Vaseline

As a boy, I used to get so dirty; my mother hated it. I remember my mother scrubbing me so hard to get me clean that it hurt. She would then coat my body with Vaseline, because we lived in such a dry climate.

Seven years ago, I told this story at my mother’s funeral. I hope it was more eloquent at her funeral than the three sentences I used to start this blog because I think my eulogy to her was the most meaningful speaking I’ve ever done in my life.

 My mother always seemed to have Vaseline in our house, up until she died.

After my mother died, I stayed in my parents’ house for several months, using the bathroom my mother had been using. When I moved to Edinburgh, I ended up taking some things from that bathroom, mainly for nostalgia purposes. One of the things I took was a big tub of Vaseline my mother must have been using. It’s not the sort of thing you think of taking when you’re moving internationally, but it just seemed like the thing to do.

That tub of Vaseline has been with us since then. 

I get dry spots on my knees and, when I care enough, I dig through our closet and find that tub. I sometimes get a dry patch between two of my fingers and when I care enough, I dig through our closet and find that tub.

A few of months ago, we noticed that no matter how much lotion we would put on our kid’s legs, they would get ashy and dry. We started using baby oil on her skin, but she would still end up getting dry legs. Then I remembered that we had that old tub of Vaseline in a closet somewhere. I pulled out that tub of old Vaseline and we now use it on our kid.

I don’t know if I should be using 7-year old Vaseline on our kid (I don’t see an expiration date on it), but every night after I’ve scrubbed our kid (though not to the point of pain), as I am coating her body with Vaseline, I think of my mother. I think of how my mother and how she had used the same tub of Vaseline on her skin that the grandchild she never met is now has on her’s.

I hope that tub never runs out.