So Totally a Whole Nother

posted by Momo Fali on April 1, 2009

A week or so ago I was surfing around on-line when I saw someone comment that they are “not so totally” anything. I had to sit back and reread this obvious slam in my direction. I am so totally sure that he so totally said that!

Okay, I admit I lean toward the valley-girl, which should be obvious because I live in Ohio. What? We have valleys!

I can understand if it bothers some people to hear the English language butchered, but nothing can be worse than my pet peeve.


At least “so” and “totally” are words. “Nother” is not. Not unless you also have summer-teeth. You know, some ‘r’ here and some ‘r’ there. It is also optional language if you have a bathtub in your front yard.

My best friend cringes when she hears someone pronounce crayons as “crans” and we’ve actually had discussions about whether you should say “COO-pons” or “CUE-pons”. And, every time I hear my mom refer to Home “DEEP-oh” as Home “DEP-oh” I die a little inside.

Tell me boys and girls, which words bother you?

Let Them Eat Cake

posted by Momo Fali on March 30, 2009

I have been known to make notoriously ugly birthday cakes. They are made with love and they usually taste okay, but that’s as far as I can stretch it.

There was the time I made my husband, what has been dubbed, the diarrhea cake. Not because of the texture, but rather the icing I so lovingly concocted with food coloring. Did you know that blue and green make brown?

And, then there’s this. Quite possibly the most hideous cake ever. What you can’t see is my son’s name, which I removed with Microsoft Paint (widely known as Photoshop for poor people). All you need to know is that the “M” in his name looked remarkably like an “N”.

What you can see? The crooked “2” in every corner, the thick letters in “Happy”, which ends in a whacked out “y”. Oh, and even at two…he knew he was in for years of this, which would explain his reaction.

But yesterday, I was so proud of myself. My father-in-law came to visit and I made a cake from scratch! From scratch, I said! Even the icing was homemade. My letters were well-scripted and I added some red sprinkles to match. This is a masterpiece in my house.

But apparently, I can only do one and not the other. My ugly cakes are yummy, so I should have known that I can’t make a pretty cake and have it taste good.

When I sat down and took a bite I said, “Oh no! It’s awful! It tastes like flour.”

My brutally honest son chimed in, “It doesn’t taste like flour. I think it tastes like chalk.”

He later claimed he was trying to say that my vanilla cake, “tastes like CHOColate” but I don’t buy it for a second.

His birthday is next month, and he asked for it. That’s right, I’m going to make that boy a pretty cake.

Fountain of Youth

posted by Momo Fali on March 27, 2009

Each day in the second grade class in which I work, the teacher goes around the room and asks the students if there is anything they are concerned about. The hands quickly shoot up and they begin talking about their problems.

Here is an example of some of the things they’ve mentioned lately:

“My arm is scratched, because I was playing basketball with my sister and ran into a brick wall.”

“My puppy is sick.”

“We’re moving to a new house.”

“I had a hard time waking up this morning.”

“My brother has a swim-meet this weekend and I hope he does well.”

Then the teacher calls on me and here are some of the things I have said (okay, wanted to say…I don’t want to traumatize anyone) in the last couple of weeks:

“Out of my sister’s four best friends, three of them have been diagnosed with breast cancer. The third one just got the news.”

“My mom is being sued for money which is rightfully hers and was left for her in the will of a man with sound mind, who she nursed through his sickness and death for 12 years. Who’s suing? The daughter who never came to visit him.”

“I am in a continuing battle with health insurance and our county over medications and therapy that my son needs, but no one seems to want to pay for.”

“My husband is working 16 hour days to support us and we never see him anymore.”

“I haven’t slept well in over 10 years.”

And what I’ve learned from this little exercise in reflection and sharing, is that I really wish I was seven again.

Comedy for the Congregation

posted by Momo Fali on March 25, 2009

Last night, my 10 year old daughter had her First Reconciliation (Confession). As archaic as some people believe this Sacrament to be, I like the idea that my kid is acknowledging she has done things which are wrong, like lying and gossiping and spitting out perfectly good food when her mother told her to eat it and then the dog came along and ate it off the floor, so not only did she not eat her lunch but the dog had apple-scented gas all afternoon…hypothetically.

I also think it’s a good thing that she saw me in line for confession right there with her. She needs to know that even her parents are flawed and that we are always striving to improve. Some parents were in with the priest for so long that they started turning out the lights (*cough* my husband *cough*).

Because there were roughly 30 kids and quite a few parents waiting for an available priest, we were there for a long time. My six year old son wholeheartedly appreciated this captive audience, and amused us with the following:

*When I pointed to a picture of the Pope and said, “He’s the highest priest in the Catholic Church”.

My son replied, “Really? So he’s very tall?”

*After I told him why we were there he said, “When I have my First Confession, I’ll say I’m sorry for this.” Then he hit me.

*When his sister left the confessional and was coming back to her seat he yelled, “What did you tell him?”

*While waiting on the playground for my husband to finish up in the church, the kids started playing hide and seek. When my son couldn’t find his sister he announced, “Mom! I can’t find her. I think she’s hiding in heaven!”

When next year’s class has their First Reconciliation I’m bringing him with me again…and this time I’m going to charge admission.