We, like many, have been busy sorting out the garden this long weekend. Amongst the surrounding hum of neighbouring lawnmowers, we were getting stuck in and preparing for the hopes of another beautiful summer. But not just that, we prepared for a very eagerly anticipated arrival… A trampoline.
Eldest turns 3 later this month and he’s been wistfully staring at trampolines at every opportunity. It wasn’t until other parents started telling us the wonder of the ‘happily goes to bed when asked, sleep right through’ result of a night, following an afternoon spent on a trampoline, that my husband and I were sold on the idea!
The area was measured, the trampoline ordered and following this, flower beds (ahem.. weeds) have been cleared, a small tree chopped removed and bark laid. All in preparation for the wondrous trampoline.
Only one thing dawned on us today. The space we measured, cleared and planned on suited a 10ft trampoline. So why, oh why have we managed to order a 12ft trampoline?! How? What? Why? Were we drunk on the toxic fumes that the promise of a peaceful bedtime can bring? Did we get click happy and click the wrong one? I blame my husband and his dodgy DIY skills and measuring, he’s blaming my expensive shopping habits… But we’re both a bit perplexed as to how it happened.
So now the next week involves us trying to set up and shoehorn this gigantic trampoline into a very much, smaller gap OR try and organise a very speedy exchange in the days pre birthday. Either way, please wish us luck!