Jump Rope Fever

The beanbag chairs had been fluffed, the corn had been popped and I was snuggled in with my three pajama-clad children as we waited for the show to begin. After months of promotions, there was no way my family was not going to be gathered around the television for the world premiere of Disney Channel's Original Movie Jump In. The charming kid-flick follows the story of a teenage boxer named Izzy who falls in love with double-dutch rope jumping.

I've never been so grateful for a television show. It's one that's propelled my kids out of the beanbags, onto their feet and into the air where they've been having a hopping good time.

The first one in our home to catch jump rope fever was my oldest, seven-year-old Zoë. She'd not been very successful with her jump rope the previous summer. At that point her coordination hadn't quite caught up with her natural affinity for bouncing. Suddenly, though, she was jumping rope indoors and out, beaming with pride about all her body was now able to do.

The early rope skipping attempts of six-year-old Rollie were admirable, if not entirely fluid. Crouched like a mountain lion prepared to spring, Rollie would flop the rope over his head and watch it fall to the ground. Hopping awkwardly over it he remained, throughout, in a squatting position. Though not particularly energy-efficient, it was incredibly entertaining.

Still unable to manage turning a rope independently, five-year-old Abhishek initially found his niche as our backyard DJ, queuing up dance tunes on his bright plastic CD player.

Like so many other parents, my husband and I are concerned that our children get enough exercise. Since our little suburban farmhands aren't using their bodies to plow the fields or slop the pigs each morning, we make a concerted effort to drum up opportunities for physical recreation. Peter takes them swimming with friends. We drag them on hiking adventures through the woods, clad in pirate bandanas and carrying light sabers. I even create "snack destinations" for us to walk or bike to after school. (That's secret mom-code for Fig Newtons from the gas station mini-mart.)