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Momo Fali's: January 2008

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Fairy Tale Lost

Once upon a time there was a plane crash.

Oceanic 815, broke apart and fell onto an island in the south Pacific; also known as
the Island of Beautiful Plane-Crash-Surviving-People.
-The Beautiful People amazingly found an enormous food supply, walkie-talkies, guns, strange tunnels and hidden rooms filled with static-laden televisions and big syringes. But, on the downside they also found polar bears and a big, black cloud that mysteriously kills people.

All the while, there were numbers everywhere.
These numbers4, 8, 15, 16, 23 and 42.
And, if you think they don’t mean anything, that’s because they don’t mean anything.

But luckily, or unluckily, depending on your perspective, there were others on this island. Others who were crazily enough called…

The Others.

As nice as you would expect people named The Others to be. They did bad things, like kidnap and gag the Beautiful People, who were then taken to cages where they had to do pet tricks for fish biscuits.

Alas, the Beautiful People could not be held down! They schemed, planned and talked about being rescued by Penny’s boat. Only it was NOT Penny’s boat.

Even though it wasn't Penny's boat, people still showed up to save them from The Others, and the polar bears, and the big black cloud.

-No, not those people, but some other ones.

But, when one of the rescuers saw the Beautiful People he said, ”Rescuing your people? I can’t really say it’s our primary objective.” Ruh Roh!

Boys and girls, I would like to tell you that this fairy tale ends well and that the Beautiful People lived happily ever after…but, I can’t. As much as this fairy tale has sucked me in...I can't tell you how it ends, because unfortunately I’m still LOST.

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Monday, January 28, 2008

It's Time To Invest In A Muzzle

At the eye doctor's office the other day, a technician put my five year old son in an exam chair, then sat down on her rolling stool.

My son asked, "Mom, do you smell that?"

As I quickly looked for sand to bury my head in, I said, "No. I don't smell anything."

Even though I knew something bad was coming, that poor lady didn't have a clue. Not even when my son sniffed the air again and said, "I smell something Mom."

And, as the technician rolled closer to him, and he took in the full aroma, he said, "I smell something...and it smells like my poop."

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Sunday, January 27, 2008

My Daisies Are Pushing Up Daisies

I love flowers and plants and like to surround myself with them.
These are just some of the examples of my green thumb...
These are fresh flowers my husband brought home last week.
This is a plant I've had since
I went to college 19 years ago (yikes...I'm old).

This is a plant in my kitchen.

A friend gave me this plant about six or seven years ago.
And, my daughter hand-painted this pot and gave me
this extra special plant,
just so I could kill it.

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Friday, January 25, 2008

Sing Softly And Carry A Big Stick

I sound like a sick cat when I sing. Actually, more like a sick cat, in heat, that was recently attacked by a pack of wild dogs. It's so bad that I lip sync in church. Even hundreds of people can't drown me out.

My husband has a very nice singing he inherited from his Mom. (Did you hear that? It sounds like a pinball machine.
Ching-ca-ching-ca-ching-ching. That's me, racking up mother-in-law points.) My husband sings because HE CAN. Unlike me, he doesn't send small children screaming, 'Make it stop! Make it stop!'

Last year, our son had ear tubes put in. For a week after the surgery we put drops in his ears twice a day, and he would have to lie on each side for five minutes afterward. After 10 minutes of staying still, which is excruciating for a five year old, we would tell him, "Okay, you can get up. You're free."

That quickly turned into my husband singing a loose rendition of the Rolling Stones' song, I'm Free. 'You're free to do what you want, any old time.' As much as I hate to sing, I will do it for my kids...if I have to. Although, I would refer to it as a lyrical whisper.

For some reason, my son doesn't mind my bad voice. Though, maybe, just maybe, his 25% hearing loss has something to do with it.

Last weekend, my husband and I were out of town when our son came down with a fever. My niece was babysitting and I told her to give him Tylenol. Apparently when she got the Tylenol out of the container, she referred to them as "bad boys". As in, 'Let's see if these bad boys will make you feel better'.

So this past week, we gave our son Tylenol and he would call them "bad boys". And now, my husband belts out the theme from COPS
every time he medicates him. My son wants me to sing, but in my quiet voice I'm doubting the criminals would be all that intimidated.

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Thursday, January 24, 2008

"Look At That Horse"

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Ho Hum, It's Only A Seizure

The book What to Expect When You're Expectingsaved my daughter's life. I wasn't that far along in my pregnancy, but I read ahead in the book just to find out what adventures were to come. When I read about kick counts, I got a little concerned. I had been feeling the baby kick a LOT just a couple of weeks before, but all that kicking had stopped. I mentioned it to my OB at my next appointment, who then scheduled an ultrasound. I had my daughter via emergency c-section the next day. I was told that in another two weeks she would've been stillborn.

You tend to put a lot of faith in that which prevents something so horrible. The What to Expect books have been my ultimate go-to guides.

For the past four days, my five year old son has had a pretty high fever, so last night I pulled out my handy-dandy What to Expect book. I may have been doing this parenting thing for over nine years, but a refresher course never hurts.

The book says that your child's behavior, not necessarily their temperature, should be how you judge the severity of the illness. And, speaking of that behavior, apparently it's not that uncommon for a child to suffer convulsions when they have a fever. I gotta tell you though, the authors seemed just a bit too nonchalant about it.

If convulsing begins, the book says to remain calm and check the clock so you can time the seizure. Maybe grab a cup of tea and give yourself a manicure while you're waiting.

Don't put food or drink into your child's mouth. This is not the time to make him finish his lunch. Also, don't attempt to bribe him by saying, "If you stop convulsing, I'll give you a cookie".

Don't put your child in the tub. Logically, this SEEMS like a perfectly good time to clean him up. After all, he'll likely be unconscious, so you wouldn't get much of an argument about bathtime.

The child's eyes will roll back, the body will stiffen, arms and legs will twitch and jerk involuntarily. You may want to get out the video camera. Years from now, I'm sure everyone will sit back, have a good laugh, and say, "Remember that time you were having that seizure? Good times, good times."

If your child isn't breathing normally, or if the seizure lasts more than five mintues, THEN call 911. Because four minutes and 45 seconds is too soon to freak out. Wait for it...wait for it...when that clock says five minutes, go ahead and call. Although it will feel like five thousand years, you wouldn't want to sound foolish by saying your kid's eyes rolled back in his head ONLY four minutes ago.

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Saturday, January 19, 2008

Let's Call The Whole Thing Off

I was just finishing up the laundry when my husband asked, "Did you wash my collars?"

"Collars? Was I supposed to do something special with your collars?"

"I needed my collars washed?"

"Well, I did the laundry."

"But, did you wash my collars?"

"As in they had rings around them?"

"No! As in COLORS!"

When you marry a southern gentleman, sometimes you need a translator.

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Friday, January 18, 2008

I Had My Son When I Was Just Eleven Years Old

At the bank last week, the teller handed my son a sucker and then asked him, "How old are you?"

He replied, "I'm five. And, my Mom is 16!"

But, why I felt the need for nervous laughter and to say, "No I'm not", I'll never know. I'm pretty sure the wrinkles speak for themselves.

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Wednesday, January 16, 2008

The Darlingest Dog

My nine year old daughter has quite a collection of stuffed dogs. So many dogs, that for Christmas we bought her a REAL dog bed to put in her room. There are Shepherds, Collies, Poodles, Terriers, Huskies, and Bulldogs...just to name a few. The collection is so big that we've lost count. But, there is one...just one...that holds a special place in my daughter's heart. One little dog so dirty and tattered that it's almost unrecognizable. Her name is Darling, and I think she was a Beagle in her previous life at the Hallmark store.

Sometime in November, when we were cleaning out toy boxes and organizing rooms to make space for Santa's bounty, Darling got lost. We looked everywhere for her. Furniture was moved, closets were emptied, and toy boxes were thoroughly searched. I had come to the conclusion that my five year old son had probably thrown Darling into a Goodwill bag, but I didn't dare tell my daughter that.

Last night, just before I tucked her into bed, we made another attempt to locate Darling. We looked under my daughter's dresser and behind her desk, and I finally told her that I was afraid we had shipped Darling off to Goodwill. Her eyes filled with tears and she said, "NOOOO!" I told her that I just didn't know where else that dog could be.

Then I asked her if she had ever looked in my room. She and my son watch TV in there sometimes, and I told her it was possible that her ornery little brother could've thrown Darling under my bed. So we looked among the shoe boxes, stored-up summer clothes and dust bunnies, but with no luck. Then I looked behind my bed...and, THERE SHE WAS. Lodged between a windowsill and my headboard, crumpled up and barely visible.

When I said, "I found her!", my little girl dropped the clothes she had been holding and ran over and grabbed her dog. And the tears which had been welling up, freely flowed down her cheeks. She was blubbering with joy, and I was so happy for her that I started crying. A grown woman, crying about a filthy, stuffed dog with spots of fur that are hardened with what is most likely syrup. I never would've thought that I'd be happy to see Darling too.


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Monday, January 14, 2008

Who Needs Writers When You Have Reality?

There has been an abundance of reporting on the Hollywood writer's strike lately. Because of the strike, last night's Golden Globes, which is usually a spectacular, star-studded affair, was hosted from a podium. The lavish dinner and drinks were never made, the designer gowns and jewels stayed stashed in their closets, and America was left with an awards ceremony resembling a college lecture. Though, it's likely that an economics dissertation would've been more interesting.

But for me, last night was a wonderful evening of television. Because, my name is Momo and I'm a reality TV-oholic.

One of my favorite reality shows is The Amazing Race, which airs on Sunday nights. This is why I had no idea that The Golden Globes were being presented homeroom style.

The Amazing Race is a race around the world. It puts pairs of people in situations where they're forced to complete tasks indigenous to the locale. While in Africa, they had to milk camels, and in Croatia, they had to row boats through the Adriatic Sea. You get the idea. The competitors are usually exhausted from flying from continent to continent, and there's almost always a language barrier. The grand prize is $1 million, and these people WANT THAT MONEY. This race is like watching the human being's equivalent of a train wreck.

Last night's show saw the departure of Jen and Nathan, a couple who ran the race to see if their relationship could withstand the pressure. Considering that they admit not being able to stand each other when they first met, and that they've broken up numerous times in the last couple of years, this was a lofty goal. Jen was known for her kind words to Nathan like, "I hate you with a passion" and "I can't stand you right now". They were eliminated when they were the last team to arrive and check in with the host, Phil Koeghan.

The show is now down to the last three pairs of contestants, who will compete in the final leg on the season finale. Let's meet the finalists...

This is Ron and Christina, a father/daughter team who are trying to bond. It seems Ron wasn't around much while Christina was growing up, and when he was finally ready to play Dad, Christina was busy getting her degrees from Duke AND Princeton.

This is TK and Rachel. They are dread-heads, and are all about peace and harmony. TK never raises his voice, despite Rachel's dumb mistakes. Of all the stops on the race route, I believe Amsterdam was their favorite.
This is Nicolas and Donald. A Grandson/Grandfather pair. Don is the oldest competitor ever to make it to the final three. And, despite being 45 years older than his grandson, he has taken on some of the more strenuous tasks, such as riding in an underwater Jeep, and lifting heavy rocks. All while his grandson stands nearby with words of encouragement like, "Pick up the pace there Don".

Don't miss this Sunday's race for the $1 million. Because, it's not just a race, it's amazing.

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Sunday, January 13, 2008

Next Thing You Know, I'll Take Up Macramé

Clear signs that I'm getting old...

* I get mad when my paper isn't on the doorstep by 7:00 AM

* I scan the obituaries in said paper

* I get excited that the grocery store has Super-Double-Coupons

* The subject line in the e-mails I send to my friends no longer say things like "party" or "BYOB", but instead say things like, "Fiber", "Shredded Wheat" and "Lactose Intolerant"

* In 10 years, my daughter will be nineteen

* I know the phone number to my pharmacy by heart

* My older sister is a grandmother

* I turn on MTV and say things like, "What is this crap?"

* After playing on the floor with my kids, I make odd, and quite audible, noises when I get up

* And lastly, because I can relate to this...

Three ladies were discussing the travails of getting older. One said, "Sometimes I catch myself with a jar of mayonnaise in my hand while standing in front of the refrigerator. I can't remember whether I need to put it away, or start making a sandwich."

The second lady chimed in with, "Sometimes I find myself on the landing of the stairs and can't remember whether I was on my way up, or on my way down."

The third one responded, "Well, ladies, I'm glad I don't have that problem...knock on wood." Then she rapped her knuckles on the table and said, "That must be the door, I'll get it!"

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Thursday, January 10, 2008

Spreading Holiday Cheer One Jab At A Time

When I was dropping off my son at pre-school this morning, he pointed to a heavy-set lady, with white hair and a red hat. When he sticks that finger toward someone, I know something bad is about to be said, but I couldn't hurry him along despite my best efforts.

Now he's starting to give multiple put-downs, because as he was pointing at this woman, he said, "Look Mom! There's Santa's brother!"

I can't decide what's worse...being insulted by a five year old, getting called a man, or being told that you resemble a jolly old elf.

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Tuesday, January 8, 2008

These Are The Places In My Neighborhood

Some of you may have noticed a little badge on my sidebar which references Bossy's Excellent Road Trip. For those of you who have been living under a rock don't know Bossy, let me just say she's my blog idol. It would be the equivalent of Hanna Montana coming for a sleepover with my nine year old daughter, or Tony Romo having a beer with my husband, or Lightening McQueen taking my five year old son for a ride. I couldn't be more excited! Bossy is maybe coming! She's going to sleep on my couch and I'm going to spoon her!

So, I got to wondering just what will I show her in my cow town city? Where will we go, what will we do?
First I will tell her that we are very classy and discerning people here...

After that, we'll do a shot sip some cognac...

She better bring her sunglasses. Because it's always dreary and gray sunny and bright.

But, then what? There are so many things to see! Where to start?!
Well, that's a tuffy.


Most likely, I'll just show her where I live...


No, I'm at Target a lot, but this is my stinking rich neighbor's house.


Though, if Bossy doesn't come soon, we may be living here...


...which someone recently redecorated with this lovely dent.

Oh, I just can't wait! We'll laugh, and talk, and not talk, and eat soup and snow peas. And, when she leaves I think Bossy will say, "I wouldn't want to live there, but it's a lovely place to visit".

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Sunday, January 6, 2008

You Should Hear What I Say When I Play Frogger

I have been known to throw the occasional cuss word around. Not cussing for the sake of cussing, but for particular circumstances such as falling down the steps, or dropping a plate, or the many, many times when my daughter was a baby and she would have such explosive bowel movements that we would find brown tar all the way up to her neck.

I do try to keep myself in check though, especially around my kids. I have taken to using words such as, 'Dang' and 'Poo'. They're tame enough that I think I may have heard them in Disney movies.

I also try very, very hard not to use the word, 'stupid'. I even try to monitor the shows my kids watch, so there aren't characters or people calling each other stupid. To me, it's just a nasty, derogatory word and my five year old son does enough to embarrass me. I don't need him calling people stupid to boot.

But, last week my husband bought this computer game that was beyond frustrating for me. You have to toss this marble across a gargantuan abyss onto a flat surface. That's it. But, I either couldn't get my marble across the abyss, or it would fly through the air right past the flat surface, or it would land on the flat surface only to roll off. I could not get it, and as much as I wanted to let some choice words fly right along with that marble, I didn't.

Though I did keep saying, over and over, something about the game and the marble being stupid.

Of course, the next time my son got a chance to play, he immediately began to say stuff about the 'stupid game' and the 'stupid marble'. I quickly told him not to say it anymore, that I shouldn't have said it either, because it's just not nice.

And now the little rascal is trying to draw it out of me, apparently to get me in trouble with myself. Under the guise of improving his knowledge, he just asked me, "Hey Mom, what rhymes with Cupid?"

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Friday, January 4, 2008

I See Dead People

Right around Christmas, my five year old son suddenly became fascinated with death. It started when we were talking about his grandparents and he asked where their parents were. I explained that those were his great-grandparents, and that they had all died and are in heaven now. When he asked why they died, I didn't want to say some of them had been sick, since we often say we're sick. So I told him that they died because they were old.

So, it shouldn't have been any surprise when he pointed at an elderly woman a few days ago and said, "You died! You have white hair and that means you're old. You died!"

But she was hard of hearing and just gave him a big smile, and now he thinks he's cheering up retirees by telling them they've passed away.

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Wednesday, January 2, 2008

Don't Want To Look Forward? Let's Look Back

I am not in the mood for New Year's Resolutions. The past year brought some challenges which won't magically go away with the change of a calendar. It's going to take a quick upturn in the real estate market, and I can't add that to 1) Get on the treadmill again 2) Quit picking my cuticles and 3) Lay off the vodka. So, instead of looking forward, I'm taking a look back. Back twenty years to 1988, also known as The Year of Big Hair.
In 1988, this woman became the longest-running British Prime Minister of the century.

Oh, wait...not that woman. This woman.

This guy named Jimmy the Greek made some stupid, ignorant comments about black athletes.

Oh, sorry. This is him.

This guy, beat up married this girl.

And, a fellow in a leisure suit was elected to public office.

Iran... ...and Iraq were at war. Which is really surprising, since you hardly ever hear about fighting in the middle east.

He hit his head, then went on to win a gold medal.

And, this guy was elected president. Oh, sorry...I mean this guy.

And, just to show what an intelligent country he was elected to run. Enough people went to see this to make it the 5th top grossing movie of the year.

And, in 1988 a computer for cavemen was invented. Thank goodness times have changed.

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