When my family left the Puget Sound behind, we promised our daughters a trampoline to ease the trauma of moving. My husband for the first time in his life became his own boss and had an office to run in which he was solely in charge of. Our move came with a six day work week and lots of hours away from home. We moved all the main items into our house and the rest stayed in boxes in our garage. I slowly plucked away at the boxes but with my husband working over sixty hours a week, I didn’t have the heart to ask him to do any house repairs or to build anything.
When spring approached our daughters reminded me of our promise so I ordered them a fifteen foot trampoline. My husband was not thrilled over the prospect of putting it together. At this point in our life, we had been married for twelve years. We make an incredible team and tend to think alike. We complement each other in every way except when it comes to house repairs or projects. It’s as if we don’t speak the same language. We don’t anticipate the other’s needs and no matter how we try, we end up pushing one way or pulling the other way only adding to our frustration.
My brother, exhausted from school, drives in to spend a few days with us. Our faces light up when we see him. We eagerly point to the trampoline, sitting in a large dusty box on our patio. Maybe he would be willing to help us. He frowns and sits quietly on our couch. He tells us that house projects are a single mans curse. Whenever he visits anyone, they automatically assume that he would love to help them with some building project. We can understand this so we let it go.
Our daughters beg and beg us to set the trampoline up, so that night, we unpack the huge box and begin. My husband isn’t one to use directions. Another area in which we don’t complement each other while doing house repairs. We start working, barking at each other as we assemble the frame. Finally, over an hour into the assembly, we are ready to attach the mat and net. Our daughters are jumping around in glee, imagining all the fun. I’m imagining our little family growing with this trampoline. I can picture them learning to do flips as children and lying on it watching fireworks as teenagers.
As we pull the net onto the frame we realize that nothing’s matching up. I pull out the directions that he refused to use. I can already see what the problem is. We attached the frame on backwards and in the wrong order. My husband’s tired face grows red. I can see the self-combustion forming. He gently sets his tools down.
“I’m done! I’m going to bed! I have to work eight hours tomorrow on a Saturday!”
Our little family is defeated for a moment. The kids hang their hands in a moment of sadness. I remind them that their dad has been working so hard and when he has time, we will figure this mess out. Meanwhile, my brother has been quietly watching this exchange. From one man to another, he recognizes this type of exhaustion.
My brother who is a wonderful cook, whips up some breakfast the following morning for all of us, sees my husband off to work and sits down with the directions to the trampoline in his lap. He studies it for a while, his engineering mind at work and then goes outside, circling the dreaded frame. He comes in with a determined look on his face.
“Sis, we can do this! I know what went wrong.”
My brother hands me a beer. The morning is already approaching seventy-five degrees and we know the day is going to be a scorcher. Together, we disassemble the frame and start over from scratch. My brother calls out orders to me and strangely enough I understand them. He puts some music on his phone, we sip on our beers and efficiently re-assemble the trampoline.
Although we are a lot different, we seem to have a natural sense of anticipating the needs of one another. We get each other. Maybe it’s the bond formed by blood or the fact we grew up together. Whatever it is, we work well together and without disaster the trampoline starts coming together. It takes us about three hours start to finish. We take a few breaks in between. My brother even tests the mat out making sure it’s safe and sturdy for the kids.
My husband has a few cancellations and comes home early intent on tackling the trampoline problem again. He walks in to an empty house and finds us on the patio. We are relaxing in Adirondack chairs, drinking gin and tonics to the laughter of the kids jumping. I can’t describe the look of thankfulness in his eyes. Words can’t express how thankful he is to my brother for helping us out.
We love our trampoline. The five of us take turns jumping on it. Yes, just a touch of alcohol was involved! I take care of the boxes and carefully leave the instructions inside. I put the box out in the garage with our heap of clutter from the move. I know as long as we follow the directions, we will always be able to assemble the trampoline without problems. A month later, my husband decides to tear down boxes. He rips up the trampoline box and in a strange twist of ironic fate, he throws the cardboard into the recycling bin, along with the instructions!
Hopefully, it’ll be a few years before we move again. Just another day in my crazy family life!
