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!
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