The Misadventures of Cheri

Mortifying my kids one swimsuit at a time

When the truth seems like a lie

I have a confession to make.  I am probably the world’s clumsiest and most uncoordinated person.  Why God decided to wrap both of those things up in the impressive package of me, I have no clue.  Maybe to keep me humble?  Pshaw.

If I wanted to bore you, I could tell you about kicking the t.v. as a teenager because I couldn’t do the Jane Fonda workout.  (It felt much better years later to find out she was getting liposuction to stay trim.  Okay I can’t find anywhere to confirm that, but I swear I heard her say it.)  Or the horror of aerobics classes.  Even trying to help with a teen’s dance class and I couldn’t get ANY of the moves down.

I trip over nothing, over my feet, over nothing, twist my ankle in flip-flops.  Once I even dropped my son and tore ligaments in my ankle while wearing Birkenstocks.  Which meant I got to wear a walking cast that weighed 50 pounds for 6+ weeks when I was pregnant with Amber.  And heaven for-BID there’s uneven pavement that I happen to be walking on.  Or when I *thought* I was on the last rung of the ladder while decorating for Christmas.  Only I was on the second to the last rung and landed straight legged with a thud heard ’round the world.  Talk about jingling your bells.  The most embarrassing moment of my life involves falling in a church auditorium packed with 2,000 plus people.  All sitting down.  As I stood up and fell in the aisle.

By far my best talent in this area is falling down stairs.  Once Tyler thought I was just a mass of broken bones and the bottom of the stairs.  Nope, my robe just made it look that way.  Another time I was carrying a bowl of cereal down the stairs and – timbrrrrrrrrrrr – me on the floor, milk ALL OVER the two story wall.  Or the other time I fell and was left with a bruise that measured 8 inches across my rear.  How do I know this?  I was telling my chiropractor about it and she measured it.  And laughed a little too hard if you ask me.

One particular trip down the stairs was more remarkable than the others that all blend together.  As I bounced down on my derriere my right arm was hitting every spindle holding up the banister.  The spindles are kind of skinny and it hurt like the dickens.  The next day I notice long, finger-like marks all up and down my entire arm.  The kind you think you’d see on an abused wife.  And the biggest problem?  It was the middle of August and you cannot get away with wearing long sleeved shirts and not dying of heat stroke in my lovely part of the country.

I didn’t know what to do, so I tried to formulate a plan.  If someone asked me what they were, I’d tell them I fell down the stairs.  Uh, isn’t that what every abused wife says?  OH!  I could tell them I really clumsy.  Again, isn’t that what they all say?  At one point I honestly think I worried one of my acquaintances. 

What did I finally do?  I just avoided eye contact with as many people as possible for a week or so.  AGAIN, exactly what an abused wife does.  At least those that knew us best at the time just laughed at the latest misadventure of Cheri.

A little too hard if you ask me.


The Olympics. are. killing. me. {A recap of the last two weeks of my life}

I’m sitting here more dazed and confused than usual.  And I’m pretty sure the winter Olympics has something to do with it . . . . . . .

I guess the spiral my mind is in started much earlier than just two weeks ago.  It began when things saying “Vancouver 2010” started popping up on t.v. and other places.  My immediate reaction for at least a month was, “What in the heck is going on in Vancouver that’s so impressive it’s getting national media attention?  Are we all gonna die or something?”  For those of you who don’t know, I live in the original Vancouver – the one in Washington state, the one 50 years older than the other Vancouver.  Hmm, never heard of my city?  Don’t feel bad, half the people in the state don’t know we’re here.  To be honest, when we’re on vacation and we meet fellow Washingtonians and I have to explain where we’re from, it gets tedious.  We’re the fourth largest city in the state . . . . not like some podunk little outpost on the side of a highway.

Once I got it all straightened out in my mind I started to get excited.  For the first time in my life, the Olympics were being held in the same time zone that I lived in.  Do you realize what that means?  No irritating delays!  Being able to see the events as they happen!  Not accidentally finding results on the internet and ruining my watching of said Olympics!  It was like a dream!

And that’s exactly what it turned out to be, one big dream.  We in the Pacific time zone have to wait with the rest of the country and stay up until all hours of the night to see our favorite events.  Burns my biscuts that we have to wait for everything so the east coast can see it, too.  What’s it like to be worshipped, east coast?  I’d like to know.

Other than having to stay up until midnight nearly every night, these Olympics have been fun.  Not so fun was the Georgian luger who was killed before the games started.  Did you see his fellow countrymen and women as they came in the stadium on opening night?  Talk about heartbreaking.  My son saw the replay of the wreck and because of that said he needed to get a helmet for snowboarding.  I was so proud of him.  (And, no, I’ve never made him wear a helmet when he goes snowboarding.  But he has to wear one for biking and skateboarding.  There aren’t any cars on the mountain that could kill him.)  So God bless you, Nodar Kumaritashvili.  I wish you had never been killed . . . . thank you for your inspiration to my son.

And then there was the snowboard cross and the half-pipe.  Did you SEE Shaun White??  I kept rewinding and watching him again and again to see just how high he went compared to the other competitors.  Absolutely amazing.  But it leads me to one question: Is he really a robot?

Watching the figure skating (not ice dancing – snore) has been bittersweet.  My mom loved figure skating. I vividly remember watching Dorothy Hamill win her gold medal in 1976.  I have been to more Ice Capades and Stars on Ice than I can remember.  I have watched copious amounts of ice skating with my mom.  Critiquing the costumes, makeup, hair, how gay the guys were (oops, did I really type that?), etc.  It was bitter because I don’t have my mom to talk to about all that stuff.  But sweet because I have so many happy memories of her and Olympic skating.  And I get to make those same sorts of memories with my daughter.
**Confession time.  Earlier I made a reference to ice dancing putting me to sleep.  I stayed up and watched that one, too, until midnight.  I’m addicted.**

There was no way I was going to miss a second of the women’s figure skating.  It was wonderful.  Kim Yu-na is a fluffy, floaty, gossamer dream on the ice.  No one had a chance against her.  I’m so glad she won.  It broke my heart to hear that when she came in second she didn’t get any congratulations.  I’m so glad I don’t live in a shame based culture.  I was giddy over her win!  And the sweet girl from Canada whose mom had just died, Joannie Rochette.  The commentators (more on THEM later) kept saying, “How can she do it,” and other things of the same vein.  OH, I’ll tell you how she can do it. She’s in shock.  It’s the only way you get through the first few weeks of the death of a very close loved one.

And now to the worst part of the Olympics for me, the commentators.  Come ON!  The only one I can stand is Scott Hamilton.  Everyone else’s remarks have just been ridiculous.  One lady commenting on a very young mens figure skater said he was “not fully baked,” and would mature over the next four years.  Not fully baked?  Who says that on national t.v.?  Even one of my cousins commented on Facebook, “Is it just me or are all the Olympic commentator this year a bunch of nobs?”

That’s why I’m so tired.  I’ve been staying up super late to watch the Olympics (and I will tonight – Go Apolo!).  Getting up and getting school going has been interesting.  And today was my day to take veggies for the teacher break room at Friday school, which I forgot.  Thankfully I remembered a couple of days ago and bought two trays.  I just had to zoom home after chapel and bring them back.  Aren’t you glad you read those last three sentences?  Riveting I tell ya, downright riveting. 


So it’s been a month

Well, almost a month.  I just have NOT felt like blogging.  Don’t worry, the Misadventures of Cheri continue on a daily basis.  This last mental free for all my brain took on me just had to be published.

There’s this guy in Austin’s karate class – he’s in his early 20’s and he likes to snowboard.  Weekend before last, there was a snowboarder killed on Mt. Hood because he was going extremely fast and crashed.  Karate guy (aka: Jason) hasn’t been in class since this happened.  Tonight was the last straw.  I was in a panic when I didn’t see his truck at karate.  I mean, out of the thousands of snowboarders that inhabit Mt. Hood every weekend at various snowboard areas, Jason HAD to be the one who died, right?  Makes perfect sense to me.

I Googled “Mt. Hood death” tonight and my heart was beating out of my chest.  Since it probably was Jason, I was going to have to look up the karate instructor’s e-mail and break the news to him.  I could never call him; he intimidates the mud out of me.  I mean, he is so accomplished what with his 5th degree black belt.  I’ve only called him twice in 3 years.  First, to inform him that Austin’s finger was broken (unbeknown to us) and that’s why he did semi-crummy at his blue belt test.  He still got the belt, but wow . . . . Austin’s an official stud.  And the second time to tell him that Austin couldn’t do karate for three weeks because of said broken finger.

Did I actually have a point here?

Anyway, as I rifled through the many entries that had nothing to do with Jason’s demise, I became sicker as the seconds passed by.  How was I going to tell Austin?  How was I going to tell Most Honorable and Awesome 5th Degree Black Belt and not cry like a child?  Not that I’d actually talk to him, but, ya know. Haven’t we all been through enough?

Then my eyes found the article I was looking for.

My hand shook as I guided the mouse oh-so-carefully to the correct entry.  I warily clicked and held my breath for what seemed like an eternity.

Apparently Jason is alive and well. 

My self esteem?  Not so much.

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