Yet Another Tale of Pain

There is a hammock swing that is tied to a large tree below the outdoor patio. My dad adjusted the rope last week so that it would rest on a knot that was further out on a limb, to ensure that participants avoid any collusions with the trunk. This modification led to a significant increase in swing traffic. Swinging became one of the kids favorite pastimes, as well as Grandpa Gary's new job. Everyone knows that my mom, AKA, "the baby whisperer," is all the kids' favorite. She's incredible with them...possesses an unparalleled amount of patience and always comes up with creative and imaginative activities. But the swing was Grandpa's in...his ticket to some face time with the kiddos. This was his niche...professional swinger (not in the non-monogamous sexual activity/wife-swapping sense, made popular in the 60s and 70s...come on...way out of line...this is a family show).

Grandpa could push them the highest and fastest. And when it comes to kids, if you can do anything bigger, better, longer, higher, faster, and/or funner...you've got their attention...that is until you're trumped by the newest superlative. For the past week, all of us women, especially my mom, have been questioning the rope's capacity to withstand the wear and tear produced by the continual rubbing on the tree knot. The kids would be flying high in the air and we'd look up at the rope with, what started as nonverbal skepticism, but eventually led to very vocal uncertainty about the safety of this activity. We were, of course, dismissed as being needlessly anxious worrywarts. Turns out it was just another case and point for women's intuition.

In an effort to save my niece and nephew from certain injury and a trip to the hospital, I subconsciously determined I'd take one for the team. Yesterday, as I sat peacefully in the aforementioned swing, Mike decided to start pushing me (most likely to release his lingering frustration from Settlers of Catan). Right as he was preparing to attempt some real Grandpa Gary momentum, the rope snapped. Unfortunately for me, I'm not quite BA enough to defy the laws of motion, and ended up with a one way ticket on that flight, rather than the far more preferable round trip. In other unfortunate news...my feet had been positioned inside the hammock...proving useless towards any attempt to catch my fall. And, like most aircrafts...despite the false security you may get from being told your seat can allegedly be used as a flotation device...if it's going down, you're pretty much screwed. I landed butt first, along with the hammock, on the exceptionally hard brick. That's gonna leave a mark...especially for someone like me...bruise like a peach. Thankfully I have a wealth of assests...even white boys got to shout...

I believe that normal protocol in this situation would be to first make sure that the victim of such a fall is not badly injured. But, everyone was too busy being thankful that this hadn't happened when one of the kids was swinging 9 feet off the ground. Bullet dodged. My dad was pretty stoked he avoided that whole scenario. Once the "I told you so" cards were played by the ladies, and it was confirmed that I only suffered some minor injuries, Mike stopped laughing just long enough to get some excessive weight jabs in...then went back to cracking up. Typical older brother...kick me when I'm down, literally. However, not everyone was as rude. Despite the fact that I didn't go into this knowing I would be performing a kamikaze mission, they decorated me a hero for sacrificing my tailbone for the good of the kids. Better me than them. Although, the kids are less than grateful that I broke their swing.

And the physical beatings continue...my body has had a rough go of it lately...hoping to break this pattern soon...