Don’t Forget To Tip Your Waitress

posted by Momo Fali on June 18, 2008

At the amusement park last weekend, my six year old son felt it was his duty to provide in-line entertainment. He was working the crowd like a miniature Rodney Dangerfield.

At one point, a woman who was about five people back, looked at my son and said, “You are adorable!”

My overly dramatic kid let his jaw drop open, then he pointed at his chest as he feigned astonishment and asked, “Me?! You think I’m adorable?” Then his alter ego arrived (we call her Sybil) and he looked at the woman and loudly said, “I am NOT adorable”.

The people around us starting laughing and the woman’s husband scolded her and said, “How DARE you call a child adorable!”

My son giggled along with them, full-well knowing he had caused the merriment . Then he looked at me and quietly asked, “Mom? What’s adorable mean?”

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I’m Glad My Feet Didn’t Shine

posted by Momo Fali on June 16, 2008

We just got back from a weekend at an amusement park on the Lake Erie shore. That’s right. My husband is the type of guy who spends his Father’s Day schlepping kids around a hot, sticky, crowded park just so he can watch them smile. (Insert “Aw” here.)

This particular park has an indoor roller coaster that my daughter really wanted to ride, so I volunteered to take her. The waiting line weaved through a building illuminated with black-lights.

Upon entering, everyone wearing white tennis shoes and shirts began to glow. People had florescent eyeballs and when they smiled it was with neon teeth.

I, however, wasn’t wearing anything white. Instead the black-light revealed dirt…all over my shirt. Dirt and amusement park grime which had not been visible outside. It looked like I had removed my top, laid it on the ground and let my six year old stomp all over it.

Because I had been holding my son earlier, every mark from his sandals was imprinted like bad graphics. There were marks from roller coaster seat-belts, and shoulder restraints too.

So, while everyone else was positively glowing, I felt contaminated ala Meryl Streep in Silkwood.

I have always thought that the shower after an amusement park visit is the best shower you can take. Now I don’t just think it…I know it.

I Have Asthma, Okay?!

posted by Momo Fali on June 14, 2008

Thanks to some fat cells that apparently have no interest in shrinking…and chocolate that can’t seem to stop finding my mouth…last week I decided to increase my runs from three miles to five.

Since the kids have been out of school, I have been running on my treadmill. I plug along as they sit in the other room reading, watching TV, or playing video games. Usually they are facing me, and mocking me with their cute, little, non-fat, perfect, flawless, skinny, legs and arms. Oh sorry…I drifted there for a minute.

During my second day of this extended work-out, when I had just finished mile four and was feeling awfully proud of myself, I looked into the living room and saw my daughter watching me. I smiled at her, then morphed into Rocky Balboa, pumped my fist in the air and said, “Aren’t I doing a good job? I am so proud of myself.”

Instead of mocking me, she flat-out slammed me when she smiled back and said, “Mom. Your face is purple.”

That Song Is About Me

posted by Momo Fali on June 12, 2008

I am not a vain person. Sure, I try to keep fine lines from turning into deep trenches, and I color my hair. And, like any woman, I enjoy being pampered with an occasional pedicure. But, it’s not unusual for me to run out of the house in the morning with a baseball cap on, and nothing on my face but the wrinkles left there from my pillowcase.

When my daughter sees me looking this way, and she knows I’m on my way to the store, she’ll say, “You know you’re going to see someone you know, because you don’t have any makeup on”. She’s often right, but I normally don’t care.

Recently, I was buying flowers at a local nursery with my six year old son in tow, when he struck up conversations with various people in the check-out line. As long as he doesn’t start touching strangers, or telling folks they resemble sea creatures, I’m fine with him practicing his speaking skills.

One of the people he talked to was an older woman waiting directly in front of us.

I noticed that her appearance was much like mine. We were both in shorts and t-shirts, with dirty tennis shoes on our feet. Martha Stewart’s got nothing on my gardening attire.

But, the similarities ended with our clothing and lack of mascara, because she was much older than I was. Or, so I thought.

Suddenly, she turned to me and said, “Hey! I know you! We went to high school together! Remember? Remember me?”

I did remember her. I managed to utter something…something I’m sure sounded like a small yelp, because all I could really do was wonder if I looked like she did. No! I couldn’t! She was older than me. A whole year older.

We spoke for a few minutes…mostly about our mutual friend Julie, who I haven’t seen in years, but with whom she has stayed in contact. As she left the store she said, “I’ll tell Julie you said hello.”

The thing I said about not being vain? Well, so much for that…because as she continued to her car I yelled, “Don’t tell her what I looked like!”