a cross country meet

She wants no pictures of herself running by, which I understand.


These guys were pretty happy about the playground.




Later, supper and blankets sewn for a friend's new baby. All in all it was a lovely day. love, Val

oh yeah, old maria stories

We were talking about James and Monster Mash, and then the conversation shifted to the weirdness of Maria when she was small.

She had that imaginary friend, Nina, which was pretty weird.

But there also was the incident with the ham. Time to make sandwiches, no ham in the fridge. Where the hell is the ham? Dang kids ate it, I guess. They eat everything.

We moved on with our lives, made egg salad instead, whatever.

Well, a couple weeks later I was cleaning Maria's room, doggedly sorting out a basket of Potato Heads, taking out the Legos and non-Potato Head items, and saw a bit of plastic sticking out from under the dresser.

I pulled it out, and it was the bag with the HAM. Eeeeeewwww. Oh, eeeewww. It did not look good.

But the question was why? Why? She wasn't talking.

Around this same time, Jay's deodorant disappeared, and Maria was giggling overly much while he shaved and got dressed--Dad used a girl deodorant. Well, shoot, his deodorant is lost. I'll have to buy him a new one.

She'd thrown it under her bed.

And then laughed at the man.

Strange.

Sigh.

But then there was this:

front

Weird,eh?

One night I put a casserole in the oven, and shortly the smell was nasty, like something burning. I went to the oven, and the hot dish wasn't even very hot. But something was going on, something burning.

I took the pan out to see if something had spilled into the bottom of the oven? Nope.

Then I pulled out the broiler, and it was Ken. KEN, oh my GOODNESS! She'd thrown him in the broiler and nobody knew he was there.

He was a puddle, but after he cooled a little, we pried him off the pan. We didn't want Maria to see because we thought it might scare her. I wrapped him up and put him way back on the cupboard.

back

Later on, after she was in bed, when we were telling her dad the story, we showed him Ken, all corrugated on the back.

So, speaking of weird, I wrapped Ken back up and threw him in the back of that cupboard in a box of Jay's grandma's dishes, and that's where he's been for like thirteen years. There's a sentimental attachment, I guess.

He's a memory of this beautiful, strange, moody little character who grew up into a woman you can trust, a person who makes sense.





I still wonder about that ham though, and what's so funny about hiding your dad's deodorant? And why on earth did she toss Ken in the broiler? She doesn't remember, and doesn't know. Sigh. It'll always be a mystery. love, Val

jimmy and the monster mash

john and james, 2002

I heard it on the radio this morning, the little bubbling noises and the spooky voice. It always reminds me of James because when he was little he was terrified of this song.

We didn't know why, but he'd cover his ears and order me to change the radio station. If we were in the house, he'd run screaming from the room.

When we asked him, he just shuddered. Then he said, "They said it was a graveyard smaaa-aash," as if that meant something.

(he's just cold here, not actually afraid about anything)

I told my friend Leigh and she wondered what he thought a graveyard smash might be, like smashing bones?

He wouldn't say.

Anyway, now he's much bigger and braver.


He's trying to decide if he's too old to trick or treat this year. Free candy? Too big? Free candy? Too big? Hmmmm. A little while ago it sounded like the big bag of candy is winning out. That's okay. Heidi and Kirsten agree--you'll always be our baby. love, Mom

a fall afternoon

Tonight I was working, so I told Kari to take some pictures of them cleaning up the back yard, so I wouldn't miss everything. She obliged.




After this, their dad took them on a bike ride, so that was good.

Last night they were at a wedding--here are a couple cute pictures from that. Here are Heidi and Kirsten with their dad. I don't know what's with his smile, must have felt a little awkward in the flash:





Here Heidi is with the bride and groom. The bride is Heidi's college roommate, and I think she's pretty excited for that baby too.

Anyway, it was a lovely weekend, and we survived it nicely, for which we are most grateful. Onward to Monday. love, Val

grandparents day!

It was awesome. It's a private school, so there was a church service, which we enjoyed with Dannell's mom and t.c. and m.c., very nice.

After that the kids did a musical program, different grades took turns singing. We loved that, very fun.

Then afterward lunch in the big, sunny dining room, also spectacular.

the other grandma, with m.c. and t.c.

m.c. was wearing a brand new beautiful dress, just for the occasion, and t.c. was dressed up too in a brand new shirt and corduroy pants.

m.c. is sleeping over tonight with a friend from school, and t.c. was feeling pretty bummed about that, so he asked for a sleepover here. No problem. When I glanced in the back seat, I almost laughed out loud, he's so dang funny. Here's what I saw:


This grandparent thing is totally a blast, not gonna lie. Thank you guys for being our grand babies. Lucky old us. love, Grandma and Grandpa

tonight, the heidi

She was here, hanging out tonight.

We laughed about a lot of things including how I vacuumed my toe while cleaning last week.

Oh my GAWD that hurt--Oh, oh, the hopping and the hollering. It's bruised, but after about half an hour it quit hurting so much. I was grateful there were no witnesses to that stupidity.

I was moving a chair and there was door in the way, and I get tired of turning the vacuum on and off. You know how tiresome THAT gets.

Yeah, well.

Then my toe was pounded by that little thing that spins. Oh, only unrepeatable words suffice.

And a while ago Heidi gave me some old shoes of hers that made my feet very hot the other night. (They've made my feet miserable other times too, but I didn't put 2+2 together until now.) I told her I was about to have core melt down and was considering rash things like being barefoot at work.

The pain was truly difficult, and I needed to concentrate, but actually felt faint and had to go sit behind a desk to finish what I was doing. What the hell is wrong those shoes? I mean, I know I'm overly sensitive to any kind of hotness regarding the feet, but good grief.

She said they're "pleather." This is some kind of crap like wrapping the feet in layers of cellophane. They're going in the trash--right straight in the garbage--the shoes not the feet.

Yes, they are.

And today Kari and I went shopping with Julia. Kari needed jeans and Julia was just along for whatever reason people need a squirrely six year old along for. She was so bad at the store, it was actually a bit embarrassing.

I scolded at her, telling her how nervous she was making me. I know she's in Mommy Deprivation this week, but honestly. It was like she'd never been in a store before. Finally at Hallmark, I was trying to write a check, and she was flinking around by the Deptmart 56 stuff, and I had the thought, "I can't write this check while I'm trying to watch my kid..." and then abruptly thought, "The KID is SIX DAMNED YEARS OLD."


I called to her, "Come over here and stand perfectly still. You're making me very, very nervous." The lady stared at me. Was she not feeling nervous with a long-armed child dancing around the breakables?

Apparently not. Someone else, I can't remember who, wrote that when you're shopping people always sympathize with a cute kid rather than a harassed-looking adult.

Oh yeah, she's right. I'm guilty too.

Tonight Heidi took a long look at Tim and Julia running in and out both back doors, pleading for our aunt's best flashlight to take outside, and changing their shoes because they kept getting dog crap on them, and said, "They've been like this the whole day??"

Yeah.

She yelled to just wear one pair of shoes and leave them outside on the steps. Don't change into every pair of shoes you OWN and run around in the dark trampling dog shit.

See, she's smart like that.

Okay, and then Heidi laid this one on us:

We were talking about Brett Farve and the appalling sexting thing and so forth. It's so...I don't even know. Incomprehensible? I don't care about Brett Farve or his love life, but people got all sorts of crazy lives I don't have

Maria was laughing about the whole idea of the pictures sent by the phone and how would anyone know if that was, in fact, a picture of him or not? The conversation deteriorated, and then Heidi said this, "You know, they've taught the kids all the dangers of sexting, but CLEARLY, they've overlooked informing the elderly."

Oh wow. I had to stop here to hold my chest and enjoy another attack of laughter. The fact that Heidi thinks Brett Farve is elderly just cracks me up.

Brett, Brett, Brett. I don't even follow football or have anything to say.

I guess a miner is out of that mine in Chile. Another beam of goodness on today. love, Val

vision therapy boy

Tim's in vision therapy this fall. It's going well. He's going to be up to speed at reading shortly, probably by spring he'll be at grade level. This is why we started homeschooling in the first place--dyslexia. It's a genetic thing--half the kids are dyslexic. They call things like this learning disabilities, but I don't believe it. I think it's a variation of normal. (Now we homeschool for a lot of other reasons too.)

 Vision therapy is done like physical therapy only for the eyes. The specialist involved is a developmental optometrist, and after evaluation, the kids go to the vision therapy lab twice a week, 45 minutes each time. It takes a few months to complete. Progress isn't dramatic at first. Week by week, hardly noticeable at all. But month by month, definitely huge improvement.

 About a year later, their writing starts to take off too. (The point I knew James' vision therapy was a success was the day I asked him to pick up toys in the family room, and a little while later saw him sitting on the coffee table in the middle of the mess--reading a People magazine.) 

 Insurance used to cover this completely, but no longer does. It even requires a referral from a pediatrician to cover any of it. So Tim went to the pediatrician for the first time in his life. It was okay. The doc looked him over, asked what medication he takes, what his health problems are. 

 None. 

 None? 

 "No, none. He's easy to live with, and so healthy it's sickening." That made him laugh, "So healthy it's sickening." 

 It's true though. Then we sat down to the question of the referral, and this doctor is not a jerk. The few times we've seen him, he's really tried to be respectful of our home-birthing, homeschooling weirdness. He never gives me a tone, a sneer, none of the condescending attitudes we used to run into in the past.

 But he told me all about how vision therapy is unproven, probably doesn't work, and the kid would just learn to read when he was ready. He talked for a long time, giving me his most sincere medical advice, then brought me some literature from the board of ophthalmologists, and ended by saying, "In my opinion what he needs is a tutor." 

 ??? 

 !!! 

 Well, what the hell am I then? If I haven't been tutoring him for the last three years, what would you call it?? (I didn't say this.) 

 Way back when, our oldest son John had me helping him at home, PLUS two special ed teachers AND a regular teacher and he still battled to learn to read. We finally discovered vision therapy when he was ten and had finally removed him from school entirely. He could read only a little--cartoon books with one line of print under a cartoon, for example. Six months after vision therapy he was reading the newspaper. Anyway, so after giving me all this information he asked if I still wanted the referral. I said, "Yeah, I think I do." He nodded, and wrote it for me. It might not work for every type of reading delay, but it does help whatever is going on with my kids. Keep going Timmy. You're going to be reading in no time. love, Mom