I’m not trying to go all Alanis Morissette on you, but isn’t life ironic?

My husband and I just got back from a couple of days away to celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary. Ten years ago today, on August 23, 1997, at exactly 2:00 PM, at a church not far from here, our marriage ceremony began.

When I think back on our wedding vows, I remember them very clearly. We stated that we would be true to each other, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, until we are parted by death.

Today, on August 23, 2007, at exactly 2:00 PM, at a funeral home not far from here, my Uncle’s calling hours began.

Tonight when I saw my Aunt, who had been married to her husband for 43 years, I couldn’t help but think how lucky I am to have been married to mine for only ten. I can only hope and pray that my Uncle is looking down and helping us on this journey. He obviously knew what he was doing.

I am sitting here at my computer, still drying my eyes after a tough evening at the funeral home. To my Uncle, I love you and I will miss you. To my husband, I love you and I cherish you.

Until we are parted by death.

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I would make a horrible beggar. I’ve come to this conclusion because I’m starting to notice that whenever anyone does something really nice, it almost always brings me to tears.

I had my first generosity-meltdown a few years ago. It was Thanksgiving, and our son was very, very sick with a blood infection. We had spent the previous day at the ER and instead of admitting him to the hospital, they prescribed a $300.00 bottle of antibiotics. Other than seven days worth of IV meds, it was the only thing that could fight the bacteria. Well, being that this kid doesn’t do anything without making it harder first, he decided that as soon as one drop of that medicine hit his tongue, he would get violently ill. I can’t blame him, considering the taste reminded me of the time I was dared by my elementary school “friends” to lick a light pole. Mmmmm….wet steel, covered with stranger’s fingerprints and dog pee. DEEE–licious!

So, we made an emergency call to the doctor on Thanksgiving morning, just knowing we were about to get sent to the hospital for a week long stay. But instead, our wonderful pediatrician offered to open her office, AFTER making Thanksgiving dinner for a house full of people, to put in an IV port. We made arrangements for a nurse, who also happens to be my son’s aunt, to come to our house every day to give him his meds. You can’t imagine how happy we were that our lives didn’t have to be turned upside down. Our son didn’t have to spend a week in the hospital, and he was in the comfort of his own home when he was very sick. I cried every day during that time, because things could’ve been much different. And, I was so grateful they weren’t.

When my husband was between jobs and we were low on money, my hairdresser gave me a free haircut. I cried like a baby right there in the salon. When I think of the time my Mom gave a classroom of developmentally disabled children $5.00 each at the Secret Santa giftshop, or when my husband gives money to people on the street, I get misty. When I envision all the men and women who serve this country, I weep. And, even though my neighbor knows I’m scared to death of her cat, she brought me a dozen roses today for taking care of him, and I almost blubbered in her face.

I have come to accept that I am an emotional wimp when it comes to generosity. And, as much as I want to simply thank you, please know I can’t help it if I simply boo hoo.

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The other night, my husband and I were watching Man vs. Wild, on The Discovery Channel. Bear Grylls (pronounced Grills), a former serviceman of the British Special Forces is the host of this adventure series. It’s one of those shows where they drop him off in the middle of nowhere, someplace like Iceland, and he shows you how to survive until the last few seconds of the show, when he finds civilization again. I just don’t know what I’d do without these Icelandic survival skills, so I MUST tune in. You never know when you’re going to need the ability to catch a chicken with your shoe string. Or, know how long to boil a sheep’s leg in hot springs before it’s okay to eat.

On the show we were watching, he had parachuted into the French Alps. After climbing UP the mountain to get a better view of his surroundings (this would be my first survival mistake, because I’m pretty sure I’d go down), and finding nothing but snow EVERYWHERE, he started to suffer from altitude sickness. He mentioned that his breathing was labored and he had a pounding headache, then he said something like, “I’d murder for a cup of tea.” Really? Because, I’m thinking there are about 1,000 other things I’d want at that point. Like, oh…say a map. Or, an oxygen tank and a mountain guide. Or, maybe for that helicopter from which I had parachuted to come back and get me. I couldn’t help thinking that Britain would be so proud.

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Ah, the joys of computing. Here I had fully explained my new adventure in my first blog entry and then it didn’t post. Let me begin again…

I’m starting this blog for many reasons. First and foremost, because I enjoy writing and sharing my experiences. I think we can all learn from each other’s mistakes, which means you will all learn significantly from my blog. I love to write and started a novel a few years ago, but because that actually takes TIME, it has sat untouched for quite awhile. As much as I thought my insomnia would give me plenty of time to write a book, it turns out I’d rather sit and watch infomercials on HGTV at 3:00 AM.

The name of my blog came from my best friend, Bean. After the birth of my son a few years ago, I posted some pictures on-line under the user name “Momofali,” which stood for “Mom of Ali” (my firstborn). Bean sent me an e-mail asking, “Who’s Momo Fali?” So, Momo, or Mo for short, has stuck. It’s who I am. I’m a Mom. A stay at home Mom, or SAHM. Or GOL, which stands for Grumpy Old Lady, which represents the level of frustration I feel when I’ve stepped on a Matchbox car for the 10th time in a day.

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