So we allow jumping off the couch. Onto cushions, and mostly just under supervision. (Not under supervision = when I walk into the living room and find Sophia quietly jumping on her own, with a carefully constructed cushion pile.) No jumping on the couch itself . . . I don't think my $125 craigslist special would stand up to that for long.
There are some boundaries to the craziness. You want to have a screaming contest with your brother? In the living room, please, not in the kitchen where I am. Time to run around the house like banshees? Do it quietly. At least when you come thru wherever I am.
Hmm. I guess my boundaries mostly have to do with noise. Climbing on the furniture is sort-of ok, but I am not a big fan of high volume accompanying said climbing.
I guess I mostly figure they are going to climb and run and be crazy, so why bother being bothered. I have other battles I prefer to fight . . . everyone has to choose their battles! I would rather fight the "clean up your toys" or "set the table" or "be polite" battles instead. Otherwise I would end up having to put the kid in timeout 20 times a day for jumping, and Jude would be right there behind her.
Welcome to Crazytown!
As I write this it's "naptime," and I hear suspicious jumping sounds coming from Sophia's room . . . no holes have been bashed in the walls, though, and there haven't been any broken bones (knock on wood), so I pretty much just pretend not to hear it. Naptime is too sacred for me to interrupt it with refereeing! Lest you are fooled into thinking that I am Uber Zen Mama, let me tell you that there are plenty of times I do nip the crazy in the bud . . . one can only take so much crazy per day, after all!