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: October 2008

Thursday, October 30, 2008

I Actually Always Look Like That

In honor of Halloween, I would like to share our family's costumes that have been my favorites...

This is my daughter as Jessie from Toy Story II. I know, she's adorable.

This is my son as Frankenstein. They have a lot in common, what with the stitches, scars and speech delay.

This is my husband. He really likes bananas.

And, here I am as Milk, Gone Bad. Get it? You can tell I'm a chain smoker by the way I'm holding the cigarette backward. Speaking of hands...with palms that large, I should've gone as Meadowlark Lemon.

Tell me, boys and girls...which one is your favorite? Hint: Don't vote for the monkey.

Labels: ,

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Giving the Finger

One of my daughter's traits that I brag about is her sense of compassion. When she was little, she went to preschool with a severely delayed boy. Without prompting by us, or by her teachers, she would seek him out and invite him to play each day. She even offered him the coveted job of helping to pass out napkins on her birthday.

I can't say my son shares her kind nature. He will cry when he sees someone else upset, but we really can't be sure if that's because he feels sorry for them, or if they're just irritating him.

But at his school, they are trying to help us lead him down a compassionate road. At least a couple of times a month, my son has been taking canned goods to school to donate to needy families.

At first, he didn't understand why we were giving away perfectly good peanut butter, so I explained that we were providing food to help people who don't have any.

Yesterday, I bought these Halloween lollipops to give to some neighborhood kids.

My son saw them and said, "After dinner, I want to have one of those!"

I replied, "No. Those aren't for us."

He nodded and said, "Oh! Are we going to give them to people who don't have any fingers?"

Maybe he's getting this whole compassion thing after all.

Labels: ,

Monday, October 27, 2008


Just over a month ago, I was out of town and my six year old son got sick with a sinus infection. My husband took him to the pediatrician on a Saturday, which meant seeing a different doctor than we normally do.

The doctor they saw is a lovely, kind, intelligent woman, but is that what my kid focused on? Of course not. He instead greeted this complete stranger by saying, "You have a really, really, really, big nose."

So when my daughter had an asthma attack last Saturday and I had to schedule an appointment with the same doctor, I warned my boy not to say a word.

And I think the kid is starting to comprehend what I'm saying, because as the doctor with the big nose was examining my daughter, I looked down to see my son biting his lips so hard I thought they might bleed.

Labels: ,

Thursday, October 23, 2008

Why You Should Marry a Good Speller

Tuesday, October 21, 2008

You Know It Ain't Fiction, Just A Natural Fact

The other day, I was walking around with Paula Abdul's song "Opposites Attract" in my head. Why? Because there is some sick, twisted part of my brain that is apparently into self-torture.

But in fact, dealing with opposites is part of my daily routine. My nine year old daughter and six year old son could not be more different.

Other than the fact that they were both preemies, there are little similarities between the two of them. I can probably name them on one hand. They both like roller coasters, movies, Tootsie Pops, reading books, and long walks on the beach. That's about it.

My daughter rises early, likes to help me clean, and hates to be tickled . My son has to be physically removed from his bed, makes big messes, and begs us to tickle him until he's ready to pee his pants.

She likes sparkles, he likes trucks. She like horses, he likes trucks. She likes shopping, he likes trucks. Okay, okay, he likes trains too.

My daughter is predictable, while he is a wild-card. She is well-behaved, and we call him Jim Carrey Junior. She is polite, and he once told a woman with big lips that she looked like a fish.

Tonight at dinner, they showed us yet another difference between them. Because when I grabbed some quick extras to go with our cheeseburgers, my son saw me and said, "Yum! A veggie tray!"

And my daughter said, "Yum! Sun chips!"

She totally takes after her Mother.

Labels: ,

Monday, October 20, 2008

My Fear Is Real

Saturday night, I left my nine year old daughter downstairs while I went up to take a shower. She was watching a Harry Potter movie, which can be a bit spooky when you're alone in a room and it's dark outside. But, when I asked her if she was okay staying downstairs by herself, she shrugged as if I'd asked her the dumbest question ever and she replied, "Sure. I'm fine."

A few minutes later, I was washing my hair and our dog started to bark incessantly...and I started to get anxious. Obviously someone was outside and my daughter was alone downstairs, and I was not in any condition to answer the door should someone knock. My husband wasn't home and my last post about Amityville Horror was fresh in my mind.

Eventually the dog stopped barking, but as I finished showering I came to a realization. When someone jumps out to scare me, there's a reason I burst into tears.

This is not about the boogie-man or being scared to go to haunted houses. This is not about getting spooked. My fear is real.

When I was eight, my aunt not only took me to my first horror movie, but that was also the year that another eight year old girl, who lived near me, was picked up on her way home from school, sexually assaulted, and murdered. They found her body a few miles from where I lived. They never found the killer.

Her death was the reason that my childhood memories include staying up all night reading, because I was scared of my own dreams.

After my kids go to sleep, I go into their rooms and marvel at how they are peacefully slumbering when their closet doors are open. Then I shut them. I move hanging clothes so they don't cast frightful shadows if they wake during the night. I shove toys out of the way should they need to come running to me. These were the things I did, and still do, so I can sleep through the night. I don't do it because my kids need it, it's because I do.

In my teens and early twenties, I was involved in an abusive relationship. It ended with him stalking me and threatening me. I bought a gun and learned how to use it. The police had enough evidence to press charges against him, but that's never stopped the nightmares.

Then shortly after my husband and I were married, I was home alone when I saw a car drive slowly past our house, over and over. Something about it was unsettling. A short time later, a strange man approached my window and looked inside.

I was standing a few feet away, in a dark shadow with my gun in my trembling hand. I didn't know if he was going break in while I stood within an arms length. He left as quickly as he appeared, but I still don't know what he was doing or what he wanted. The police caught him that night at the end of our street and pressed charges against him. That is why we went out a few weeks later and bought our dog.

These random events have made me paranoid. These random events have done enough to scar me so that the slightest "boo" completely freaks me out.

But somehow, I have not transferred any of this to my children. They can go to sleep with their closet doors open. Somehow, despite the anxiety I have deep inside of me, my daughter can watch Harry Potter alone, in the dark, with the dog barking at someone outside.

And if that doesn't prove that I'm conquering these demons, I don't know what will.

Labels: ,

Friday, October 17, 2008


When I was eight years old, one of my aunts took me to see Amityville Horror. My eleven year old cousin and I insisted upon sitting in the front row of the darkened theater. That lasted for all of the opening credits. The screen suddenly showed pouring rain and as soon as the first bolt of lightening flashed, we flew up the aisle to the safety of the back row, where nothing could grab us from behind.

For years, I had trouble being anywhere near houses that have faces, and when my cousin and I found a splash of red paint in an empty room of our grandma’s cellar, I didn’t go down there for a long, long time.

That’s when it started. With Halloween fast approaching, I’m letting the world know…this chick does NOT like the scary.

Though I really don't have to tell the world. I think I've made it quite obvious.

There was the time I hid the entire top half of my body under my husband’s jacket as we made our way through a haunted forest. And, once we went to a haunted house with another couple. The evening ended on a sour note, when the three of them went on to enjoy the terror festivities and I stayed in the car and cried.

That wasn’t the first, nor was it the last, occasion that I’ve cried when someone scared me. As an adult. That’s right. In order to get the tears flowing, you don’t have to hurt my feelings…you just have to jump out and say boo.

So, if you want to find me as the season of ghosts and goblins draws near, I’ll be the one sitting in the corner, possibly sucking my thumb. With two solid walls behind me, at least I’ll know that nothing can grab me from behind.


Wednesday, October 15, 2008

In Contrast

Today, I'll be giving you a view of our master bathroom. Please don't think me a bad housekeeper because of the hideous shelf paper and chipped wood. We've been redecorating this room...for almost eleven years.

This is my husband's shelf. The trimmer set is only used for about a month out of the year when he grows a goatee. Also, keep in mind that we share the dental floss and mouthwash. I wouldn't want you to think the jumbo Blue Mint is because the poor guy has a major case of halitosis.

This is my shelf. Actually, there's even more stuff hidden in a nearby cabinet. About three times more stuff. It takes a village, people. It takes a village.

Labels: , ,

Monday, October 13, 2008


Ten years ago, when I was pregnant with our first child, my husband and I hired a private dog trainer. Our puppy, Blue, was six months old and our veterinarian recommended someone who would work with her one on one.

We were too dumb to realize what he really meant, which was that Blue would never be accepted in a class. Not that she couldn't play nice, but he was quite aware that we wouldn't be able to get her to stop playing period. We probably should have got the hint when he prescribed her tranquilizers.

Labrador retrievers are, by nature, as hyper as Looney Tunes' Road Runner. On speed. This puppy of ours bounced off the walls. She was particularly crazy in the evening when my husband and I got home from work. Which is, of course, when the $55.00 an hour trainer would swing by.

The first night the trainer was here, she explained that Blue wasn't peppy because we had been gone all day, but because dogs naturally get a little wacky at twilight. Apparently wolves are most active at that time of day, and because our puppy was a distant relative, we could blame them. Stupid wolves. I wondered if I could also blame Blue's family tree for the holes in all of our underwear and my ficus tree that was chewed to a stump.

Wolf or no wolf, the trainer lasted about a month before she quit. That's how bad our dog was. Someone making $55.00 an hour, threw up her hands, walked out the door, and told us our dog was untrainable.

Blue is ten and she's finally calming down. But now, there's a new wolf in town.

Our six year old son is also affected by twilight. Every night after dinner, he becomes a little bit nutty. He jumps off the furniture and runs through the house laughing and screaming. He drives his sister crazy. He drives us crazy. He is an unstoppable goof. We call him Wolf-Boy.

So help me, if he starts chewing on our underwear I'm throwing up my hands and declaring him untrainable.

Labels: , ,

Friday, October 10, 2008

Spanning the Globe

It has been reported that Angelina Jolie was recently tattooed with the longitudes and latitudes that mark the birthplaces of all six of her children.

In honor of my kids I've decided to take the easy way out, and just have a GPS implanted in my arm.


Wednesday, October 8, 2008

Oprah Cliffs Notes V

On yesterday's Oprah, Dr. Oz discussed numerous differences between men and women.

He started by introducing us to two lovely people who had dedicated their dead bodies to science. Two people who allowed themselves to be dissected, because they knew it was the only way they could get Oprah tickets. Here is where Dr. Oz massaged the dead woman's bladder. He later walked across the stage and tickled the man's prostate.

This is Brian. Brian discussed his hair transplant and how he had a section of scalp removed from the back of his head and moved to the the front. You can clearly see the improvement between his before picture, which looks like a mug shot, and his after picture...which looks like a mug shot with hair.

This is Jennifer, along with her husband, and her son Benjamin. Jennifer noticed that after her son was born, her memory started to fade and she would forget important words like, "tomato and chandelier". Dr. Oz confirmed that Jennifer was indeed suffering from "Mommy Brain". Apparently, babies suck the life out of their Mother's noggin by stealing her omega-3 fats. As you can see, Benjamin was quite enthralled with Dr. Oz's theory. Either that, or all that brain sucking really wore him out.

Labels: , ,

Monday, October 6, 2008

It's Only Disrespectful If You Get Caught

I saw my son standing behind his sister, sticking his tongue out at her.

I pulled him into another room and said, "Don't stick your tongue out at people. It's not okay to do that, because it's really not nice."

He quickly replied, "But, it is okay, because she didn't see me do it."

Which means it's okay that I took $20 from my husband's wallet when he went to bed early. Right?

Labels: , ,

Friday, October 3, 2008

A Place For Everything, And Everything Out Of Place

Not long ago, I mentioned to my kids that I was finished picking up their stuff. I told them that they are responsible for putting their things back where they belong. Let's see how that's working for me. Shall we?

Here's a beachball, in my kitchen.

Here's a crumpled pajama shirt, on my desk.

Here's a random flip-flop, nowhere near it's mate. Instead it's tossed next to the sub-woofer in the living room. Let me clarify. That would be the chipped and dented sub-woofer that took a beating from the ride-on toy phase.

This is my dining room, which contains one pair of dirty socks...

...not one, but TWO soccer balls...

...and an empty cardboard box, which was not allowed to be recycled because my daughter wanted, needed, had to have it, to use as a kennel for her zillion stuffed dogs.

Can you believe how well they listen? Oh wait, they don't.

Labels: , ,

Thursday, October 2, 2008

He Warms My Heart (With A Fire Poker)

My six year old son climbed up on my lap and asked, “Mom, why did God make me, and why did He make you, and why did He put me here?”

I said, “Well, God made you to be my son, and He made me to be your mother. And, He must love me very much because I sure am lucky to have you. I wouldn’t want any other little boy in the whole world to be mine.”

He replied, “Oh...but, can I get another Mom?”

Labels: ,

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

Subscribe to Posts [Atom]