No more monkeys . . .

Michal and Kenna love to jump. From the first moment we placed them in their cribs, they jumped. Our first trip to the emergency room -- yes, there's been more than one -- was when Kenna was jumping in her crib, caught her chin and put her top teeth through her bottom lip. That was also the moment that napping ended in our house since both girls decided two hours of jumping was much preferred to sleeping. Oh, what a sad day that was.

When they first went to gymnastics class, and weren't even two yet, they refused to swing from the rings, they wouldn't climb the obstacle course of mats but boy could they jump. The other kids would walk or wobble down the trampoline but not my two. They'd hop and jump and leap -- with incredible enthusiasm -- down the tumble track.

And, if I'd let them, they would jump on the couch or the beds as often as possible. So this morning we were in my bedroom admiring the sheet of icicles outside of one of my windows. As I was explaining why it was again much too cold to play outside, I had a weak moment and asked if they wanted to jump on my bed.

The answer was a resounding "yes."

So they jumped, and giggled and jumped some more. And thankfully, there were no trips to the emergency room.