A Few Thoughts on Bounce Houses

As I write this post, I am sitting in a bounce house. No, don't worry, I'm not bouncing while writing. I am sitting in the parent observation section in the middle of the room, surrounded by bouncing plastic monstrosities.

Not sure how I feel about being considered a parent, although I don't mind being considered the responsible adult.

The lady I babysit for had some free visits, and it was too cold to play outside, so we bundled up and came here.

The door opened and I my eyes beheld a massive explosion of color and chaos.

We arrived just as the place opened. And when I say we, I mean the entire elementary school population of greater Greenville. And their parents. Or responsible adult.

The kids stowed their shoes in the little cubbies and ran into this magical plastic world, squealing with delight.

I sat down and began to observe.

The majority of children here are ages 4-7, although you are allowed to bounce until you are 10. There are a few ten year olds who are trying to pretend that they don't still love it here, and a few babies playing with toys on the floor, but most of the young patrons are running, frantic to get rid of all the post-school-pre-Christmas energy. Some are here for birthday parties, but most are here because their mother needed to get them out of the house.

Speaking of the mothers.

They are all tired. They sit on the plastic chairs, watching their children, drinking Diet Coke, and reading romance novels.

One is crying. She must be at a good part. UPDATE: I just got a look at her book. It is called "Finding the Dream." I'm sure it's a real thriller.

There are a few sets of grandparents reliving their childhood through their grandkids.

There is one middle aged couple holding hands and standing right next to their child, watching his every move.

I see one poor teenaged boy, probably dragged here by his mother, sitting alone and watching some basketball game on TV.

No, I don't know who's playing. I'm only 86% sure I got the right sport.

I don't know why, but I get the feeling that the most exciting thing any of these parents has done recently is sneaking in their own snacks, right past the college guy in a referee shirt at the front desk. Now that is what I call real skill.

Ok, I just had a mom ask me how old my kids are. I may need to get in the bounce house after all.