The Chuckee Cheese Prize Ball

                   

                                  The Prize Ball   

     My son loves to bounce on his huge Chuck E Cheese’s ball.

     A ball he won with the abundant tokens he collected with the help of his dad at the several birthday parties and trips to Chuck E Cheese.  My son estimates it to be 2,000 tokens.

      The ball has now been in my home for almost two years and it withstands all the tireless rolls, bounces, kicks, and rides my son has to offer. I suppose the ball really loves the dynamic utility it is for my energetic seven years old.  I wonder if any other little single person can employ the ball to the extent my little one does.

     My husband has a panic attack every time his boy bounds and springs around on the ball.

He thinks the huge blue globe of fun can roll the child off against the wall and change a lively situation into one of disaster. I believe in positive mindedness so I sit back and enjoy the scene.

     The duo lands up right in front of their dad when he is glued to the TV. My husband never responds to his surroundings when watching his programs, except for when the enormous blue ball and my spirited child perch right in front of him, blocking his view, or when, from afar my son crash lands on his lap with great glee at his success.

     Such times as these my husband threatens to puncture the ball, to which my son dives right back onto his roller coaster and shouts, “NOOOOOOOOO!!”

     My daughter often begs her brother for a turn to ride on the big blue ball. She enjoys several rides with the permission of the proud owner. But there are also times she kicks the ball away with fury when the spherical toy and her sibling distract her favorite moments of sprawling and reading on the floor.

     I have had destructive feelings toward the ball because the ball and its rider dirty the walls and soils the couches after their trips around the unfinished basement. How tiring the cleaning episodes can be!

     My child and the ball come in my way when I want my space. I have a strong urge to stick a sharp pin or fork into that ball.

    Something inside stops me.

    The anger is momentary. I will never harm the ball. Nor has it been accidentally pierced or deflated.

     Once my daughter lost her balance on the ball causing her glasses to scratch her forehead. I put the ball in a corner for a day. Then I made some rules before the children got the ball busy again.

    The ball is as dear to me as my two munchkins. I savor the sight of my son dexterously maneuvering himself on it. I admire his balance and relish his coordination.  I love the charming concentration of my daughter as she rolls on it.

    I will never puncture the ball for its trivial misdeeds.

   When the children are away at school the ball silently occupies some place in the house.  Some days in the kitchen, rolled on by the boy just before breakfast. At times the ball is lodged near a desk in the study where the kids have been on it to grab the back pack. Other days it rests in the foyer where it has served as a seat for the kids to stuff in the shoes with a shoe horn. Often it takes a break in the living area, the last bouncing spot of the riders before they rush off to the school bus.

     It gives me company along with all the scattered miniature toys. It is my companion, waiting with me for the children to return, to get engaged in work the way I do after their homecoming.

    The ball entertains other children visiting us. It silently cheers the little ones on while motivating them to get rolling. It actually babysits them.

     During long winters, rainy days, and burning summer mid days the ball has been my life saver. It has provided the exercise my children need.

      More than anything, it distracts my husband when he’s watching TV - what I would love to do myself.  Isn’t it on my side?

     The ball is meant to stay! My aide!

   

Mystery Chunky Smootie

    

                                            Mystery Chunky Smoothie

         It’s a cloudy June morning. My husband has taken my son for his swim lessons and my daughter has four of her friends over. The girls go to the same school in our little town in the Hudson Valley, and are in the fourth grade.  

     The girls play a round of Scrabble and Sorry. Bollywood songs blare on my daughter’s pink boom box. Suddenly, they jump and start to twist and dance to the music. The giggling doesn’t stop.

     I pour lemonade and wash strawberries for them.

    Later they cycle (bike) around the community. Then I hear their voices in the driveway. As I go about my chores, I continually stand near the window to watch them. They take turns on my daughter’s Pogo stick and skipping (jump) rope. And then they come indoors for more lemonade and water.

   The girls always want to cook during their play dates. I usually try to convince them to find something else to do. Today is one of the days they have exhausted all their other activities.

     “Amma, we will surely finish all that we prepare.” My daughter knows very well that one of the rules they have to follow is not to waste any food.

      “But last time you didn’t finish the waffles, remember?” I raise my eyebrows.

       My daughter jumps up and down clasping her hands in a gesture of prayer. “This time we will. You will not have to help us finish, if you don’t like it.” The other girls look at me with serious but hopeful faces.

      “Fine! Be careful.” I sit down in the family room, adjacent to the kitchen to read my book. I can’t leave them alone.

     I hear the clanking of dishes and the girls talking in hushed tones. They are not referring to any recipe so I know they are whisking up some concoction.

    “Amma, we are using the hand blender.”

     “Yes.” I have taught her how to use it.

     Finally, they announce in unison. “Close your eyes. We have a surprise! It’s coming up!” It takes a while but I wait with my eyes closed.

     “Open your eyes!” Excited voices chime.

     I see the proud beaming faces. “Here it is,” they proclaim. “The Mystery Chunky Smoothie.”

      And there it is poured in glasses, half full, with all of the secret components. They have done their best to showcase their culinary skills. The tray has a cracker in each corner and three mint leaves from the garden placed between the glasses, and a few rose petals strewn here and there.

     My daughter says, “Guess the ingredients.” The rest look on with twinkling eyes and smiles.

      The honor of tasting the smoothie first is all mine and my audience stands around clapping and shouting, “How’s it? How’s it?”

      “It’s good. I can taste banana.” The smoothie is thick, extremely sweet and has plenty of nuts.

     “And what else?” The little ladies are grinning.

     “Yogurt and vanilla ice cream and lots of sugar.” While taking a little sip, I admire their expectant faces.

     “There’s more,” one of the girls tells me. I notice she’s wearing a Strawberry Shortcake dress.

     “Strawberries? But there were only a couple left.”

     They nod. “There are a lot more ingredients in there. One is from Ooty.” My daughter adds, “from the tree Appa and you planted when you were engaged.” She flops next to me on the couch and lays her head on my shoulder.

    “I know what it is.” I take another tiny sip. “I am chewing it now.”

     All the girls clap again.

    “Yum! I love it. Now, your turn to try. Let the rest of the ingredients remain a mystery.” I gesture at the other glasses.

     The girls taste it cautiously. One of the cooks refuses to give it a try.  I suppose some innovative cooks don’t risk tasting their end products.

     ”Amma, can you take us to the Beacon Riverfront for the Strawberry Festival?”

     “Of course!” I say. “I’ll take you on the Sloop Woody Guthrie. We can watch Pete Seeger sing as we eat strawberry shortcakes.”

     The girls jump in glee.

   “But only after you finish the entire Mystery Chunky Smoothie and clean up. It’s one o’ clock now, and the festival runs only till five.”

     The girls drink half a cup each, and two halves are still left. I notice their puzzled faces. It’s clear no one wants to drink anymore smoothie.

     “Anyone want more?” one of the girls asks.  Their faces now change to scowls. They shake their heads gloomily.

   Just then, my son comes running in through the laundry door.

    My daughter takes the tray with the two remaining glasses of smoothies and walks towards her brother. “Have this smoothie.”

     “Does it have yogurt?” He’s never liked the flavor of yogurt.

      “Yes.” She pouts and frowns.

      “No way am I going to have that smoothie!” He scoots to the pantry.

      My husband walks in. My daughter quickly pours the smoothie from one glass into the other and hands over the full glass of smoothie to her dad.

      “Appa, finish this smoothie.”

       He asks no questions. Finishes the smoothie. “That was delicious.”

        The girls applaud. Little does my husband know the applause is for the deal he has just helped them win.