Camp Out on the Trampoline

The other night, Gabe (7) and Payton(10) and I had a sleepover on the trampoline. This is one of my favorite things to do, so I convinced them to join me in much the same manner that over-eager dads convince their sons to go on fifty-mile hikes. Well, okay, so maybe they didn't take that much convincing. Gabe said "Yes!" and jumped in the air, and Payton said, "Okay, but if my stomach starts to hurt, can I go inside?" So we took our sleeping bags and pillows out and started to get them set up. Soon, we realized we needed some kind of mosquito repellent, so I went inside to get some. If anyone knows my mom, you won't be surprised when I say that I walked back outside carrying a perfume bottle filled with listerine. She is very, um, creative (and usually very herbal) in her solutions to problems--a good thing, but it makes life a little sticky sometimes. (Literally. When you burn yourself, she chases you with a bottle of honey.) So I carried this perfume/listerine stuff back out to the trampoline, and, not wanting to sleep with sticky skin, tried to spray it around the perimeter of our sleeping bags. The thing wouldn't spray, so Gabe, who had been sitting patiently on his sleeping bag watching me, finally took it out of my hands and said, "Manda, let me show you what to do." He then proceeded to take the lid off of the perfume bottle and pour the listerine onto our pillows and into our sleeping bags. And when I say pour, I mean pour. I touched my finger to my pillow and there was a puddle. I started to say something, but he looked so earnest. He was saying, "There you go Manda. Now we won't get eaten." He finished and then crawled into his sleeping bag, happy as a clam. I didn't have to the heart to say anything, so I also climbed into my (very wet and minty) bag and tried to forget that I was sleeping in mouthwash. Where was Payton all this time? Asking "What's that noise?" and telling me what he'd learned in school about Hitler. (Yes, I thought it was a little strange too.) Despite the mintiness and the fact that we couldn't avoid squishing up against each other in the center of the trampoline and getting our slippery sleeping bags twisted around us, the night was a success. We all fell asleep peacefully after sharing our "deepest, darkest secrets" (Gabe's words) and trying to pick out satellites in the night sky. If I never buy my own house someday, I think I'll live on my trampoline. I'll just make sure I have bug spray.