This Page

has been moved to new address

Momo Fali's

Sorry for inconvenience...

Redirection provided by Blogger to WordPress Migration Service
Momo Fali's: November 2007

Thursday, November 29, 2007

And It Shook When He Laughed Like a Bowl Full of Jelly

We had a guy here to fix our cable this afternoon. My son took one look at him and said, "You look like Santa!"

The unsuspecting man, who doesn't know my shockingly honest sweet child, replied, "Why? Is it because of my beard?"

My son answered, "No. It's your big, round belly".

Labels: , ,

Wednesday, November 28, 2007

Time For A Pop Quiz

This picture shows you one pair of regular reading glasses, and one pair that fell out of my 3rd grader's desk, onto the floor, then were forgotten until it was time to go to Music class.
Then somebody stepped on them.
Can you guess which is which?

Labels: ,

Monday, November 26, 2007

Whose Punishment Is This Anyway?

My son has been having some issues at preschool. Today, when I picked him up, I noticed the teacher trying to help him put on his jacket. He didn't see me standing in the hall, but I saw him take his coat from his teacher's hands, then throw it on the floor. When she tried to hand it to him a second time, he took the coat and threw it AT her.

Needless to say, he's being punished today. Unfortunately, the only punishment that does any good is to take away his favorite toys and TV shows. I say unfortunately, because when I take away those things, he doesn't know what to do with himself. He will inevitably follow me around the house turning everything I do, into something a five year old WANTS to do. If I change the toilet paper or empty the trash, he'll say, "I can do that".

If I load the dishwasher, "I can do that".

Fold the laundry, "I can do that".

You name it, he can do it. And, usually he can. But, for certain it will take a thousand times as long.

Please don't think I don't want to engage my son. I adore him. We play a lot of games and have been working on a big jigsaw puzzle together. We do speech therapy, work on fine motor skills, and I read to him.

Nor is he a TV junkie. At the most, he'll watch an hour of Little Einsteins each day. But that hour, that precious's GONE.

Once in awhile, Mom needs a break. Or, at least a chance to steal away and do some laundry without it becoming The Laundry Game. I would like to change the bedding, and leave out the part where I have to construct a fort out of the flat sheet.

Labels: ,

Saturday, November 24, 2007

Er...Uh...How To Confuse An Eight Year Old

My daughter was reading a book and asked, "Mom, what does the word er mean? This character says it all the time."

I replied, "Well, it's not really a word, but it's used as a pause in conversation. Like, uh."

"Oh. So should I replace all the er's with uh's?"

"No, they mean the same thing."

"But, you said that er isn't a word?"

"Neither is uh."

Nothing like trying to explain the idiosyncrasies of the English language to your daughter, only to have her look at you like you're speaking Greek.

Labels: ,

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Please People...Learn From My Mistakes

Don't ever... take the seeds out of a chipotle pepper, add the skin of the pepper to your pot of chili, then rub your eyes before you've had a chance to wash your hands.

Don't ever...feed your baby an ENTIRE jar of bananas for his first taste of baby food, unless you feel like cleaning up banana vomit. Maybe pick up a book and READ about what you're supposed to do and don't just say, "Wow. He really likes bananas", and keep feeding them to him until he explodes.

Don't ever...shovel your entire driveway without considering that maybe you need to wipe your nose. You may just find yourself looking up to see your neighbors, with a three-inch long glob of snot hanging out of your nostril.

Don't ever...tell your boss she'd have to be pretty stupid to pack her plane tickets in her suitcase, until you were sure she didn't already do that once.

Don't ever...claim to know the words to a 50-Cent song. Your cool, hip friend might just call you on it.

I don't own this last one. It belongs to a friend, but it would win the, "Learn from my mistakes" award, if there was such a thing.

Don't your car stolen, unless you can actually remember which level of the garage you parked on. You may have the police looking for it, and suddenly stumble across it a few days later. And, you might just have friends who will never let you forget it.


Sunday, November 18, 2007

She'll Be Saying Grace At This Year's Dinner

My eight year old daughter has been a crazy little writer lately. She has some 50 journals that she writes in constantly. Every day, every thing that happens to her gets put down in writing. I think she wants to grow up to be a blogger.

Since this is the week of Thanksgiving, I thought I would share something special from her. Here is a letter that my daughter wrote to God this morning.

Dear God,

Thank you so much for my wonderful family. Thanks for all my friends. Thanks for helping me live my life happily. Thank you for all my surroundings. Please help the sick heal. Please give the homeless people a home. Please give the hungry some food. Please help all the people in Iraq. Please help all the people in the book of intentions. Please let my family live a long healthy life. Help me be able to help people in need of my help. Please give me courage to help people at all times.



P.S. My Mom would like to thank you for letting the Buckeyes beat Michigan.

(Okay...she didn't really write a P.S. But, I would've told her to, had I known she was writing God a letter.)

Labels: ,

Friday, November 16, 2007

Blog Writer's Strike-Here's a Rerun For You

Thursday, November 15, 2007

It's Good To Be A Buckeye


Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Juvenile Idiocy

I often find myself telling stories to my kids about my childhood, which always end with the saying, "But, don't you ever do that." Looking back, I don't know how I made it to adulthood relatively unscathed.

Back in the day, we sure had a lot of fun. It seems to me, way more fun than our kids have these days. But, truth be known, I'm lucky to be alive.

There were the climbing races to the top of my neighbor's maple tree...a good two-and-a-half-stories high. The perilous jump between a 2nd story roof to a bedroom window, which had nothing below it but ground. And, the one time in early Spring when my cousin and I tried to stand on floating blocks of ice that were breaking apart on the river. We were holding onto a railing near a boat pier, but the freezing water was deep enough to go over our heads. Brilliant.

We climbed high upon the steel beams at a construction site, and rode all over town--without helmets--on the handlebars of each other's bikes. All while someone else was hitching a ride on the back of the "banana seat".

We swung across a ravine on the end of a warped vine, and spent afternoons walking across the moss-covered tops of low-level dams. We dove into a quarry, rode our bikes on very busy streets, and never wore seat belts.

But, my personal favorite has to be our creation of "storm forts", where we would sit outside with golf umbrellas fashioned into a stronghold against the wind and rain. I'm not sure where our parents were, as we sat there just asking for a bolt of lightening to hit us and our AM/FM radios.

I can not believe how downright stupid we were. Completely oblivious to the chances we were taking, and abundantly lucky that we weren't hurt beyond a few scratches and dents. So, I tell those tales to my children with caution...and I TRY not to make it sound like it was a TON of fun.

Labels: , ,

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Why I Won't Win Mother Of The Year

My Mother-in-Law was here for a visit yesterday.

She was working on a crossword puzzle in the other room, when my daughter ran into the kitchen and asked me, "Mom, do you know an eight-letter word for 'Driving up the wall'? I told Grandma you would know, because you always say we're driving you up the wall."

Labels: , ,

Thursday, November 8, 2007

At Least He's A Logical Thinker

As my son was scraping a dismantled high-chair across the floor, I said, "Stop that! Dad told you not to do that. It's scratching the floor".

He stopped and looked at me for a second, then moved it forward a little.

I raised my voice and said, "Hey! Stop doing that! Didn't you hear me? Dad told you this morning not to do that anymore!"

He stopped again and said, "I CAN do it."

I said, ", you can't. You're not allowed. Dad said so."

Then, with an irritated look and annoyance in his voice, he turned to me and said, "But Mom... Dad's at work".

Labels: , ,

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

This Gentleman Prefers Wrinkles

My five year old son went through a lot as an infant. He has a very rare heart defect, which the local cardiologists had only seen in a textbook. As you can imagine, they developed quite a fascination with my kid. He was constantly poked and prodded, and may as well have had an echocardiogram wand permanently affixed to his chest. At the same time, he had severe reflux, a kidney problem, and several other conditions which had him in and out of the hospital quite frequently.

During his tumultuous infancy, we noticed he had an aversion to being held or touched. It was (correctly) assumed by us, that he didn't like the feel of human hands because they mostly caused him pain and trauma. After most of his health issues were either stable or under medicinal-control, roundabout his first birthday, we realized it was time to do something about his sensory problems. At that time, he began 18 months of occupational therapy to get him where he needed to be. He had frequent appointments with a specialist to help him realize that touch can be soothing and comforting.

Only nothing is that simple with this boy of mine. He took to the therapy so well, that he went to the other end of the spectrum, and now he won't keep his hands off people. Mostly, he likes women's arms....and the older the skin, the better. It is not unusual to find him sticking his hand up the sleeve of any AARP-card-carrying, female he can find.

My Mother and my husband's Mother have both referred to this portion of their body as their "flab", which has caused me much grief. On more than one occasion, my son has rubbed someone's arm and uttered, "This is your flab", as I quickly looked for a rock to crawl under.

So, now we are trying to reach some kind of middle-ground. We are attempting to bring balance into the life of a kid who has dealt with a lot of extremes. We don't want him to stop touching the flab, we just don't want him to call it that.

Labels: ,

Sunday, November 4, 2007

Real Friends Don't Have To Be Real

My husband and I have often discussed where our children get particular traits. Both kids have my detached earlobes, my sweet-tooth, and an inclination toward being overly sensitive. My husband is clearly responsible for our daughter's big, blue eyes, her competitive nature, and our son's affinity for pushing people to their limits.

But for certain, they get their imaginations from me.

When I was a child, I didn't just have an imaginary friend...I had a whole family. Fourteen brothers and sisters, all named, aged, and with defined personalities. My position in the brood was smack-dab between two sets of twins.

When my daughter was younger, she had three such imaginary friends. But, whereas I kept mine a secret, she openly told people about hers. They went everywhere with us. One time we had to go so far as to GO BACK to church one Sunday, because she said we left one of them there. I will never forget holding my crying daughter, watching my husband walk down the aisle into an empty pew and grab the air as if he had lifted a child.

Our son's good friend, however, isn't actually imaginary...he's inanimate. His best buddy is a soccer ball, and because it reminds us so much of Castaway, we gave "him" the name Wilson. Wilson gets good-morning hugs, plays hide-and-seek with our son, and is starting to show some serious signs of wear and tear. Nobody can make our son laugh like Wilson either. We're not sure what he's saying, but apparently, he's quite the comedian.

So, unfortunately, when our son acts like a smart-aleck, I can't say to my husband, "He gets that from you"...even though he does. Because all my husband has to do is point at a beat-up, tattered soccer ball to put me in my place.

Labels: ,

Thursday, November 1, 2007

Take Your List And Shove It

This morning the homepage on my computer had a survey asking who is the least-attractive, female star in Hollywood. I suppose the brilliant mind behind this survey took their lead from Maxim magazine's recent list, which has received quite a bit of publicity. Though, not the uproarious publicity it deserves. It seems there are actually sad, little, shallow-minded individuals who care about some sexist fool's "bottom-five".

I don't know who compiled the list for Maxim. I don't know if it was a man or a woman. I'm not giving their web-site the traffic to check it out. Either way, I'm guessing the guilty party has some female relatives. A sister, an aunt, a niece...a daughter. At the very least, they have a Mother who carried them and bore them. She probably didn't look too attractive squeezing their block-headed-numbskull out of her either.

In fairness, I can't just point the finger at Maxim or my cable company. There are lists like these all over the place. I have a daughter who isn't aware of them yet, and I wish I could shield her from the ignorance and emptiness of that portion of our society forever, but unfortunately I can't.

At this point, I can only hope that she will grow up to be well-adjusted and know that she is exquisite, no matter what anyone ever says. I want her to know that being humble equals refinement. That kindness equals beauty. And, above all...that people deserve respect.


This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Subscribe to Posts [Atom]