Da Bomb

posted by Momo Fali on March 23, 2009

On Saturday night, our family attended a dinner party in honor of our niece’s college graduation. It was an elegant little affair, complete with great conversation, an around the world beer tour and some delicious food.

The home of our hosts was amazingly decorated and resembled an English manor. It was a sprawling abode, sitting on a golf course and even had a pond out back with swans swimming about. Thank goodness I took my fake Coach handbag and wore my best Target jacket!

After a few Coronas, Amstel Lights and Red Stripes I still managed to be on my best behavior. But, on the way home I decided to let my real riff-raff self come out and said, “That sure was a nice party. Their house was unbelievable and the food was da’ bomb diggity.”

Then my son, who was all pumped up on mini-cheesecake and juice boxes, piped up from the back seat and said, “Nuh-uh! The food was really good!”

Mister Messiah

posted by Momo Fali on March 20, 2009

Because of my son’s ear tubes, I still have to help him at bath time. The last thing we need is an ear drum full of playground scum mixed with shampoo.

As I was lifting him out of the tub last night, I grabbed him with the towel and said, “Come here, Mister”.

He corrected me and replied, “I’m a Master”.

I smiled. “That’s true. You’ll be a Master for a few more years and then you’ll be a Mister, and your sister will be a Miss until she gets married.” As I handed him his pajama shirt I said, “When you get big, you’ll get married too.”

“I will?”

I brushed his hair. “You will if you want to.” Then, thinking he might give me a hint as to whether he has a crush on anyone I asked, “Who do you think you’ll marry?”

He thought for a moment then said, “I think I’ll marry my sister”.

I laughed. “You can’t marry your sister. You can’t marry me, or your Dad, or your cousins, or anyone else in our family.” I left out the part about some places in the world which still let you do that. I’m talking to you, West Virginia.

“So, since you can’t marry your sister, who do you think it will be?”

And, I will never accuse my boy of not aiming for the top because he went ever so slightly higher than his sibling when he exclaimed, “I want to marry Jesus!”

My Answer: Is the Sky Blue?

posted by Momo Fali on March 18, 2009

This morning my six year old son had an appointment with a psychologist. He was evaluated because we are searching for a diagnosis in order for him to continue receiving an hour of one-on-one speech therapy each week. Therapy which is completely paid for by our county.

Because his report card is perfect and because extensive genetic testing didn’t turn up a particular disorder, this is our last resort. Not that I want my son to be labeled, but those therapy sessions cost $250.00 a week and are extremely beneficial. I would hate to kiss them goodbye.

We certainly can’t swing an extra bill for $1000.00 a month. Not unless we want to give up something like oh, say…food. Without a diagnosis of some sort, speech therapy will be no more.

So I was pretty thrilled when I was filling out forms for the psychologist and read the question – Does your child ever make inappropriate comments to people such as, “Your sweater is ugly” or “You’re fat”?

Because if they’re judging him based on that? I don’t have a thing to worry about.

Mr. Literal

posted by Momo Fali on March 13, 2009

My husband has been working long hours at his new job, which means I have been doing just about everything with both kids in tow.

Last night I had a committee meeting at their school. While I was in the library, they were to sit across the hall in the music room and read or play some handheld games. They’ve done this a few times before, but for some reason my son was really restless last night.

After coming in and interrupting us over and over, I finally sat him down in the chair next to me, gave him a pen and told him to draw some pictures in my notebook.

After a few minutes, I looked down to see him happily sketching. He looked up at me and said, “It’s a picture of you.”

I nodded. Then to further keep him busy I whispered, “You could make my hair longer or write my name on my shirt”.

Which explains why I got home from my meeting to find my white, hoodie sweatshirt now has the word “Mom” written on the sleeve.