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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

What Did I Sign Up For?

Someone didn't show up for their shift today. So, I had to stay an additional 2 hours at work to cover for her. Not only that, every single person I called to help step in, either didn't call me back or simply wouldn't help out. There was one person who I accept their excuse, because it was real. So, my poor daughter had to stay with me in an empty daycare room waiting for other children to play with. They never showed, but we had to stay open, "just in case." We all got to bed late. Oh, did I mention that I started working at 9 AM? And I finished at 8 PM. Think I'll cut it short tomorrow.

Another Reason Why I Won't Cut It

I know my hair has been long for a long, long time, but I still have no intentions of cutting it off. Mind you, a few days ago I did have it "trimmed" which involved removing about 2 inches. It was more than I wanted, but it is still technically long. In any case, it won't go much shorter than that. Here are my reasons: Other than it being grounds for divorce, it is something that Farrah loves to play with. She tries to brush or comb my hair. She watches me do it and tries to participate. The other night I discovered a game with her. I took my hair and covered my face and asked her, "Where's Mommy?!!" and she pushed my hair aside and burst out laughing. We did this several times until it was time to go to bed. Finally, the best thing that I do with my hair that my little girl loves are the 'lion kisses' she receives from me. She's been getting 'lion kisses' from me since she was born. When she's on her back, my hair falls forward when I'm playing with her and it brushes across her face, tickling her. She closes her eyes and laughs until I steal a real kiss from her. How can I take away Farrah's lion kisses just for change for me? I can't and I won't. So, I will end up being one of those moms when I'm 40-something, who needs a major make over because I haven't changed my look since I was 20 years old. It's sad but I accept my fate. This may end up embarrassing Farrah, but it's something between the two of us that we'll get to share for a while.

Ode to My Electric Blanket

I am always cold. Always. It's called poor circulation. My daughter has it, too. Just feel her hands, feet, and nose. They are the same temperature as mine. Frozen. When it is time to get into bed, I tend to dread it. Mike likes to keep the house about 5 degrees lower than I like it. It's not to save money or energy for the environment, it's just that he is always hot. Mike's body temperature is surface-of-the-sun, hot. When I touch his skin, I can hear a sizzling sound like bacon on a skillet. One night, I remembered that I had an electric blanket stashed in my closet. I grabbed it and decided to throw it on my bed and set it to HIGH. After preparing for the evening, I got into bed and LOVED it. I usually have to wear sweatpants, a heavy shirt, thick socks and toss an extra blanket on my side of the bed in order to tolerate the evening. This was different. This was wonderful. This was going to change the way I slept during the winter forever. Even if it is 19 degrees outside, Mike likes to keep the window open and the fan turned on to keep the air "circulating". Now I can go to bed without having to wear the sweats, socks, and heavy shirt. Go ahead and leave the window wide open and the fan blowing, because my blanket will protect me and keep me warm and content. Thank you electricity.

Oh, Valentine.

You know that Valentine's day is right around the corner when on every corner you see street vendors with their massive gifts for the folks who forgot that the 14th of February means get a card, flowers, or something for your loved one, or else face the horrible consequences. I was driving by one that was near our gym and had passed it a few times before, but I decided to turn and look at what they had while at a stop light. They were selling these huge baskets with a bunch of "stuff" in it all hand wrapped with beautiful red suran wrap. There were also giant stuffed animals. They were huge and just plain silly. When Mike showed up at work today, we were sitting together laughing about these vendors. I was telling him how hilarious some of these things were. There was a giant dog that had a face like Emma (my old dog) with matching paws, but it looked like the manufacturer ran out of fabric and threw on some pink to make it look like it was wearing a lovely sweater. We were rolling, just laughing at the stupid stuff that people will buy each other on this day of Saint Valentine. When Mike and I left work, I stopped off to pick us up a romantic meal from Weinershnitzel. That's right. When I walked through the door with my tired daughter on my shoulder, what should I find staring me in the face? A ridiculously giant cow sitting next to a giant basket, filled with stuff, and wrapped with beautiful red suran wrap. Mike was hiding from me. I thought I was going to die. I had spent a good 10 minutes in Mike's office laughing my ass off about how shitty these things were and come to find out, he apparently didn't agree. He had picked it up a few hours prior to my basket slandering episode. Of course, this made us both laugh so hard. He kept saying, "You were making fun of me!" C'mon, how could I not. Oh, the prizes we found in the basket o' stuff. There's a big fluffy heart with red feathers wrapped around the edges (which I plan to hang from my office door so that people know to leave me alone while I take care of payroll), a box a chocolates with peanut butter filling which Mike told me I shouldn't eat, another stuffed animal, a styrofoam heart, silk & plastic roses which I intend to put in a vase right away at work, and finally the packet of miscellaneous bath and body products which we are both concerned will give us a few nice cases of yeast infections. Oh! I almost forgot the 24 carrot gold chain with the gold heart. I wore it for about an hour before it started to hurt. Mike, honey, I love you so much that if you got me a bag of dirt, I would cherish it. You're wonderful and I thank you for my gifts. Thank you for thinking of me. You're awesome.

A Cool Find

The other night, I made an interesting discovery. The air in Washington has been so dry lately, that my and Mike's lips have been suffering from chapped lips. We were looking everywhere in our bathroom for chap-stick, carmex, anything. We found nothing. However, I did find a little something. I found ointment for chapped nipples. Hmm. I wonder... So, for shits and giggles, I put some of the ointment on my lips. Ahhhh, so soothing. I figured, our nipples are sensitive, so are lips. It is safe for babies to ingest, should be fine for me. I put it on before I went to bed and woke up with perfectly soft lips. Now I keep one of the sample tubes with me in my purse. I think it will take me a lifetime to use the "large" tube in my bathroom drawer.

I also discovered a remedy for SEVERELY dried lips (the type that are peeling off of your face). It was another one by accident. Mike's lips were in horrible shape one night and were in a lot of pain. Out of no where, I told him to put the Neosporin with pain reliever on his lips. The next morning...healed! I should write one of those "heal yourself at home" books.

On another note, I'm watching the Caucuses for Super Tuesday. Go OBAMA!

Why?

Why am I awake? It's soooo early. Farrah woke me up around her usual time at 3:30 in the morning for her diaper change and her bottle of water. After that, it was down hill from there. I ended up staring at the ceiling for at least another hour before deciding to come downstairs, turn on the news, and start typing. I am not tired though. I think it is because my mind is racing about the many things I have to get done for work today. In fact, if I don't get it done today, I'll have to go in tomorrow and finish it. Yikes. I am always excited to go to work because it is fun, but I get overwhelmed with all the different ideas I get to change or improve things. Anyway, this is what I do. I wake up, I think of work, I think of missions that Mike and I are on, and by the time I finally get the thoughts off my mind, I am tired and ready to go back to bed. However, when that happens it is usually time for me to get up anyway. I just get screwed.

Dammit.

Ugggg

I am at home right now while the rest of the family is off to Great Grandma Eve's Birthday party. Last night, the stomach flu that has whipped through the gym landed in my gut. On four separate occasions, I had the joy of violently vomiting into my disgusting toilet. It certainly put a perspective as to how dirty my bathroom was. I believe looking, really looking at my toilet bowl probably helped expedite the process of hurling. Every time I put something on my stomach, I regretted it later. Sometimes your favorite foods can become your enemy. After each episode, my body hurt SO BAD. Every bone, tendon, muscle, and all of my skin hurts. My freakin' cheek bones hurt! So, Farrah and her Dad left to go to the birthday party while I have chosen to hang back so not to be the ass hole that gets everyone sick. I intend to stop typing and pull myself upstairs into my bed and get some much needed rest. I honestly wouldn't mind if the flu moved from my stomach down to my intestines. It would give one end of my body a bit of a break.

No Immunity

I just puked my brains out. Thanks, Farrah.

Puke

Farrah now has a touch of the stomach flu. I went to wake her up this morning to find her in a pile of barf. She stood up, reached for me and started to cry. It was heartbreaking and smelly all at the same time. There is, indeed, a difference between spit up and barf, fo' sho'. I picked her up and bathed her while her Dad put her bedding in the wash. Scrubbing the barf out of her hair was quite the task. Not only was I having to pick out pieces of last night's dinner, I had to massage the shampoo in her hair until I could get the smell out, only that never happened. Her hair was super stinky. Her spirits were up and she was her usual self. I figured she must have eaten something that didn't agree with her. Wrong assumption. She spent time with me at work and was just tired and not hungry. I decided to take her home and pick up some lunch on the way. When we were literally one block from my house when she started to cry. A couple seconds later, "AGGHHHH"! She barfed all over herself while she shed some tears. It was so sad to watch her this way. My car instantly filled up with vomit stench. Mike met me at home and helped clean things up. What a trooper! She was all cleaned up and herself again. I pumped her full of Pedialite and am getting ready to serve her some chicken broth. She doesn't have much of an appetite, but I don't blame her. So, there it is. Farrah has had two stinky days in a row. Don't worry I called the doctor and she'll be just fine.

Turd

I was warned that it could happen. I have been told horror stories time and time again. I don't think they truly prepared me for the event that I was presented with today. Lately, I have been getting up early to get ready for the day and if I'm lucky, Farrah is still asleep when I put that final coat of mascara on. However, there are the days when she is awake with me and decides to hang out in the bathroom with me. So, to help keep her occupied while I put on my make up and do my hair, I let her have some fun in the bath tub. Well, today I was doing my thing and noticed her just standing there. My rule is that she needs to be sitting in the tub. I told her twice to sit and she wouldn't do it and she just stared at me and smiled. So, I picked her up and made her sit in her bubble bath. When I did this, she started to whine. She picked up one of her toys in the bath water to show to me. At least I thought it was a toy. The water was so bubbly I didn't notice what it was until it surfaced. I squealed, "PUT THAT DOWN!!!" which made her start to cry. Now I knew why she was so upset. When I made her sit down in the tub, I was actually making her sit down in what she was trying to avoid in the first place. Her shit. My daughter crapped in the bath. My daughter does not like to be dirty. And unfortunately, my daughter doesn't give many warning signs when she's gotta go. She picked up a giant "Farrah turd" to show me as her way of saying, "Look Mom, the reason I was standing up and ignoring your requests is because you decided to remove my diaper and place me in here approximately 5 minutes too soon. So, here is what happens when I don't have a way to communicate with you that I was prairie dogging. Poop is what happens." I placed her on her towel while I drained the crappy tub. However, while I was trying to take care of that, she wasn't quite done. She's so freakin' quiet!!! I cleaned her up...again. I scoured the tub and started a new bath. She was so tired of bath time by the time she was a clean, she whined and whined until I put her down for her nap. It must have been horribly exhausting for her; pooping and all.

911 Junkie

The last couple of days, I've called the authorities twice. The first time was because a Semi-Truck driver was driving very aggressively on the freeway, making me feel incredibly unsafe. He was tailgating people and leaving only enough room about the size of a bicycle between him and the other car. Should he have to have stopped, he would've driven over the top of the car. Today, I had to call because as I was getting onto the freeway, there was a seagull on the side of the road just sitting there, clearly with a broken leg or wing. It was distracting in so many ways. First, it was just sad because it looked helpless. Second, it seemed like it was just waiting to be hit. And third, it had friends flying above it waiting for something to happen so they could swoop down and eat him. Just a little disturbing. In any case, there I was dialing away. At least I don't call them on Thanksgiving looking for a good stuffing recipe.

Language Arts

Last night I watched a couple Harry Potter movies and made a decision as it pertains to my daughter. British children have the best accents. Therefore, I will be raising my daughter to have a British accent. As I work on this with her, please don't give her a hard time as she might feel weird for not sounding like everyone else, but she'll appreciate it as she gets older. I can just picture her in school when kids come up to her intrigued about where she comes from, but she'll just tell them she's from Arlington, WA. Her first words will be: Mum (for Mommy), Ded (for Daddy), Ello (for Hello or Hi). British Farrah will be sooooo cute.

Tally Ho!

Funk

I am in a funk of a mood. I believe my hormones are toying with me which, ultimately, ends up making the rest of the world suffer. I called my doctor on Monday about my "pills" and mentioned how it can sometimes make me a bit moody (kinda funny, huh?) and I tend to get horrible raging migraines. Well, it has also made my skin look better than it ever has...ever. Because of that, my doctor decided changing my pills was not an option as I have changed so many times, I have probably tried them all at least twice in my life. I have to toughen up when I get my headaches and just keep telling Mike "nothing is wrong" when he asks. I guess if I just stare in the mirror and admire my new skin, the pain pulsating through my head and eyes and my need to want to kick mud in the faces of those I love should dissipate. Mind you, I am not knocking my doctor for suggesting we leave well enough alone, because she has worked with me and my pill situation for 10 years. Enough is enough.

On a side note, I'd like send a shout out to my husband and daughter who always know when I'm not myself and know to give me hugs and kisses at the right time. However, the squeezing of my boob isn't going to get the effect my husband is looking for when I'm in one of these moods. He usually gets the rolling of my eyes or some name calling like, "raper." My boobies should be considered off limits whenever he sees the scowl on my face.