This weekend I washed a trapeze.
I really did.
It sounds so exotic, like I’m the hump-backed member of an Italian circus family (The Hurling Condollendas?) whose duty it is to wash the blood off of the ropes after my brother Rodrigo has had a terrible fall and ended up mauled by the trained seal. Or crushed by a mad swarm of angry clowns on unicycles. Or something.
But no. Just the indoor tiny play trapeze at the preschool.
Those nets were NASTY. All kinds of kid cooties. I unhooked them from the ceiling, brought them home, color safe bleached and scrubbed them to hell with laundry detergent. Many full sinks of black water. Double blech!
And then, dried, I took the trapeze back today and rehung all the ropes. The morning program was having their holiday party so my class was just three; Hazel, Violet and the wonderfully expressive Amelia with the bright blue eyes and curly blonde locks.
The girls played on the trapeze after I rehooked it all.
Amelia, who is quite agile on the swinging bar, declared that she was a “season fairy”. She’d swing gracefully, land, then wave her imaginary magic wand and declare that a catastrophic season mix-up had occurred, with rainbows and snow and sunshine getting “squished” together which apparently causes everything to “melt”.
“Wow!” I said. “You are a great season fairy.”
“And they are season fairies,” said Amelia, waving her imaginary magic wand towards Violet and Hazel.
“No,” said Violet. “I am a tiger.”
“RAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” said little pixie Hazel in her best black metal growl.
“No! NO!” cried Amelia. “You are rainbow unicorns!”
“No,” said Violet. I am a LION!”
“RAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” yelled Hazel.
My girls love dress ups, and baby dolls, and play kitchens, and stickers and pink things. But I’m glad they have some rough edges to them as well.
We may not be circus freaks, but I’d like it if our family retained a few hundred eccentricities.