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Momo Fali's: July 2008

Wednesday, July 30, 2008

I Can't Compete With That

Among our group of friends, I am lovingly referred to as a "one-upper". Someone tells a story, and I come back with something to top it.

If you reflect on the time you were driving in a snowstorm, I will tell you a story about walking through a blizzard and not being able to see two feet in front of me. If you were rear-ended by a car, I'll tell you about the time I was hit by a semi.

My two favorite words in conversation are, "That's nothing." But really, a girl can't help it if she's that irritating interesting.

But, my husband is the master competitor. It doesn't take much to get him defensive either. If you could declare a winner in conversation, he'd be sure to snag the gold medal. Though that medal would come at the expense of the other person. A person who ends up an exhausted heap on the floor crying, "Uncle! For the love of bacon...UNCLE!"

Last night, the two of us went to a concert. I had been painting and scraping wallpaper all day (You've scraped wallpaper? I've scraped nine layers.) and barely made myself presentable before running out the door. When we got to the stadium, I realized I had forgotten to put my wedding ring on.

As I do a hundred times a day, I went to rub my thumb against my rings. Only I didn't feel metal, just bare skin. I turned to my husband and said, "Aw! I forgot to put my rings on! I rub them all the time and it feels so weird when they're missing".

He asked, "You rub them?"

I said, "Yeah. Not consciously, but I rub them all the time."

He replied, "Well, I do this...". And then he turned into Mr. Competitive, and licked his wedding band.


Tuesday, July 29, 2008

She Must Be Italian

Yesterday, a UPS delivery was set on our back porch and my daughter went to retrieve it. I heard her bring it in, and from the other room I asked, "What is it?"

She replied, "It's for Dad. It's a white box and it says fra-gee-lay".


Sunday, July 27, 2008

Where Vulgar = Bold + Crass

The other day we were in the car, when my daughter looked up from the book she was reading and asked, "Mom, what does vulgar mean?"

I replied, "Well, it means bad. Like dirty bad."

Then my son jumped in the conversation, and simultaneously brought it to an abrupt end when he proudly said, "I'm vulgar!"

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Thursday, July 24, 2008

Stuck In The Middle

These are two of the too many magazines to which I subscribe. Who else is impressed that I just used all three versions of "to" in one sentence? Oh, just me. Okay then, let's talk demographics, shall we? Please don't be intimidated by my stunning photography skills.

One of these magazines has articles so hip that they have to include hip in the title. Even the ads are youthful. I think it was Pat Benatar who said, "Beer is for children".

The other magazine has articles titled, Drink Your Vitamins and Do Your Armpits Need Botox? The ads? Well, let's just say that most of them contain the words "wrinkle reducing"...and they're not talking about ironing.

Back to magazine #1. Oh look! More jeans and alcohol.

And, magazine #2. Need I say more?

I am too old to wear jeans with a brand name like Acne, and I'm too young to need Depends or face spackle. I would say I'm somewhere between bootcut Levi's and fine lines.

There must be a publication that meets in the middle. I need a magazine that recognizes the in-between woman. Because if I drank enough of that Bud Light Lime, it's possible I would piddle in my pants.

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Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Say Hello To My Little Friend - The Sequel

A few weeks ago I introduced you to Bruiser. This is Bruiser's friend Betty. But, Betty is not a pimple, nor is Betty a belly-button, even though she closely resembles one. She resides smack-dab in the middle of my chest and is about the size of a dime. Please ignore the sun spots, they're trying to steal Betty's thunder.

Betty is a scar. Just over a year ago, I found a very tiny bump. A bump so small, it was barely noticeable. Of course, to me it seemed quite large...and hideous. Bad enough to go see a dermatologist who, in 10 seconds flat, shaved that bump right off.

But, the scar that was left was far worse than the original bump, so I went back. To the same dermatologist. I'm smart like that.

I told her to cut the scar tissue out and stitch up the wound so my scar would be linear. Years ago I had plastic surgery on my face for a crater of a chicken pox scar, using that same procedure, and it worked like a charm.

Only, I'm not 21 anymore and my wounds don't heal like they did way back then. What was supposed to be a linear scar, not only still resembles the original mark left from the shaving, but there are more, little scars from the stitches.

What once was a little bump, is now so bad that I can't wear half the shirts in my closet. Well, I can, but people's eyes gravitate directly to Betty. She transfixes people like a laser beam.

I think Betty resembles a cigarette burn, while my husband thinks she's more of a newborn butthole. Either way I win, don't you think?


Sunday, July 20, 2008

Wake Up Sleepyhead, PLEASE Get Out Of Bed

I hear a lot of parents say it's a problem to get their kids in bed, and to keep them there during the night.

As a matter of fact, my nine year old daughter was a perfect example of this. She slept with us for roughly eight months as an infant, and once she moved to her own room it certainly didn't stop her from reappearing in ours...all the time.

I think half of my insomnia issues come from her dark figure hovering silently over me as I slept. There isn't much that startles you more than waking from a deep sleep to see someone's shadowy outline two inches above your face. Because her nightly visits scared the poo out of me, I simply chose to stay awake all night.

But, our son? Well, he's always a different story. We can't get him out of bed. AT ALL. He knows he's allowed, and as a matter of fact we've bribed him to do it. But, he won't. I'm not just talking about middle-of-the-night-need-to-go-to-the-bathroom stuff either, he won't even budge once the sun comes up.

Instead, he will lie in bed and read or play. If he has to go to the bathroom, he will call me. In the morning, I yell upstairs for him to come down. It is only then that he will emerge from his lair.

I would like nothing better than for him to get out of bed and go downstairs to watch cartoons with his sister, while I get to sleep in on a Saturday morning. Who has to beg their six year old to watch Tom and Jerry and eat sugary cereal when Mom's not around? I do.

We have taken away computer games, TV, and the Wii, but it's still not working. The other day, he spent all his free time playing with my laundry basket.

Tonight he doesn't get to take books or toys with him to bed, which means he won't have anything to play with when he wakes up.

Though with my luck, he'll probably be just as happy talking to the wall...and since he's making me looney I might just join him.

Boys and girls, please tell me...what do your kids do that makes you crazy?

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Friday, July 18, 2008

What's In A Name?

Kathy from The Junk Drawer sent me this picture. She and her husband saw my name carved into a bench at a local burger joint. I told her it's probably not the first time someone saw a ratty old bench and thought of me...or maybe that's ratty old wench I'm thinking of.

Believe it or not, I have a real name. It's Diane. Not many people call me that though. My BFF came up with Momo, and my entire family calls me Di.

When I was a kid, I was known as Di-Bi. My cousins and I all had goofy nicknames. Bill-Bud, Joni-Bologna, and Jo-Blo to name a few. My cousin Derek was known simply as Oil.

In elementary school, all my friends decided to create nicknames pulled from outer space. There was Jupiter Jenny, Saturn Stacey, and Mercury Mary. Since there are no planets that start with "D", I got stuck with Dog Star Diane. Nice.

A little girl who lived behind my Grandmother's house, who hated to bathe, became Susie-Piggy. My Mom goes by Vo-Vo, my daughter is known as Goose, my son answers to Boo and my BFF is Bean. My husband's friends call him Bugs and said friends are known to us as Briar, Grunt, Gat, and Panda.

Everybody has a nickname. So tell me, boys and girls, what is yours?


Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Adding Insult To Injury

It's no secret that I am not a good cook. Because the past week has been pretty crazy around here, I haven't made it to the grocery store...which means I've had to get creative at mealtime. I like to call it hodge-podge cooking. I pull together whatever I can to make a nutritious, and usually bland, plate of food.

Yesterday after the funeral, a local church provided lunch for us. When we were finished, the ladies who had prepared the meal tried to insist that my Mom take all the leftovers home.

My Mom replied, "No, it's just me at home. Take it to a shelter or retirement home, because I don't need all this food".

Then my nine year old piped up from across the table and said, "Take it and give it to us! This is the most decent lunch I've had in a long time!"

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Sunday, July 13, 2008

The Next Leonardo da Vinci

After nearly three hours at my daughter's softball game this afternoon, my six year old son started getting a little restless. He finished off some popcorn, a sucker and a snowcone before I ran out of money for food.

So, I did what any parent would do and I told him to play in the dirt.

I bent to the ground and picked up a rock. Then I demonstrated my dirt-drawing techniques and said, "Here. Take this rock and write your this."

My son took the rock from me and began to scribble a design. As other parents looked on, I started to feel embarrassed because he wasn't following my very simple instructions.

I asked, "What are you doing? Why don't you write your name in the dirt like I showed you?"

He not only replied as if talking to a complete blockhead, but I think he also ditched me in the line to heaven when he said, "I don't want to write my name. I'm drawing a picture of Jesus on the cross."

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Friday, July 11, 2008

Death Makes Me Mad

In the last 14 months, we have suffered a lot of loss in our family. Four uncles, an aunt, and a five year old preschool friend of our son. That's just who has passed recently...two of those deaths were in the last couple of months.

If we extend that period a few years back, I could include two more aunts, an uncle, a grandmother, my infant niece who I held in my arms just before she died, and a three year old boy who was run over in our preschool's parking lot.

Yesterday, my Mom's partner...her constant companion for the last 11 years, was put on life-support. We're not sure, but most likely he suffered a massive heart attack and it is only a matter of time before he will be gone as well. This losing people? Well, it's getting old.

I know that death is a part of life. I know that. But frankly, I'm getting sick of it.

I remember when my cousin, Kevin, died in 1991. I got to the hospital a few minutes too late to say goodbye. I will never forget stepping off the elevator and seeing my aunt mouth the words, "He's gone". As if not saying it out loud would make it hurt less.

His sister was with me, and I held her as she crumpled to a heap on the floor. I said goodbye to Kevin in a cold ICU, after he had already died.

Later that day, I went to the store to pick up some things for my Grandma and I remember looking at the person in front of me in the check-out line. I can't recall ever feeling so much rage. I wanted to scream at this complete stranger, "How can you be running this mundane errand? I can't believe you are buying this food! Don't you know that Kevin is dead?" I felt like I might explode.

I was so angry that she was going on with her day. Yet there I was buying groceries, just like she was. I was infuriated by people driving their cars to wherever they were headed, but I was driving my car too. Because life does go on.

As much as I felt the world should stop, it wouldn't...and it never will.

So, while my Mom sits at the hospital today, staring at monitors and watching a machine breathe for this man, people everywhere will be going about their day. Let's just hope I don't run into any of them when I'm out buying milk, because this chick is getting real tired of grieving.

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Wednesday, July 9, 2008

The Cheetah Girls Must Be Antiques By Now

Despite the four computers in our house, old-school Atari, an abundance of books, toys, puzzles, games, and a Wii, my nine year old daughter still complains of being bored. Really? Because when I was a kid, all we had to play with was dirt.

"Mom, I'm boooooooored!"

"Well, why don't you go watch a movie? We have all those Pixar DVD's, or why don't you watch High School Musical II?"

"High School Musical II? Mom, that is SO last summer."

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Tuesday, July 8, 2008

Fox Executives Ride The Crazy Train

Daily Variety reports that Ozzy Osbourne, his wife Sharon, and his kids Jack and Kelly, will make a return to television later this year. They will be hosting a variety show on Fox, and they will be launching this new program with a Christmas special.

That's right. The guy who once bit the head off a dove, and who once peed on a wall of The Alamo while wearing a ladies dress, will join his family in celebrating the birth of Christ. Did I mention that Ozzy once tried to kill his wife?

Thanks Fox. Because nothing says Happy Birthday Jesus quite like a drug-addicted, animal-abusing, swear-word using family of misfits.


Sunday, July 6, 2008

Moronic Mom 101

I have sometimes been lectured by those close to me that I don't let my kids be kids. From lap belts in cars to the use of public toilets, I have bickered with people about their safety and health precautions more than a few times. If there was such a thing as a holster for anti-bacterial gel, I would be packing heat 24/7.

Friday morning, after mixing up some brownies, I wouldn't let my nine year old daughter lick the batter-covered spoon. The chocolate might taste good going down, but the raw eggs don't always feel so great coming out the other end. I got some grief for that decision...most of it from my daughter. My husband didn't back me up either.

I licked the spoon and bowl many times when I was young, but I also rode bikes without a helmet, I never put on a seat belt, and I rode on freeways in the back of a pick-up truck. When you know better, you do better, and that's been my motto as a parent.

But, on Friday night, I made a conscious decision to ignore my own good judgement. I actually thought to myself, "Maybe I need to lighten up".

Instead of listening to the other, more-intuitive voice in my head, I heard everyone else saying, "It's no big deal! Come on! It won't hurt anything!"...and so I let my son do something I had never allowed him to do, and I handed him an 1800 degree sparkler.

The next thing I knew, he was screaming. He touched the still scorching sparkler after it had extinguished and it burned his middle finger. Not know, just a small 2nd degree blister. Not bad...just enough to make him cry and shake his hand for over an hour, before Tylenol kicked in and he finally calmed down. Not bad...but, bad enough that I feel like I should win first place in the Schmuck Mom of the Year contest.

I learned my lesson. It could've been a lot worse. I won't ignore the voice in my head anymore. I don't care if people think I'm overprotective. What kind of word is overprotective anyway? Is there such a thing when your kids are involved? Isn't it our job to protect them? I'm not saying we need to hover, but let's at least be logical.

I'm sure most of us have at least one circumstance, if not a lot more, where we look back and wonder, "What was I thinking?" If a well-informed, at least somewhat intelligent, 37 year old woman, can cave to peer pressure, it's no wonder that kids and teenagers make dumb decisions.

I can only hope that when the time comes for making choices, my son and daughter will be able to tune out the noise, trust their intuition, and be smarter than their schmuck of a Mom.


Thursday, July 3, 2008

Then He Asked, "How High?"

At my daughter's softball game a few days ago, my son was playing with a six year old girl. He loves this girl. If she's not at a game to watch her big sister, he will continually ask me where she is.

As a matter of fact, when she arrived at the ballfield, he ran to her with arms wide open, yelling her name, and for a second, I thought he was going to tackle her. You never know with this kid. It's not unreasonable to think he would pounce on her chest like a puppy and start licking her face.

They were playing behind our row of chairs and at one point I turned around to see my boy jumping furiously.

When we got home I asked, "Why were you jumping so much tonight?"

And, I decided I'm going to sit him down to have a talk with his Dad because his reply was, "Because Grace told me to."

I like to discuss adult relationships too, so don't miss my question for Dads at Discovering Dad today. Their answers may surprise you...

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Wednesday, July 2, 2008

He Shouldn't Talk About Those Cheerleaders Like That

The other day, my husband was wearing one of his many Dallas Cowboys t-shirts. Our six year old son was sitting on his lap, touching the star emblem.

My husband looked down, then asked, "Is that your favorite football team?"

Our boy nodded and said, "Yeah...because I like cows."

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Tuesday, July 1, 2008

Say Hello To My Little Friend

Meet Bruiser. Bruiser is my new buddy. He showed up just in time for the FIVE parties we'll be attending this week. Bruiser mistakenly thought I was 16, but decided to stick around even though I am a 37 year old, Mom of two. How nice of him.

But, let's zoom out shall we? Bruiser decided to plop down for his visit near my left ear. The ears so lovingly passed on to me by my Dad. Thanks Pop.

There's just no denying that my husband is a lucky guy.

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