I have been tossing around the idea of allowing comments on this blog. My in-box this morning had two separate requests for a comment section, but I have reasons why I’ve avoided it up to now.

Though my life and language are not always G-Rated, this blog is. My eight year old reads it. My mother and my mother-in-law read it. So, if you post a comment I ask that you please use discretion and “clean” language. I know, for a fact, that the first thing most of my friends would like to do is leave a comment laced with profanity, just to get me in trouble! I’m trusting you won’t.

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I have been living somewhere in the Twilight Zone the last few days. Mostly foggy, kinda teary, sometimes sleepy, and always off balance. The symptoms of my concussion worsened on Sunday evening. After hearing ringing in my ears, I got this head-rush sensation where I feel like I’m about to fall over and black out…and it won’t go away.

But, amidst this haze I have one thing I can clearly see, that I have friends, family and neighbors who are there when I need them. My husband is away and it has been impossible for me to run this house in my condition. So the people in my life have stepped up and helped me muddle through.

I’ve had two kids shuttled to two different schools by three different people, and a best friend who had just gotten dinner ready for her family, then dropped everything to take me to the hospital last night. My neighbor brought me groceries, and Mom’s from my daughter’s school have offered to bring us dinner. Oh, and I can’t forget my RN friend, who nursed me and woke me during the night after my head was hit to ask me if I knew where I was. My sister has sat with me, my Mom has sat with me, my niece and her roommate took turns watching my kids, then spent the night here in case anything happened, my daughter took over some household duties, and lots of friends have called to check in. What’s comforting is that I’ve barely skimmed the surface of the friends and family pool.

So, despite the pain, nausea and dizziness, I’m feeling pretty good. Having a support system like mine takes some of the pain away. My thanks go out to all of you.

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If this post begins to ramble and make no sense, it’s because I am recovering from a concussion. I won’t go into the embarrassing details of what happened. However, I will say it had something to do with my annual girl’s weekend, a hammock, and some vodka.

Although this incident was not really my fault, you will never hear me say that I am, in any way, graceful. As a kid, I was famous for spilling, dropping, breaking, tripping and falling…and not much has changed. I am a klutz. I am a gargantuan doofus. I am a clumsy, butter-fingered, fumbling oaf.

It’s partly because I’m quite tall and have feet so big that I envision getting a call from the circus telling me the clowns want their shoes back. I also have limbs so long that a teacher once dubbed me orangutan arms, and my brain is pulled in so many directions at once that sometimes I just can’t concentrate. Put these together, and you have the perfect storm.

So, it shouldn’t have been any surprise that I single-handedly put a halt to this weekend’s festivities. In a matter of hours we went from having a party, to something resembling a knitting group. No lie. As we debated whether or not I needed to go to the hospital, we slowly went from drinking beer to making pot holders, from happy to glum, from laughter to yawns. All while I held a bag of ice to a knot on my head, which was so big my friends could’ve cut it out and played volleyball with it.

I didn’t know it when I named this blog, but Urban Dictionary lists synonyms of “Momo” as dolt, blockhead, and numskull. How fitting is that? I unknowingly created a blog name which refers to my true nature. Coincidence? I think not.

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I am in The-Middle-of-Nowhere, Ohio this week taking classes for the family business. Truly, this is the smallest of small towns, and it’s making me realize what a city girl I really am. But at the same time, I’m finding out just how jaded that’s made me.

This afternoon, I went into a little coffee shop for a caffeine fix and while I was I paying, I looked outside to see a group of boys pull up on their bikes. They were probably about 14 or 15 years old, and there were a lot of them. They were all wearing black and had piercings in places that looked really painful. At first I was surprised to see them and all their gothness in this Po-Dunk town, but that only lasted only for a second, because the next thought that crossed my mind was that I had to walk through them when I went outside.

When I left the city yesterday, I was behind a man in a truck stopped at a traffic light when a car pulled up next to him. A young girl in the car took a full cup of soda from a fast-food restaurant and threw it at the man in the truck, then she and her friend quickly pulled away. It made me sick. Here was this poor guy, probably on his way home from work, and he AND the inside of his truck were covered with sticky soda because some stupid kids thought it would be funny. If he hadn’t been on that road, it would’ve been me.

That incident was fresh in my mind as I left the coffee shop today. I eyed that group of boys, clutched my purse a little tighter, stood a little taller, and tried to look all rough-and-tough in my girly-girl linen shirt as I walked out the door. I was prepared to get called a name, or have something thrown at me, or get followed and harassed. Instead, one of them saw me coming toward the door and he jumped off his bike to hold it open for me. I was still hesitant when I said, “Thank you”. But, when he said, “Sure thing. Have a good day”, then hopped back on his bike and started talking to his friends, I realized he was actually just a really nice kid.

Maybe living in Mayberry wouldn’t be so bad after all.

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