SOTC Promo

SOTC Promo
A new novel…by me

Sunday, March 30, 2008

New Sounds

Farrah has learned how to spit. She does it like this without any pauses in between: pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft, pfft...and so on. However, she does laugh in between because of her dad's and my reaction. The other thing she does now is laugh when she farts. What an awesome little girl. Of course, we laugh when she does this which makes her laugh more and realize that this is the beginning of many more funny moments to come. Farts are funny. And now she knows. And knowing is half the battle.

Monday, March 24, 2008

Bastard Zyrtec

I have bad allergies and it is allergy season. They have a previously prescribed drug available over the counter now, Zyrtec. I figured I'd buy it and relieve some of my sneezing, itchy and watery eyes, and stuffed and runny nose. I took it and started to feel better. I could finally breath but I felt like killing everyone. I was incredibly irritable. I was horribly impatient. I felt like I was in a huge hurry but had no where to go. When Mike wanted to just give me a hug my mind was saying, "Really? I don't have time for warm and fuzzy feelings right now." Needless to say, I was quite a bitch. My husband was sweet enough to pretend he didn't notice. How could he not? Yesterday, another woman told me that it does the same thing to her. Oops! I probably shouldn't have encouraged Mike to take it. He had the same awful symptoms that I had. He was as much a bitch as I was. We will no longer be taking this. I'd rather feel like my head is going to explode than feel like I'm going to explode on everyone.

Saturday, March 22, 2008

My Grandpa

The holiday of Easter has been bringing on several memories of my Grandpa, John Kochrian. He passed away about 7 years ago and when this time of year comes around, I often think of him. Every year, my cousins and my brothers and I would go to my grandparents' house to decorate the massive amounts of hard boiled eggs my Grandma had slaved over for hours. Considering the fact that I have never really been a huge fan of eggs, I had always wondered what the hell we would do with all of those eggs later. Egg salad? Egg salad sandwiches? Deviled Eggs? Potato salad with eggs? Egg salad? Didn't I already say that? Yes I did and that is because you tend to run out of options after the first two. So, what usually would always start off as being a fun afternoon with the cousins, ultimately ended up becoming work. The whole house would always smell like vinegar. Each of us would get a few of our own coffee cups full of colors. We'd start by putting one egg in at a time in the cups in front of us and eventually use crayons to make special designs that would bleed through the colors when the dying was done. After about 30 minutes of actually putting forth effort into our projects, we'd notice that the tower of undyed egg cartons had barely gone down. We were in for a long day if we didn't start getting to work. So, we'd always have about 12 wonderfully decorated eggs and the rest looked like a graveyard of colors (like the soft drink mix). Once where we would keep one egg in one cup for up to 5 minutes to get a deep rich color, we now had two eggs in one mug and would transfer each egg from one mug to another and then another. It took hours before we finally finished and were now exhausted. Looking back, I suppose it was a trick my parents and grandparents put together to wear us out so that we would pass out for the day early and they could get to work on pulling all their recipes together to use all those hard boiled eggs. Also, to prepare the wonderful things that would await us in the morning.

The part that was my Grandpa's favorite was definitely Easter day. When it was time to start hiding the eggs, Grandpa would send us off to the park for at least an hour. That's right, an hour. Sometimes it would be much longer. Since we didn't have cell phones for our parents to call us and let us know when to come back, they'd leave us there until they were done and someone would drive down to pick us up. To fully understand the complexity of the Easter Egg hunt within my family, you must visualize a little girl (me) who would cry EVERY Easter...from the time she was about 4 until she finally gave up all hope at the age of 13. There is even a photo that my parents have to document the torture that I endured every hunt. When the parents would pick us up from the park and we'd pull into the driveway, all of our peering eyes would look everywhere we could to see if we could spot any to get a head start on everyone else. I'd always spot maybe 2. Did I mention there was a lot of eggs? Yeah, and I could only see 2. When we were released, I knew I was screwed because if I spotted those two, then so did everyone else. And they always did because I'd go to those spots and the eggs were gone. I SUCKED at Easter Egg hunts. I'd be looking around with my empty bag and spot my cousins and brothers with their bags overflowing. WHAT WAS WRONG WITH ME?!!! Well, I have come to the realization that it wasn't entirely my fault.

My Grandpa had a funny, yet cruel way of hiding the eggs. He would often do things as sinaster as digging a hole in the garden, place the egg in the hole, cover the hole with dirt, and then covering that spot enough to make it look like the surrounding area. He also had taken a piece of wood from the wood pile that was perfectly lined up and place an egg towards the back. He would then place the piece of wood back in its spot keeping it flush with the rest of the wood. My Grandpa had always made the eggs most difficult to find worth more than ANY of the other eggs. They were worth $1. Yes, $1. I'm sorry, but if one of us had actually found any of those eggs (which we didn't until YEARS later), you'd think they'd be worth $100. Think of the holes you'd have to dig. Think of the many pieces of wood you would have to pull from the wood pile, one at a time. Nope, $1.

Do you see how mean he could be? Actually, it is something that I fondly look back on and love to tell people about because it brings a smile to their face at how much he clearly enjoyed this holiday. It is one of the things that I miss most about him. My Grandma and I were just talking about it the other night and laughed over our conversation. Even though I'd have a tough time each Easter Egg hunt and would cry every time, overall it was always a great day for all of us, especially my Grandpa. When we would be looking for those eggs, he would walk around wearing a nice pair of slacks, and a short sleeve button up shirt, a sweater (depending on the weather) with his hands in his pockets bending down, letting us know with his smile whether we were close or not. I never ended up walking away empty handed, so I always managed to get some of those smiles in my direction from him. He loved seeing us get excited about finding one of his horribly difficult hidden eggs. And he'd laugh. He'd laugh when we found one of those eggs because he knew how ridiculous it was and yet one of us actually discovered it.

This is Farrah's first year to have an Easter Egg Hunt and it makes me a little sad that she won't get to experience that with my Grandpa, but I have decided that she will experience it with me. It was an important holiday to my Grandma and Grandpa, not for religious reasons, but because of family. I miss him.

Friday, March 14, 2008

Sweet Ride

Today I saw a small family driving around in a white Dodge Caravan. It was a little dirty with some dents here and there. You know, the typical family mini van you see everywhere. Only, this one was special. It had spinners. Doesn't get much cooler than that.

Monday, March 10, 2008

Pot Roast

I made a deliciously wonderful Pot Roast for dinner today. Started preparing it early this morning, and it has been cooking in the crock pot since. Yummy. So, here's the bad part. Mike is sick and Farrah is picky and hasn't had quite the appetite in the past week. I made a grandiose feast for the family and it will only be me enjoying it. Should be plenty of left overs. Mmm, Pot Roast.

Sunday, March 09, 2008

Frizzled Onions

Tonight, Mike and I went out for dinner and took Farrah along with us. The last time she came with us, she was awful, but that was because her dad and I thought of everything except to check her diaper. Oops. Well, this go-around, she was okay in the beginning, and then started to shut down about 10 minutes in to us being there. We agreed we'd have to eat quickly as soon as we got our meals. I brought along food for her to eat, but only in vain. She scoffed at the bananas I so carefully cut up for her. She turned her nose up to her bottle of milk. And when we decided to share our bread with her she politely took it, and as if to mock us she would drop pieces of the bread on the floor, one crumb at a time. We were served our dinners and we started in as fast as we could while she pointed at everything on our plates that we couldn't give her. She has 6 teeth so steak was out of the question. Also, I wasn't sure if starting her off on shell fish this young was safe or not. She took some bites of both my mashed potatoes and Mike's baked potato. Once she had enough potatoes, she began a melt down until we decided to hand over a string of frizzled onion which she had been eyeballing throughout dinner. It was what she wanted. She thought it was pasta, and was very pleasantly surprised that it wasn't. One frizzled onion after another. She was in delightful heaven. We were loving the peace and quiet over our wonderful dinner. It wasn't until about 10 frizzled onions in, that I realized what mess I could have on my hands later (not literally...I hope). So far, it's time for bed and I have yet to see them in their second episode. However, only 10 minutes ago I heard her stomach rumble VERY loud. I know what onions do to me, so I can only imagine what's on it's way out of her little body.

Thursday, March 06, 2008

Should've Listened to my Gut

I have taken Farrah to the doctor on two separate occasions in the past week and a half. Once for some weird breakout rash she was getting all over her hands, neck, and face. It looked like little puffy white blisters with red all around them. I had also taken her to the doctor on Monday for her first bout with pink eye. When I took her in the first time, no drugs were given, just the suggestion of Benadryl. The second doctor's visit was when they decided she might have some weird viral thing going on. She was finishing up an ugly cough, runny nose, and whatever else would ooze out of her face. However, the doctor had prescribed an antibiotic to deal with the "possibility" that Farrah had a viral issue. She prescribed Zythromax, which is derived from erythromicyn. I had a HORRIBLE reaction to Erythromicyn when I was 17 which gave me an 8 hour vomit/dry heaving episode. I only paused in between heaving to breathe. My parents had to set up a bed next to the toilet. It was awful. Zythromax always gives me a stomach ache on the first day because the first dose is strong. Mike has also had a history with both antibiotics where he, too, threw up. So, when you do the math and figure how genes work, the likeliness of Farrah having a problem with it, looked pretty good. When it was first prescribed, I just thought I would pick up the prescription but see if she could fight off her pink eye on her own. For God's sake, it was pink eye! It did start to go away on Tuesday. And then she woke up Thursday morning with her eyes glued shut again. I finally broke down and decided to go ahead and give her the antibiotics around 3:30. Well, the antibiotic curse began for our little girl around 8:30 at night...right before her bedtime. Barf, barf, barf. I felt so bad for her. Mike ended up shampooing the carpet. It was a good excuse to finally do it. I checked on her several times throughout the night, but nothing. However, first thing in the morning, the stench of vomit hung in her room. Yuck. So, I tossed her in the bath and pulled the vomit chunks out of her hair and let the shampoo sit on her head for a good 5 minutes to get the stink out. Her Grandma Rita and Grandpa Dan stayed with her so I could go to work. She wasn't sick, she just had the same reaction that her dad and I did.

Wow, this was a long one.

Monday, March 03, 2008

Pink Eye

Why is it called Pink Eye? Shouldn't it be called Snotty Green Eye? Because that's what it REAAALLY looks like. My Farrah has Snotty Green Eye. She started to show a slight sign of it last night when I put her to bed when I noticed that her left eye was a little on the pink side. I made sure that I washed my hands and Mike washed his just in case. When she woke up this morning, she looked like she sneezed out of both of her eye balls. Not only were her eyes leaking, but so was her nose. She was, to put it kindly, gross. I didn't want to take her to the doctor, but Mike suggested that I do so I could get a prescription for her. We're both of the belief that time will heal, except if something else will heal it faster. So off to the doctor we went and by the time I got there, she looked like she got socked in the face. Her eyes were sunken and puffy all at the same time. I paid our co-pay and suggested that they quarantine us as there were people everywhere. We ended up getting some eye drops and a prescription for antibiotics, just in case. Hopefully, she'll stop sneezing out of her eye sockets. Did I mention that my right eye is teetering towards goopiness? Actually, it is just a little on the rosy side, and no green stuff. I'm hoping that by O.D-ing on vitamin C, it won't get much worse than that.

Saturday, March 01, 2008

Got My Ass Kicked

Farrah has a strange way of showing her affections for people lately. Usually, my little girl will quickly walk up to us and lean her head on us to give hugs, crawl into our laps to cuddle, run up with her mouth wide open planting a big wet kiss on our lips; all the wonderful sweet things you expect from a loving child. Recently, however, she has discovered a different way. A more...violent way of showing her affection. Today is the perfect example of my daughter's way of saying, "Mommy, I love you!" This morning when she woke up, I pulled her into bed with us and she decided she wanted to cuddle with me. To do so, she sat up with her back to me and fell backwards to "cuddle." When she did this, she cracked her head on my right eye. Later, she decided to give me a love tap, which actually means smacking my face and hitting my nose very hard. Finally, the last thing she decided to do to show her never ending love was to, again, turn her back to me and fall backward. This time it was my left cheek bone. Mike jumped up and picked her up from me because he was shocked at how loud the crack was. He said it sounded like a car crash on my face. So, tomorrow, hopefully I won't be walking around looking like somebody did a WWF Smackdown on my face. If I'm walking around with my one year old with two black eyes, I'm not sure if I would be able to explain it without people wanting to take me to a women's shelter. Don't they have PPS (Parent Protective Services)?!! Maybe I should treat her differently so she just "likes" me instead of "loves" me. That way I'll just get a nice pat on the back.