If only our insurance company would allow us to have a trampoline. Then the boy would have a place to jump, a place actually designed for jumping. Since he was a toddler, he has loved to jump on his bed. First we put our full size guest bed in his room. He jumped, and jumped, and jumped on that thing. But the bed was too big for his room, and when he was four, we bought him a twin size platform bed with drawers underneath. Naturally, the very first thing he did was climb up there and jump on it, only to find that we had replaced his big bouncy bed with a small stiff bed.
He was not pleased. He did not ask for this new bed, and he did not want this new bed.
But that didn’t stop him from jumping. Jump, jump, jump. For the past five years, that bed has taken a beating. He’s big for his age and a wee bit enthusiastic, so it was inevitable that at some point he was going to crash through the platform. And a couple of months ago, he did.
Mr. Enigma, my husband, had patched the hole with some 1/4-inch plywood, but he was afraid it wouldn’t hold forever. So last weekend, he swapped in the platform piece from our daughter’s old bed. (She doesn’t need it anymore because she built her own bed last year.) But before he did, I made him illustrate just how big the hole was. Look how horrified he was to assist.
Of course, uncovering the bed meant unearthing some major dust bunnies. I swear, they’re alive.
Mr. Enigma has all the right tools for just about any job. He has a staple-puller-outer-thingie to pull crazy-long staples out, and a staple gun to shoot crazy-long staples in, among other handy devices.
The bed’s fixed, good as new, but it’s still rotten for jumping. So now the Duke jumps on my bed. There’s no platform to break, unless you consider the second-story floor a platform.