afternoon. At 2pm, we finally found a break in the battle as the little heathens tore off one by one, heading for home and slumber. I looked at hubby through my sprinkler soaked t-shirt and ketchup stained jeans and we agreed that overall it was a good plan with some minor flaws. Next time we rent a bouncy castle we will invite adults only, serve t-bone steaks and homemade margaritas, the sprinkler is optional. I mean, seriously why can't I...
