Frommy’s World

T’was a time when all was right, the sun would shine, and stars sparkled in the night. It was a time when Sophie toted around “Monkey”. Summer at Frommy’s house began in turmoil. Monkey was nowhere to be found. We looked everywhere: daycare, work, Nana’s, playgrounds, and all over the house.

Monkey is my four-year-old daughter Sophie’s security blanket. Monkey is a stuffed animal look-a-like of Curious George. Monkey entered our lives when my wife Tara came out of surgery two summers ago. Kelso High School’s principal Mrs. Spears gave my wife Monkey as a get-well present. When my kids came to visit their mother at the hospital, Sophie saw Monkey lying on Tara’s stomach. When the kids and I had to leave, Sophie became upset and didn’t want to leave her mommy. Tara had Sophie come over to her and asked her if she could take care of Monkey for her until she got home. Monkey has never left her side since.

Everywhere Sophie goes, so goes Monkey. Daycare allows only one toy item per child, and Sophie always brings Monkey (Although she sneaks in a few new toys every now and again within her backpack).

When school let out last year Sophie was without Monkey. We tried to provide other stuffed animals and toys in Monkey’s absence, but Sophie wouldn’t have any of them. As time continued on, Sophie became less aware of Monkey’s disappearance. However, the absence left a deep fissure in everyday Frommy life.

A few weeks into summer break my family took a trip to Idaho’s Lake Coer d’ Alane. While there we visited Silverwood theme park. As we entered the park there were many shops as you progressed towards the rides. A couple of my older kids browsed the shops for stuff to waste their money on, when low and behold on the store shelves sat a Monkey just like the one Sophie lost. You can grasp what happened next.

Yes, my family and I came up with an ingenious scheme to bring Monkey back into our lives. For less than $20, and a not so tidy story, Monkey was reintroduced to Sophie. “Sophie, what is that sitting over there in the bushes,” my wife and children asked. “Look Sophie…who’s that?” The story given to my poor daughter was that Monkey had gone on vacation earlier and had decided to just meet us here. The lies we tell when all is not well.

As we began to laugh and sing about Monkey’s return, Sophie just sat in her rented stroller and stared. She began to hug Monkey and then scold him for leaving her. Post traumatic stress now rearing its ugly head. Sophie than began to investigate this so called “Monkey” further. She perceptively looked for her name that should have been written on Monkey’s paw. It wasn’t there. She began to notice the soft, unmated, and unsoiled texture of Monkey’s fur.

We all began to see that our evil lies were not working. Therefore, we did what any good parents would do…lie some more. “Monkey took a bath so he would be clean when he saw you again,” we said. My kids then began to reaffirm our new lie…monkey see, monkey do. Sophie wasn’t buying it, but to have Monkey back in her arms was too much for her to resist.

The summer days passed, and all was well again. Monkey was once again soiled and matted. My wife has even sprayed some of her perfume on Monkey as she had done in the past. She used to do this so Sophie could smell her when she took her nap at daycare. Then someone threw a monkey wrench into the Frommy machine…Monkey is found!

It turned out that Monkey was left in a classroom at the High School. The last week of school I held a short meeting with my boy’s soccer team at the High School. My wife came by at the conclusion of the meeting with my daughter Sophie who was holding Monkey in hand. When the meeting was adjourned, my wife and I locked up the room for the summer, and Monkey was left inside.

Today my daughter Sydney, who is a senior this year, came home from meetings at the High School this morning with Monkey in hand. Sydney was in a meeting in Ms. Kolberg’s room (the same room I had my soccer meeting before summer break). Sydney noticed a Monkey sitting in the room and asked Ms. Kolberg, “Where did you get this?” Ms. Kolberg said, “Some kid left it in the room.” Holding it up in the air, Sydney looked for Sophie’s name on the foot of Monkey…it was there! Sydney started screaming and jumping up and down. All the other students looked up at her as if she was mental. It is definitely our Monkey. Sophie’s name was written on the paw and you could still smell my wife’s perfume.

So now we have two Monkeys. What do we do now? We can’t let Sophie know, because she would then know our dirty little lie. Would she understand? Could she understand? How in the world could we find ourselves out of this one…lie some more of course. We decided to keep the real Monkey out of harms way…out of sight, out of mind. We will keep Monkey #1 as insurance for if Monkey #2 comes up missing.

Some day we will get this monkey off our backs and come clean about Monkey…when Sophie is 30! Until that venture out of the closet, life in the Frommy household will continue as normal, and Sophie will have Monkey to lug around…well, Monkeys.

Adding a little spice to life, tonight my wife Tara made tacos with fresh homemade salsa. The salsa was good, even my neighbor came over to dip some chips. Dinner itself was fairly uneventful; however what followed was a series of unfortunate and interesting events that lead to the Emergency Room. This would be the fourth time in six years that my wife had been taken to the ER. The first time it was for a car wreck, the second time for falling off a ladder while painting our living room, the third was for being bitten by a spider that crawled up her pajama pants, and now once again for cutting up chili peppers and handling them with her bare hands.

After dinner I heard Tara call for me from the other room. As I came into the kitchen she began to inform me that her hands and arms were burning. She believed it was from the chili peppers she used in making the salsa. With a smirk I asked her if she had ran her hands under cold water. She told me not only water, but also vinegar. I said to try baking soda and water…that’s what my mom would have me do when I got stung by a bee. A little while later she came to me again and said that her hands were still burning. I said, “No fear, I’ll get on the Internet and find a cure.”

Tara had made salsa before, but this time she decided to use a hotter chili pepper to spice things up. Tara also made a bigger batch so she cut up four chilies instead of just the usual one. To top it off, she didn’t use gloves when cutting the chili peppers.

According to ChiliPepperPlants.com, the substance that produces all of the heat sensation in chili peppers is known as capsaicin. Specialized gland cells found in the ribs of a chili pepper produce capsaicin. Capsaicin produces the sensations of heat and pain in the mouth by stimulating local heat receptors in the skin and mucous membranes. Capsaicin also makes you sweat, which is why it is popular in hot dry climates. Apparently capsaicin was developed by plants as a way of preventing animals from eating the seeds of the pepper. Chili peppers with more capsaicin produce more pain, the “hottest” being the habanero pepper.

To measure the heat level of chili peppers, the “Scoville” test is used. The heat factor of chili peppers is measured in multiples of Scoville units. Sweet bell peppers at zero Scoville units, while the mighty Habanero pepper rates at 300,000 plus Scoville units! Pure Capsaicin rates between 15,000,000 and 16,000,000 Scoville Units!

I learned by researching the Internet that when using fresh or dried chili peppers, it is highly suggested that you wear gloves to protect your hands because the oils in the peppers can cause severe burns (My wife got this information a little too late). Also, don’t touch your face or eyes!

Coming to the rescue, I promptly informed my wife that I found a cure. WebMD said:

“Chili pepper burns are caused by an irritating substance found in the skin of the pepper. This burn can feel like a sunburn, a throbbing and prickling feeling, or a very intense, hot pain.

“The best treatment is to wash the area with soap and water and then put a large amount of vegetable oil on the area for at least an hour. If the burn sensation is on your hands, dip
your hands in vegetable oil for the hour.”

Tara began to treat herself with half a bottle of vegetable oil that covered her hands and arms. After about 15 minutes she still complained of severe burning. My wife than began to make some phone calls: The pharmacist said, “vegetable oil wouldn’t do a thing”. He recommended ice water and a possible trip to the Emergency Room if the burning persisted. My wife’s doctor also recommended a possible trip to the ER.

I did some further research and found a recommendation to soak hands in a bowl of milk. Tara tried the milk bath and found it to be the most soothing, yet the pain continued. After a large dose of Benadryl, some ibuprofen, vicadin, and a last ditch treatment of butter, we finally decided to make a trip to the ER.

Chili peppers originated in South America, and then spread to Central America where they are most popular today. Chili peppers were among the first plants to be domesticated. According to an essay “Red Hot Chili Peppers” by Tom Giesler, the remains of a pepper were found in Mexico dating back to approximately 7000 B.C., showing that chili peppers were established long before Columbus arrived. When Columbus landed in the New World, he named the chile “peppers” because they spiced up the bland food he and his sailors had been eating just the way black pepper did.

The seeds of the chili pepper were brought back to Spain, where it was grown in monastery gardens. Eventually, Portuguese traders then spread the chili peppers to the rest of the world.

While most people know the chili pepper as a food, it had other uses in ancient times. According to Chili Peppers-Some like it Hot, the pre-Columbian Indians used chili peppers as a medicine, as a punishment for children (inhalation of the smoke of burning chili peppers), and as a kind of tear gas during warfare (chili peppers were burned and the smoke blown by the wind over to enemy lines).

One chili pepper provides one and a half times more the amount of vitamin C found in a orange and is also a good source of vitamins A and E. According to BellyBytes.com, today chili peppers are used for a number of different things: as a sore throat cure, for neck aches, headaches, rheumatoid arthritis, tumors, as a blood clot preventive, boosting the immune system, as a food preservative because of its strong antioxidant properties, as a safe food-coloring, and as a flavoring for such products as ginger ale, to clear sinuses, and also aiding in digestion.

According to Science Daily, the chemical capsaicin found in chili peppers puts the sting in pepper spray, and is used in pest repellent sprays as well. Chile peppers have become the most widely used spice in the world, and are eaten on a daily basis by at least one quarter of the world’s adult population.

Studies have shown that eating spicy food is addicting. Your brain interprets the pain signals from hot chilies and automatically releases endorphins (the body’s natural pain killer). This creates a temporary feeling of euphoria. Hot and spicy food lovers soon begin to crave this feeling and become hooked! Fizzy drinks like Coke also release endorphins.

The pain produced by the chili peppers my wife cut up were too intense and left welts on her hands and arms. The only endorphins that were going to work on her were going to have to be administered by a doctor. The ER doctor concluded that Tara was having an allergic reaction to the chilies and not just a chemical burn. By the time it was all over, my wife was given an IV filled with steroids, more Benadryl, and some serious painkillers…also the learned experience that you should never handle hot chili peppers without gloves, and that I should assume to expect more various adventures to the ER in future years.

My daughter’s U12 select soccer team had a scrimage against the parents. I actually played a soccer game for the first time since I tore my ACL 10 years ago!

I’m completely out of shape…that’s for sure, but I was surprised at how much I was able to do on these bad knees of mine. I’ve hit a lot of balls around coaching at the High School and for rec teams, but actually playing is a whole different bag. It was a lot of fun to get out there on the field and I plan on doing it again the next time we have a parent scrimage.

I love the game and enjoy coaching and watching my kids play. Soccer is the one bond that I’m able to share with all of my kids, especially my daughter Paytyn. I love watching her play and enjoy shareing in the experience. Paytyn has been playing soccer for the past 5 years. Her athletic ability is exceptional, which makes it a whole lot of fun to watch her play.

Both my wife and I coach the game as well as played back in our High School days. My oldest daughter Sydney plays for the High School and my son MacKehen is beginning to pick the game up too. Mac has come out each week this summer with guys from my High School team. He has went from knowing virtually nothing to becomeing a player who can contribute as a Freshman at the JV level. My youngest daughter Sophie has even began to dribble the ball around. Next year she will be old enough to play on a team. I can’t wait to see those little legs moving up and down the field with all the purpose to kick the ball as hard as she can.

My summer has been spent going to tournaments every other week to watch Paytyn’s select team. I’ve also held summer practices for the High School boys and have begun tryouts for the High School girls. It has been fun to watch Paytyn play at such a competitive level. It’s also nice to have something to share as a parent with my kids who I love.

It was a time when innocence ruled and things were much more simple…No, not the 1950s, but the days when our public school system offered free physicals. If you haven’t had the pleasure to participate in what was one of the most memorable portions of youth, then I suggest making your way down to the nearest cattle farm for an observation in poking and prodding. Free physicals was a pastime not appreciated by many who partook, but now that this annual event is no longer, I thought I’d give prose to a once real life drama.

When older you will have filled those now empty shelves in your head with life’s many little experiences. I remember my days of public education when we (i.e., secondary students) all bused over to Monticello Middle School for our free physicals. This was a yearly ritual for those of us who participated in school athletics. Some of my fondest memories of public education took place in that building…and I went to Cascade! This is where I grew up and got educated.

The first thing (okay, maybe not the first thing) I remember is how as a green sixth grader I showed up a little unprepared. I had no idea I would be lined up like cattle for countless doctors and nurses to poke and prod not only my body, but also my pride. I remember having nothing to wear but my titie-whities and realizing that someone forgot to send me the memo. To top it off, every doctor and nurse had hands of ice. I swear they turn up the air-conditioning just for their own sick pleasure.

I remember arriving overly prepared with my sample (quart) of urine for them to examine. I remember the mechanical wall that split the gym in half with guys on one side and girls on the other. I remember from time to time someone (a nurse) would make his or her way back and forth between the girl’s side and the guy’s side and forget to close the door…Didn’t their mother teach them anything! However, most of all I remember that long ascension up stairs to a second gymnasium.

Outside of a cough or two every half minute, it was strangely silent as we herded up those stairs in a single file line of fruit-of-the-loom’s finest. As I made my way to the top I could hear the slight sounds of laughter mixed in with an ever-increasing bout of coughing fits. The light began to get brighter as I neared the top edge of the stairs. You know how people describe those near death experiences, “I saw a light,” well I saw the light all right. I literally saw my life flash before my eyes. At the summit of our stair climb a doctor (who was the father of a girl I went to school with) was sitting in a chair wearing latex gloves. What he was about to ask me to do is unmentionable, and as a sixth grader unfathomable. I choked what pride I had left and did as the doctor asked. The strees placed upon me could have lead to a hernia. At last I thought the cattle drive had mercilessly ended. However, to further my humiliation, across the upstairs gym floor was a female nurse collecting filled out physical cards at a desk that sat in front of our only course of escape…the back stairs.

As the years passed I realized that shorts were just as effective as underwear and that smaller urine samples were not only easier to carry, but less conspicuous as well. If you truly want to form some lasting memories and be provided with the best public education has to offer, turn your head and join me in the campaign to bring back free physicals.

In the last few days I received and/or purchased some interesting new toys. Yes, I ordered something off an info-commercial. Yesterday I got my Air-O-Space sofa bed. This is a blow up sofa, recliner, lounger, and bed all in one. It is a portable paradise with arm rests. It is the ultimate man-couch! It has “man” written all over it. Only a man can truly appreciate the perfection this product holds. The reception my man-couch has received from my male counterparts has been the envy of the town. Most women, by the way, have not been as enthusiastic.

The man-couch is the perfect dorm room necessity. When my daughter’s boyfriend walked in the house and saw the spectacle at hand he immediately exclaimed “Where did you get that? That would be perfect for college!” He is getting prepared for his freshman year at Lynnfield. Needles to say, he right away saw the utilitarian function that was the man-couch.

The man-couch has already become the video game chair with my children and friends lounging out in front of my TV. Children (boys or girls) can appreciate the genius that is the man-couch. A man is truly a child at heart, and the man-couch offers a world of new possibilities. My 4-year-old daughter has begun to use the man-couch as a trampoline and has assembled it into a superb fort. My son has utilized its lounge configuration and has found a new haven in front of the TV. My 12-year-old daughter has used it to practice her guitar. My 17-year-old daughter, however, does not feel the hype…she’s grown too old and has lost her inner child.

I took the man-couch to one of my 12-year-old daughter’s soccer games this weekend. The thrill I got just thinking about the humiliation she would have to endure while I cheered from the sidelines on my air-sofa was all the motivation I needed to find a way to blow it up at the soccer fields. My son held the same passion, so he and I found an outlet that some venders plugged into and fired up the air pump. As the man-couch began to evolve out of thin air, the public passers-by began to huddle. Men stood helpless as their jaws dropped when they witnessed this evolution. Women cried for help as their significant others became paralyzed in awe. I smiled, nodded my head, and proclaimed with my chest protruding that “this is a man-couch!”

We had to carry the couch across four fields to get to where my daughter was playing. As we made our procession towards the field, a crowd of soccer fans rubbernecked and began to gather one by one for the man-couch parade. “Is that a couch?”, someone would yell out. “Where did they get that?”, someone else would mutter. “Is that for us?”, a soccer coach hopefully asked. “It is a man-couch”, I proudly proclaimed. When we finally got to my daughter’s field, chaos prevailed, and all ability to coach or be coached became impossible. The teams reserve players hurried and huddled over us. As my son and I sat down we yelled out “Go Paytyn!” Everyone, including the referees, stopped in their tracks for a brief moment as they took in what was presented to them. The game continued, but the couch held the attention of many spectators as they longed for a sit down. My daughters teammates soon became too much to contend with and we had to abandon ship. It was the first time I ever saw players asking not to go back in the game.

I’ve not since brought the couch back to the playing field for good reason. However, my daughter’s team did win the championship…can you say “good luck charm”.

There is one flaw however…no cup holders. I could make millions if I made my own inflatable couch with cup holders! I would call it the man-couch. My dream is to add on a man-room to my house with nothing but blow-up furniture. Can you imagine an inflatable coffee table, an air lamp, and a blow-up entertainment center! Until then my man-couch will have to do. One can dream.