Even though we live in Nebraska, not too far from Dorothy's Kansas abode, I've often reassured my children that they need not fear tornadoes. While they do happen, the likelihood of one actually striking our home is pretty remote. I like to remind them that Grandma Susie and Grandpa Charles have been much closer to a tornado while spending the day in Salt Lake City in 1999 than I've ever been.
I've still never seen a tornado; however last night I was reminded that the violent storms of the Midwest are nothing to be scoffed at. We spent part of Mother's Day huddled beneath the stairs of my parent's basement, listening to weather reports as we pondered the green sky. No tornadoes, but 75 mph winds and torrential rains. When at last we were given the "all clear," our family headed back home, grateful that all had ended well. Or at least so we thought.
As we pulled into the back alley, we found this:
Actually, that's not true. The sight we saw was much worse, with the tramp lying crumpled on its side in our neighbor's yard on the patch of grass that you can see behind the basketball hoop.
The trampoline had blown out of our yard and across the alley before resting in a mangled heap. Amazingly, it managed to do so without much damage to Jason's parked car, our garage, or heaven forbid, the neighbor's property. We're certainly sad to lose our favorite toy, but grateful that it wasn't so much worse.
And so, in memoriam of our beloved trampoline, here are a few photos of the munchkins playing.
Somewhere I have cute pics of Annika jumping, which perhaps I'll post if I ever get organized. (Unlikely, I know.) The loss of the tramp really is unfortunate since it doubled as a giant playpen. I'd stick her on it, close the zipper, and sigh with relief since she was finally contained. And as we all know, keeping up with her is a challenge. In asking Papa K about his recent babysitting experience, he told me that the kids were mostly well-behaved; "Annie was the only real renegade."