House of Pain

On Saturday, we took nine boys to Bounce-it-Out: a giant warehouse filled with bounce houses and inflatable slides.

The parents of one neighborhood boy couldn't take him so we drove him. They also couldn't find the invite so we agreed to sign his waiver. The hubby joked with the kid's dad as we drove away, "Say goodbye to Tommy. You might not ever see him again."

This kid couldn't be any cuter. Little guy with white blond hair and a sweet face. He's also the same kid who comes to visit and, next thing you know, is as high as possible in our trees and I'm fearing for his life. As the youngest of three, he's wilder than some of the other kids we know. Yet his parents are two of the most laid back people you could meet. His mom is like Martha Stewart and his dad is like a modern day Ward Cleaver.

At Bounce-it-Out, the hubby and I sat down at the quietest place we could find which was away from the mayhem and behind the snack bar. About five minutes later, an Indian kid is ushered over to the counter with what appears to be a broken nose. Blood everywhere. All over napkins, his hands, his mom's hands, etc. The teenage help is filling plastic gloves with ice. (Note: they need an RN on staff. Hence the waiver.)

I say to the hubby, "Oh, please don't let that happen to any of the kids with us!"

He responds, "Well, if it does, it'll be Tommy because we signed his waiver."

Not one minute later, Tommy comes running over, head in hands, crying. He points to a big, bulbous, purple lump forming on his temple. "I just smashed my head into that kid's nose."

Of course you did.

He calms down, returns to the scene of the crime and another kid, Keith, comes over clutching his belly. "My stomach hurts."

"What's the matter?" I ask as I'm thinking, "Oh Lord, here we go."

"Tommy just tackled me."

Of course he did!

I just hope my nightmares end soon.

I came to get down. I came to get down. So get out your seats and jump around. Jump around. Jump around. Jump around. Jump up. Jump up and get down.

Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump. Jump.