I Hate When That Happens

posted by Momo Fali on May 19, 2008

Almost a month ago, my six year old son’s fingertip was smashed in a door and cut off. He was taken to the hospital, where the tip was reattached and we were told there was a 50/50 chance of it taking. It didn’t.

Last week, after the doctor told us the tip would eventually fall off like a big scab, I explained to my son that his finger may look a little funny when all is said and done. He seemed a bit freaked out by the word “scar”…thanks a lot Lion King…so I had to think fast to reassure him.

I pulled up my left pant leg and pointed to a scar on my shin, where thanks to a menacing 7th grade bully, I had the most painful wound of my life.

I had just entered 8th period science class, and was approaching the teacher’s desk which was perched on a stage with metal trim all around the top edge. As I was passing said bully, he stuck his foot out and tripped me. At the place where two metal pieces joined together to form a perfect point, my skin was pierced. I fell, shin first, into the corner of the stage. The hole it left went nearly to my bone.

I then showed him the bottom of my foot. My family had been tearing down my Grandmother’s garage, when I stepped down onto a board that had a long nail sticking out of it. The nail went through the sole of my shoe, right into my heel. My cousin and I went to the emergency room together, because shortly after I pulled off my bloody sock, she swung an axe directly into her shin.

After that, I displayed the mark on my right forearm where I once slashed myself with a wallpaper scraper. It left quite a scar, because instead of going for stitches I wrapped up the wound with paper towels and duct tape.

I explained to my boy, that although these things hurt at one time, the scars they left behind don’t hurt me at all now. But, by the look on his face, I don’t know if I reassured him or frightened him even more.

Because I like to twinge in discomfort…tell me folks, what was your most painful injury?

He Got The Coke, But Not The Smile

posted by Momo Fali on May 17, 2008

My daughter is begging us to take her to the new Narnia movie, but unfortunately for her, we rarely go to the theater anymore.

My husband and I used to go to the movies all the time before our kids were born. Sometimes, two or more a week. Now we’re lucky if we see that many in a year.

Given the fact that I could buy five days worth of groceries…or for crying out loud, ONE tank of gas, for what it costs to take our family to the theater, we tend to just buy the DVD and stay home to watch flicks. You know…where the screen is smaller, but the floor is just as sticky.

It’s not only the money. I also like to stay home because I am a bit of a germophobe and I have a hard time sitting within the vicinity of someone coughing or sniffling.

Plus there are talkers, and seat kickers, and people who need to get out of their aisle saying, “Excuse me. Excuse me.” There are popcorn munchers and wrapper crunchers, and occasionally some buffoon who forgot to set his phone to vibrate.

But despite all that, there are some movies you just have to see 40 feet wide. The shark in Jaws, or the boulder rolling after Indiana Jones…well, they just don’t look the same on a TV screen.

One such movie was Saving Private Ryan. I will never forget the silence in the completely sold-out theater during the first scene. Twenty-four excruciating minutes of well-portrayed violence detailing the U.S. invasion of Normandy.

Everyone’s eyes were glued to the screen and it turned out that was a good thing, because my husband made the biggest movie faux pas I’ve ever seen. He put the munchers, crunchers, and seat kickers to shame.

As he stared wide-eyed and straight ahead, he picked up a Coke and drank it. Only it wasn’t his Coke…and it wasn’t mine either. And, when I leaned over to tell him he was drinking some stranger’s soda, he simply slipped it back into the cup holder, and the stranger was none the wiser.

Considering the price of the tickets, I was actually glad he got a free drink out of the deal.

I Didn’t Say Aye Matey

posted by Momo Fali on May 15, 2008

What would you do if you were really trying to raise your children to be kind, respectful, compassionate human beings, and your six year old son sees two Muslim women at the doctor’s office with head scarves, then he mistakes those head scarves for bandannasand calls them both pirates?

My husband is one of eleven children. He isn’t the first, second or third in line. Nor is he fourth, fifth or sixth. He is way down the line at number nine.

There are so many great things about being married to someone from a large family. First of all, you’re never bored. There is always something to do and someone to do it with. There are loads of special occasions, card games and get-togethers.

But, there are downsides to these events too. Understandably, seating is at a premium. One time when there were 45 people in my in-laws’ six bedroom house for an extended weekend, even floor space was valuable. You were lucky if you found a place to sleep where you wouldn’t get stepped on. I was not so lucky.

And, what would you guess is the most precious commodity of all?

That would be food.

If you have the misfortune of being in the bathroom when “soup’s on” is called…well, it’s possible you’ll just go hungry. If you’re not one of the first twenty people in line, then it’s a given you’ll find the mashed potatoes gone. And, if there’s chocolate pie for dessert, you need to claim your piece hours before mealtime.

Growing up in this family has taught my husband not to waste food. You just don’t do it.

When leftovers have been in the refrigerator a little too long, he will still eat them…even when they’re starting to look bad. And, he will consume bratwurst and baked beans for weeks after our July 4th party each year. I sometimes think his stomach is made of steel.

I have noticed that he is rubbing off on me. I now make the kids eat their crusts, and I have even started eating yogurt that’s a couple of days past expiration, or the eggs when they are a few weeks old.

But, there’s one thing he’ll eat that I just won’t.

I have to draw the line at gray bacon.