Archive for August, 2008

A Pop Quiz

posted by Momo Fali on August 21, 2008

Let’s look among the items in my pantry for today’s pop quiz. What you can’t see? The organic granola, canned salmon, lentils, and prunes. That’s right. It’s a place where you can find healthy food…like Wasa Bread on which to break a tooth.

Now, which one of these items is a contradiction in cabinet space? Or in other words, which one of these items was purchased during a hormonal, sleep-deprived shopping trip as I stressed about starting a new job on the same day that my son started kindergarten?

The winner of the quiz will receive the five pounds I’ve recently put on. No need to thank me.
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Can’t You Smell That Smell?

posted by Momo Fali on August 19, 2008

My nine year old daughter was born ten weeks early, during an emergency c-section. I went to the hospital for a routine ultrasound and they didn’t let me leave until they had strapped me to a table, cut my stomach open, whisked my baby away to be put on a ventilator, and fed me Percocet and chicken broth for five days. Ahh. Good times, good times.

Her brother was competitive from the get-go. Although he was only seven weeks early, he came complete with four heart defects, a kidney disorder, a missing right tear duct and a stomach flap that wouldn’t close…thus allowing breastmilk to freely flow out of where it had recently gone in.

Needless to say, my husband and I spent a lot of time in the hospital when our kids were young. And, each and every time we entered that place we had to scrub our hands with a very distinctive smelling anti-bacterial soap.

Now, whenever I visit someplace that has that same soap, be it a hospital, restaurant, or gas station, I get a flood of memories when the aroma hits my brain. Usually that flood is somewhat traumatic.

The smell of ginger takes me to Hawaii, the fragrance of roses to my Grandmother’s back yard, and I can’t even buy apple cinnamon oatmeal because, when warm, I revisit some seriously nasty diapers.

I have read other blogs and comments that make mention of this phenomenon, and my best friend has a story about chopping green beans when she received a phone call from someone bearing bad news. Guess what she thinks of when she smells green beans now?

What I want to know, boys and girls…where does your mind travel when you get a whiff, and what’s that you’re smelling that sends you on your way?

He Was Dying To Read To Me

posted by Momo Fali on August 18, 2008

My six year old son was playing Marble Blast on the computer when I thought it would be a good idea for him to stop his game and come read me a book. Because really? Who can get enough of Ten Apples Up on Top? The antics and drama always keep me coming back for more.

I called from the living room, “Hey, why don’t you come in here and read me a story?”

And it’s a good thing I knew he was playing a game, because he replied, “Okay, but wait until I die first!”

After The Third Person, We Locked Him In An Office

posted by Momo Fali on August 15, 2008

A few months ago, my husband started a new job. His office isn’t particularly close to our house though. Because of that distance, and for various other reasons, I had never gone to visit his new digs with the kids. None of those reasons being that I was hoping to drop 20 pounds before meeting his new co-workers.

But, today he asked that we come up so I could hang some pictures for him and so he could introduce us to the people he hangs out with all day long.

I did my best to make the kids look presentable, I flat-ironed my hair, made up my face, and spent a half hour deciding what to wear. Though, that outfit turned out to NOT be good enough, so I stopped at a department store on the way to his office to buy a new shirt.

After we parked, I wiped off my son’s face and made sure my daughter’s hair wasn’t sticking out in all the wrong places.

But, I forgot to tell my son not to make comments about what people look like.

The first person we saw was the middle-aged receptionist, to whom my son quickly referred to as, “Grandma”.

And, the second person we met was a lovely lady whose face my son crept close to, then he looked her in the eye and said, “You have a little, little, little mole.”

I should’ve known that with my kid around, the least of my worries would be what I looked like.