Saturday was spent in celebration of my “niece”, Lily’s, 7th birthday! She is the sweetest little lady and is clearly adored by her family and friends all who know her, myself included. It’s been super cool watching her grow up in the last four years. She’s very talented (ballet, gymnastics, handwriting), a great big sister to her two younger sisters, and a really thoughtful, fun person. Plus, she’s got style, inherited from her mother. On Sunday, she wanted to go to Nordstrom to get a pair of high heels. Love it!!

With the birthday girl!

My excitement for her special day of turning 7-years-old carried over into their exciting new home addition; a backyard trampoline. After catching up and chatting with people at the party, I quickly found myself drawn to jump, because I loved trampolines as a kid and still do now. But suddenly, they have become dangerous for me!

I wasn’t doing anything wild, especially with the little kids jumping with me. No flips or anything. Also, the whole trampoline is netted, so falling off isn’t possible. But apparently, my aging body cannot deal with the bouncing and jumping because I practically through my back out. Most of Sunday consisted of heating pads and rolling from side to side in bed, groaning.

“My god,” I thought. “I’m becoming my father!” He’s 78.

Before I went back to the city on Sunday, I had lunch with Margie in Wilmette at Baker’s Square. Boy did I fit in! Gingerly lowering my disabled body into the booth, shuffling sadly by the pies on display. My back should qualify me for the seniors discount.

My new home, where I belong…

I was “known” for being a scrappy athlete, throwing my body into every sport that I played; they were all contact. When I see things like a trampoline, I just want to do the same thing. Jump in with abandon. Now, there are very real, very painful consequences to behaving like a 7-year-old…

This diaper-esque piece of technology is my saving grace.

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