At Home with Cheri

Sunset illuminating the tree in our front yard. Taken during...

Fri, 10 Feb 2012 15:38:43 -0500

Sunset illuminating the tree in our front yard. Taken during half time on Super Bowl Sunday, 2012.

Cheri, nine months pregnant, with Terrible Twos Trevor.

Wed, 08 Feb 2012 19:21:00 -0500

Cheri, nine months pregnant, with Terrible Twos Trevor.

Pregnant Mom vs. Toddler Showdown in the McDonald's Balls

Wed, 08 Feb 2012 19:18:12 -0500

It is 1993. My son Trevor is two and I am nine months pregnant, and we go to McDonalds for lunch. It is a sunny, warm day, so we sit outside by the jungle gym, and after he eats his Chicken Nuggets, Trevor crawls inside The Balls.

He plays for nearly twenty minutes, mesmerized by the thousands of blue, red, orange and yellow plastic spheres the size of softballs. But when I tell him it’s time to go, Trevor refuses to budge.

I try to be tough.

“Trevor, get out. Now.”

“No!”

“Time-out if you don’t get out this instant,” I threaten.

“So.”

I look around. Three moms are enjoying their Quarter Pounders and Fries with their toddlers, grins on their faces, trying not to stare at me but obviously entertained by this fight between a very pregnant mother and her very stubborn two year old.

My mothering skills are now on display. I need to show ~~those women~~ my kid who’s in control.

I take a deep breath and climb onto the tiny platform under the circular orange opening. My belly makes it impossible to kneel down, so I crouch through the opening, obviously designed for small children— not hefty women. I jump into the pool of plastic, and close my eyes as the colorful spheres fly everywhere and hit me on impact. I land with a plop on my back and lay there, spread-eagle for a few seconds, to catch my breath. I gained 45 pounds during this pregnancy, and my huge belly sticks out like a volcano in a colorful sea of plastic.

Trevor moves away from me to the other side of the pen. I struggle to get up and make my way through the never-ending wave of balls to go after him.

I must look like a fool. Oh well, I always wondered what it’d be like to play in the McDonald’s balls, and here I am. Times sure have changed. We didn’t even have Happy Meals when I was a kid.

The resistance of the plastic makes going forward a challenge. I swing my arms back and forth to get some momentum. Trevor scrambles the other way. But my high school track experience comes in handy, and I gain on him, corner him, and grab him by the shoulders. He kicks and flails his arms and yells in protest. But I am strong. I put my right arm around his waist and lift the boy into a football hold and storm back to the circular exit like an NFL fullback. I push Trevor through the hole, and he lands on the ground with a thud. Then I use my arms to pull myself through and somehow manage to crawl out after him.

When I finally get out and stand up, I smooth out my shirt, which has bunched up to expose my huge belly. I glance at the other moms, hoping they’ve lost interest. But they are all staring at me, just as I feared.

How embarrassing. They saw the whole thing. I look like a whale and my kid is acting out and they must think I’m a horrible mother.

But they do something that completely takes me by surprise.

They put their hands together, and clap.

Tears come to my eyes. I am really embarrassed now, because all eyes are on me. But it is a satisfying feeling, knowing I did what it took to handle my boy, and these young mothers can relate.

I smile back at the women, and bend over in a slight bow. And then I realize Trevor is opening the door to the restaurant. I salute my audience, and stumble after my toddler.

I’ll show that kid who’s in control. He’s in for an extra- long time-out, that boy!

And when we arrive home, I break the timeout rule of one minute per year, and set the timer for three long minutes. Trevor sits in his corner patiently. And after that, he never stays in the McDonald’s Balls for too long, again.

"Life’s a Voyage that’s Homeward Bound."

Thu, 26 Jan 2012 18:28:49 -0500

“Life’s a Voyage that’s Homeward Bound.”

- Herman Melville

WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST HUMAN MEMORY?

Thu, 26 Jan 2012 16:37:00 -0500

Life is like a Radish.

I’m about three and covered in dirt, sitting in our tiny backyard garden plot in the Spring of 1964. It’s a typical warm San Diego day. The dirt is dark brown, rich and moist, and it’s all over me. My shorts and plaid short- sleeved shirt are dirty, but mom and dad don’t seem to mind. We are on a mission and I am helping: to find vegetables for dinner tonight. I see a green shoot and grab onto it and pull. Nothing happens. I dig around the shoot a little, then pull some more. Nothing budges. I stand up to get more leverage, bring both hands closer to the base of the shoot, and pull upward with all my might. Finally, the compacted dirt gives way, and I fall back a bit as my reward comes out of the ground. The little ball is covered in dirt, but I can see it is a pretty pinkish/red color. It is hard like an apple, and about triple the size of a Jax game-ball. I brush the dirt off of my lucky find, and proudly hold it up to my Dad, who is standing nearby.

“What is this, Daddy?”.

“It’s a radish!” He grins, delighted at my discovery. “A big one too!”

“Can we eat it?” I ask.

“We sure can,” he says. “Try it!”

I excitedly brush off the last bit of dirt with my shirt. Not one to be timid or shy, I bite hard into the pink, smooth skin. I start to chew and expect it to be sweet and crunchy, but it is nothing like that. A moment later, when the full bitter taste sensation registers in my brain, my mouth feels like it’s on fire.

“Yuk!”. “Ugh!” “Aaargh!”

I hurriedly spit out the little bits of radish onto the ground, over and over, until no trace of the crunchy bits are in my mouth.

“What? You don’t like it?” Dad asks.

“No! I begin to cry. “It’s AWFUL!”

I’m sort of mad at my dad, but then I see my mom and dad laughing, together. “This IS kind of funny,” I think. And I laugh too.

Many years later I look back on that first memory, and think how life is a lot like pulling up a big radish in the garden: Rewarding. Bitter. Surprising. And sometimes, kind of funny.