somewhere behind vegetable oil

Julia’s learning the alphabet in preschool, and a note came home that she should bring something that starts with V for show and tell. Wow, okay.

She said she wanted to bring vegetable oil. I thought that was not the best idea, potentially really messy, and I told her this. She said she’d leave the cover on, but I don’t trust her and her little nefarious friends.

I suggested she bring a picture of me. My name is Val, starts with V. Here’s a picture of me and you Julia, stuck right here in the mirror over the sofa. You could take that.

She looked at the picture, me all tan and smiling in a lawn chair on the beach, and her on my lap, one week old, fat cheeks and tiny triangle lips, white cap with pink trim, wrapped in a floral print blanket.

Her lip kind of curled and she said, “Nah… I just really want vegetable oil.”

I rolled my eyes, “Of course you do.” I googled vegetable oil and found a photo of Wesson oil, printed it out for her.

We see where I rate. Love, Val

shit balls

Maria reading with Sidney

Oh my gosh. Tonight Kirsten came over to keep Maria company and hold down the fort while we were at Jay’s National Honor Society thing.

Late in the evening, as the baths progressed, and Kirsten and I were dealing with the kids and the house winding down for the evening, Kari launched into her story.

Okay the back story: Maria’s gone to school for the first time this year and her dog Sidney Annie is left here all day without her. Sidney, previous to this, spent most of her life tucked under Maria’s chin. She’s a fluffy , cottony lhasa poo, little bitty ten pound dog, a scaredy cat, but sweet as can be.

Here’s the next chapter of the back story: Now that Maria’s gone all day, Kari and Sidney have been hanging out, becoming buds. Kari’s nine, same age Maria was when she got Sidney, and it’s working. The dog is not lonely or neglected when Maria is gone, and Kari has a new friend.

Well at bedtime, Maria wants Sidney in bed with her. We have an owl in the back yard some nights and this is worrisome with a dog as delicate and tasty as Sidney. Maria misses Sidney during the day and can’t sleep easy unless her baby is in bed with her. But she gets up early for school now and goes to bed early also, and she comes to gather Sidney some nights before the dog is really ready to go to bed.

WELL, that brings us to the point:

So tonight Kari did a little one-act play where she did both the part of Maria and Sidney (conveyed by use of a red chintz pillow.) She imitated Maria’s stompy way of walking, her tone. It was a priceless impersonation of Maria, overplayed a little, but sooo recognizable, and the pillow rebelled in exaggeration and growled, snarled, tried to bite. She scolded the rambunctious pillow, “Don’t bite me!”

About that time the real Maria came down the stairs, and Kari, caught in the act, said, “Shit balls,” and threw herself down innocently in the chair.

Maria stared at us and demanded to know what was going on. Kirsten was unable to speak, she was laughing so hard. I told Maria it was an impersonation of her.

She said, “I have never said shit balls in my entire life.” Well, no not that part exactly. Oh my gosh.

Tumbled over fits of hysteria, not particularly amusing to Maria, who does not suffer fools, gladly or otherwise.

After a moment, she gathered her little dog, looking SOOO much like Kari’s impersonation of her we almost died holding ourselves together until we heard her door shut upstairs. Then we were gone. My ribs hurt. Kirsten couldn’t get air.

Shortly after that, the subject of James’ math came up and Kirsten said she’d had her fill of hilarity and had to go home.

I’ve never said shit balls either, just so you know. Love, Val

The famous actress herself...what ARE we going to do about the ROOM?

SEA TURTLES??

Yesterday, late afternoon I mowed the lawn and cleaned up the front yard. It was really dusty around the pine trees. I had pine junk stuck in my hair, a chunk of flesh missing from my thumb knuckle, dirt around my ankles above the shoes, a just filthy.

I came in, and after I put the kids to bed, and loaded the dishwasher, I was soooo looking forward to a bath. About the time I was finally in the tub, slid down, bubbles up to my chin, glass of wine on the ledge, there was a little rattling by the doorknob.

I said, “Who’s there? What do you want?”

It was Tim and in his deep voice he said, “I haaave a few questions about sea turtles.”

I thought, "WHAT?"

He said, “Do they bite?” “How big can they be?” “How old can they be?”

I tried my best to answer, and then I heard Julia’s voice, “Tim, Tim, now ask her about dolphins.”

At that point I said, “You guys go back to bed.” They left.

But a few minutes later I could hear Jay’s tired voice in the dining room. Apparently he'd come home while I was in the tub, “You guys, I don’t actually know very much about sea turtles.”

How about sleep? Sleep anyone? Love, Val

hunh? homeschool?

A photo from 20 years ago, our first year of homeschool: Dan is the upside down one. John's in the red shirt. Heidi's grinning, and Kirsten is the tiny pipsqueak. Their dad is the one cleaning guts from a pumpkin. (Can you believe that linoleum?? Holy cow. It came with the house.)

I thought I could never homeschool either. I didn't even WANT to, but felt like I had to do something for my poor kid who was flunking out of 4th grade. All washed up in life by 4th grade, how heartbreaking is that? I couldn't handle it.

But I was worried about how this was going to work. I was way crankier than any teacher he'd ever had! John and I argued all the time, and he was not a big cooperator, Mr. Sassy and Independent. I was just desperate for a solution to this school mess though--and finally figured I couldn't do any worse by him.

Well he and his brother were pulled from school, and we began.

And he and I yelled at each other as much as we ever did, and his confidence did nothing but go up. Apparently it's way less intimidating to get to hollering with your mother than to endure disdainful, critical treatment from a teacher.

We did come to believe in homeschool wholeheartedly and to love the lifestyle and family created by it. It's more abstract than literal and I obviously can't convey this to anyone. It's not about curriculum or activities. It's more about freedom and inner life. You kind of have to be there to get it.

When people tell me they could never homeschool, I tell them, "I thought that too. I'll bet you could. You'd be surprised." love, Val

Twenty years later

sweet saturday night

We watched little BG last night while Dan and Alicia went to a party.



Playing with Auntie Julia

He was restless and not sure where he was, I think, without his mom and dad. Big Jay walked him around for a while, and he was so quiet cuddled on Grandpa's chest. I defrosted a couple ounces of breastmilk and then he conked out and slept in the bassinette on the dining room table. When I put my chin on the edge, I could listen to his breathing and smell him, his milky breath and fuzziness.

We're getting to know each other, and it feels very sweet. love, Val

a bobcat story

Okay, so up at Poor Richard’s Antiques was this nasty old taxidermy bobcat. Missing an ear, moth-eaten, sitting on a shelf out back year after year, and Lydia was fascinated by it, liked to look it, talk about it, wanted to buy it. It was $60 and NO we were not buying it! Not even if she saved her own money. No. They couldn’t pay me $60 to take it. Eeewww. No you cannot keep it in your room. Absolutely not.

Well, my dad caught wind of this and dropped by Poor Richard’s, made an offer of $30, and brought the bobcat to Lydia. She was surprised, delighted, and a little awed at the same time. She told us, incredulous, "I actually own the bobcat."

My mom was perturbed because how could he put her in this spot? That thing wasn’t coming inside and that’s that, not on the porch, and not in the garage either. Nowhere, and she had to be the bad guy and a grandchild was involved, and NO we’re not making Val take that to her house either. That’s just wrong.

So he built a shelf in the window of the barn and put Bob on the perch—where Lydia can visit him and Bob can look out the window every day and not be bored. Other found bones are on the shelf now too--the little skulls and stuff they find, they put next to Bob.

I don’t even know what to say about it. Love, Val

speaking of my dad and tim

My parents and Tim at the wedding

Out in Wisconsin, my dad has these big snap traps--for trapping chipmunks, I'm told. (He had some chipmunks in a live trap and let them go a few miles away, so what this big Tom and Jerry snap trap was all about, I'm not sure.)

But Tim tripped it, and my dad saw that, and alarmed, scolded him, "That could break your fingers! Never touch that!"

Tim, in a tone like no worries said, "Oh, naaw don't worry. I used a STICK." Good Lord.

My dad did not re-set the traps.

The beehives and pumpkin patch

Oh, and later Tim was sitting on a little lawn tractor with his feet in the steering wheel badgering my dad, "You only tell me what button the horn is, but you gotta tell me these other buttons, what they do. I'm big enough to reach, blah, blah, blah."

My dad refused, "Tim, you are too little."

I added, "Yeah, you come back in about seven years we'll tell you what the buttons do." My dad kept the key in his pocket, not left in the ignition.

In the garden

He's a good natured kid, easy to live with, not a behavior problem in the least. But dang, I don't trust him. He’s got too many big ideas.

My parents have done much to make their Wisconsin place fun for kids. There’s the driving range where they whack golf balls. (Oh, one time a golf club slipped out of James’ hands and went up on the metal roof of the barn. Talk about a shocking racket. Everyone came running.)

Some balls land in the cornfield beyond or the woods to the side, but that just makes it interesting for the little kids. Grandpa hauls them around in a wagon behind the lawn mower, the kids equipped with a long device to fetch golf balls, and they pluck them up, keeping count and arguing. My parents pay a nickel for each one retrieved.

The log cabin where my own grandfather was born was moved to there. It’s about 15 x 12, log walls and cement floor, and that’s where the dress up clothes and Barbie dolls are, doll dishes, shopping cart, baby buggy…

They built a garage where a decrepit old woodshed stood, only it’s really an art studio with a picture window facing the gardens and the beehives. They paint for hours, serious and quiet.

Plus we watch Look Who’s Talking, that old Kirstie Alley movie, or else The Long Trailer with Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz. That movie can make laugh like none other. Something about elegant Lucille Ball trying to toss a salad in that trailer, saving rocks and canning food and lying about it. And Desi is so gorgeous too, that sexy accent and his perfect suits…

My mom and her mom

Late in the afternoon, hot sun and long shadows, Jay whacking golf balls behind the barn with the kids, my dad went past with the lawn tractor and kids in the wagon behind, and I said to my mom, “Thirty years you guys been doing this grandparent thing, and you’re still not tired of it.” She looked at me, surprised, and said, “Oh no, never.”

This is good because I’m only beginning my grandparent days, and it’s different than I expected. I knew I’d love that kid. I figured that. What I did not expect was just how plain old happy he makes me, just a dumb grin happy. I see his face at the door and the incredible swell of pleasure in my chest, how could I have known?

Last time, I picked him up in a hug, but he was so heavy I had to toss back on the couch, kissing his head, squeezing him tight. He doesn’t care about me that much, unless he’s hurt or scared. He wrassled out of my hug asking, “Where’s Tim?” Ahh, Uncle Tim. Yes, that’s where the excitement is.