After about an hour of watching my youngest at a gymnastic party I began to feel horribly guilty for not participating in the balance beam, foam pit and those rings that hang down from ribbons. It didn’t help matters that “Story of My Life” was playing.
I slammed my computer lid shut and yelled, “C! Want mommy to play with you?’
“Yeah, sure!” he said in his always adorable raspy voice.
I threw off my cow girl boots, attempted to hide the collar of my husband’s gold toe socks under my skinny jeans and I was off.
“C’mon, I need to show you something,” C said with pride since I had joined him. I followed in his wake to a trampoline walkway that gave way to a foam pit. A foam pit is a pit of foam cubes measuring to about 12″ x 12″ x 12″. Secretly it looked fun.
C demonstrated his expertise with the foam pit. He ran as fast as he could, jump, flip forward and land on his back in the pit.
I Should Never Enter a Foam Pit
After several turns, including a mother, I decided I needed to jump. I stood at the starting line and yelled over to C who was standing at the cusp of the pit.
“You ready C?”
He nodded enthusiastically.
“Are you really ready because I am going to totally embarrass you,” I said as I rolled up my sleeves.
“Oh no!” he said as he theatrically threw his hand on his forehead, rolling his eyes.
I ran as fast as I could and threw my hands up in the air like I was jumping into a pool.
To my relief there wasn’t any hard surfaces and I felt like I was jumping into a cloud. I “swam” over to the sides only to find I could swim over but not up.
I laughed cheerfully while smiling up to the birthday boy’s mom.
“Hey, looks like it’s a little tough to get out of here,” I said.
“Yeah, I had a real tough time getting up,” she said making me feel better about her 60 lb body weight having trouble.
I tried over and over again to no avail. I felt as if my socks were holding me back and I contemplated just leaving them. Like the army or something I thought, ‘No! We don’t leave any garments behind and that includes the socks.’ With renewed gusto, I deemed the situation ridiculous and I was now determined to get me, my dignity and socks out of that stupid pit.
“I just took a picture of you mom! Look!” C said while turning my phone around so that I could see. This made me sink back into the pit.
“Do you need the rope?” Birthday boy’s mom asked.
“No, I’m fine,” I said like a stubborn 85-year-old determined to remain independent and not live in the nursing home.
After 5 minutes of trying and knowing there was a line now of 6 kids,I admitted defeat.
“Send in the rope!” I said like a Fire Chief ordering the jaws of life. Here is the pic C took of me being saved…with my socks intact:
I was really pissed and a little aggravated I did not have enough strength to pull myself out of this pit but the foam and my socks acted like velcro not releasing me. Additionally, I felt my arms burn as I tried to pull myself up via the rope. During the rope exercise in school I would normally inch myself up 1″, jump off and say, “I’m good”, failing that part of P.E.
By now a few parents had sauntered over and I could tell they were thinking about trying it.
I looked at them as if I were looking at a teen who was thinking about getting an arm tattoo and just said, “Think long and hard about this. Think long and hard.”