The fans whirring along were just strong enough to move the heat off the carpet but not quite blow the papers off my table as I graded essays — student voices in my head, excited young voices everywhere else. Jake and Abbey do a classic sibling outing — following each other around half the time, pretending not to know each other the other half. The oversized room full of inflatable jump houses and obstacle structures and trampolines keeps one of them out of my sight for maybe a five-count til they zoom past and I flip to the next assignment.
The community pool had one day a week closed for cleaning and not every day could be free-Museum Tuesday. Jumpalooza, as it was then called, was affordable and interactive but gave just enough promise of working mom productivity. By May in Houston, it’s final grade season and as hot as most people will see in August. I wouldn’t doubt my memory of those two bouncing into each other comes from a day in May.
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Walking in last night, I noticed it immediately: brighter, lighter, cleaner — but familiar. Recognizable, but evolved.
Like Jumpalooza, now called Kanga’s Indoor Playcenter, I too had changed by the evening I walked inside alone. To be walking anywhere alone ten years ago would have been panic-inducing — but solo trips as a mother of teenagers exist in a way they didn’t then. The hands to grasp aren’t as literal.
For the third year, I’m interviewing Lake Houston area sophomores for the Youth Leadership Academy — a year-long program built around practical, community-focused leadership. This year we met at Kanga’s. That’s possible because Jumpalooza didn’t just change its name — it was purchased and rebuilt by Megan Styron, a Lake Houston Outreach board member, and her husband Eric. That the woman who helped build our leadership program now owns the room where we run it is exactly the kind of full-circle that Lake Houston keeps producing.
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No matter what the question or answer was, the teenage interviewees giving examples drew them from their family, friend groups, neighborhood, and community organizations. Thirty interviews. Ten questions each. Not one failed to mention a group work scenario. Their life exists in this community, and the way we cultivate their voices now gives them the language for leadership. In a way a high school of thousands can’t quite replicate, we bring together 24 kids from across the district and create a shared investment in the entirety of the Lake Houston family.
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In between the thirty total interviews held over the weekend and two evenings at Kanga’s, Megan and I had a chance to catch up — a young mom of three and me, a verbose mother of two in her son’s senior year, equally primed for sentimentality and equally short on time.
I glanced up at some point and noticed a netting cylinder hanging from the rafters near the ductwork — like someone had stretched a hula hoop at either end and called it infrastructure. I thought: brilliant. That’s where they corral the birthday balloons on weekends so they don’t disappear into the air conditioning. Very engineer. I pointed up and asked Megan if Eric had designed it specifically to keep runaway balloons out of the ductwork.
She laughed — or was politely confused about what I’d said, which is also possible. Either way, she explained: it’s for a balloon drop. At the end of the school year, they hang the netting from ladders while the playcenter is empty, fill it with over five hundred balloons, and let them fall. It had been up since the recent drop and was easier to leave than to take down before next week’s.
Five hundred balloons. From the exact spot a floor fan once kept five hundred essays from scattering across the carpet.
The air was cool — noticeably, deliberately cool, in a way Jumpalooza in May never quite managed. Every party room now has its own air conditioning unit with a remote control. If you grew up in Lake Houston summers, you understand exactly what that means and why it matters.
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Walking out last night, I drove home to an empty house — my kids old enough now that this is just Monday. We are all the same height. We could wear the exact same size range of playground socks these days. But I’m not done mothering, not even close. What I did tonight was a different version of the same thing: sitting across from young people, listening for the voice underneath the answer, trying to figure out who they’re becoming. I used to try to coax that out of essays. It’s harder in person and more worth it.
I’m grateful I moved us back to Summerwood in 2022 after three years out of state. The diversity, the opportunity, the continuity — it was all still here. It had been Jumpalooza when we shared an Atascocita zip code in our first Texas home. It’s still here at Kanga’s. Some places earn the right to stay. This one did.