For the Love of Cheese

My husband loves cheese. One time at a wedding, he went up to the buffet for seconds, and came back with so much cheese I was embarrassed. I was all “people are going to think you’re a server, serving the cheese.” He just really likes cheese. It must be a Wisconsin thing. So it should come as no surprise that my daughter has developed this same penchant for the dairy delight.

Which wouldn’t be so bad except that she has issues with constipation. Or more accurately, she has trouble pooping.

When she feels a bowel movement coming on she either assumes the Yoga plank position (no freakin’ lie, elbows underneath her, legs out behind her; she can do a better plank than me), or she assumes a standing plank position against any solid object — couches, walls, toy kitchen, etc. She squeezes her butt cheeks together so tightly and locks her legs so rigidly that I am not kidding you, I can barely bend her knees. As soon as we see her in “the position” we run over to her, scoop her up and try to bend and separate her legs so that she’s not keeping the offending matter squeezed in. And yes, we have tried the prunes and pear juice and other natural laxatives. Our doctor theorizes that going poopy probably is somewhat painful for her so she tries to prevent it.

Anyway, back to the cheese. Since Monkey has trouble pooping we tend to limit her cheese intake, although I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t mind if we served her cheese and only cheese all day long. String cheese, Colby cheese, cottage cheese. Regardless of the type, cheese is the first thing she eats off her plate.

Introducing … the cheese ball. Last month while meandering down the extra-wide aisles at Sam’s Club with my oversized shopping cart (BTW, have you noticed that it’s nearly impossible to push one of those carts with one hand while talking on a cell phone with the other? It’s like trying to drive a car while eating a bowl of cereal. Although I have absolutely no first-hand experience with this.) I noticed the 35-ounce cylinder of cheese balls.

 I didn’t mean to buy it. I was in the snack aisle looking for the trail mix when I saw the cheese balls. (You know, the type of impulse purchase that seems like a good idea at the time and then you get it home in your normal-sized house and out of the extra-ginormous-sized warehouse and you’re like, “Wow, this is the largest refill container of Dawn detergent I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s so big it doesn’t even fit under my sink.” And then you put it in your basement and forget you have it and buy more dish washing soap when you run out anyway. I hate that. Again, not that I have any first-hand experience with this.)

Needless to say, in addition to Monkey’s cheese obsession, she’s also become obsessed with the cheese balls. Thanks to my husband. He decided it was okay for her to have snacks made with corn meal and maltodextrin and autolyzed yeast extract (what??). So one day when I wasn’t home he gave her some. And the next day he proudly proclaimed “Monkey LOVES the cheese balls.”  Of course. Of course she does. And since the container is waaay too big to fit in one of our cupboards or our pantry, it sits on top of our refrigerator. And about 50 times a day, Monkey will lead us by the hand over to the refrigerator and point to the cheese balls and say “chsssss.” And when I smile at her and say in a funny voice, “Nooo, no cheese balls.” She laughs, points and says “chsssss.” Over and over and over again. She even tries to dupe people when they come over to our house. Like my mom or the babysitter. Pointing and saying “chsssss.” And you want to know what? My husband caves every time I’m not home and the two of them share cheese balls. Partly because he’s feeding his own cheese obsession. But that’s okay. They’re having their daddy and daughter bonding time — over cheese. And autolyzed yeast extract.

P.S. In the photo, notice that she’s holding her belly like, “Oh my gosh, I am SO excited that they are about to open this container of cheese balls!” She was very excited …