Momo Fali's

Pain

2009-11-08T19:32:00.009-05:00

On Friday afternoon I sat down to write this post, but I couldn't come up with the right words. I tried again yesterday and here I am again, on Sunday evening, and I am still at a complete loss. It is, quite simply, too painful to trivialize with my voice.

So it has come to this. At a time when there is nothing I can say, I will simply state the facts.

* On February 17, 2004, my niece, Madison, died just shy of her first birthday. My son was too young to comprehend her passing. My daughter was five years old and understood all too well that her cousin was gone.

* On March 1, 2004, a schoolmate of my daughter was run over in our preschool parking lot. Michael was three years old. Telling my daughter that he had been killed in an accident was one of the hardest things I've ever done.

* On September 1, 2007, one of my son's preschool classmates passed away. John was five, as was my son. My son was far too young to say goodbye to a friend and his friend was far too young to die.

* On October 15, 2009, a little girl who attended school with my daughter and whose family goes to our church lost her battle with Fanconi Anemia. Samantha was 11.

* And last week we learned that a nine year old at the school has an inoperable brain tumor and isn't expected to live more than a year. A girl who used to play on my daughter's soccer team and who, until last week, seemed perfectly fine.

Another child. I can not bear it.

I have not told my children yet. My 10 year old daughter and my seven year old son shouldn't have to deal with losing their friends. Not so many of them. Not in the midst of childhood which is supposed to be carefree.

Not again.

Some Like it Hot

2009-11-04T07:13:00.004-05:00

In the school kitchen where I work, things get hot. Not hot like a humid day in Florida, but hot like a humid day on the face of the sun.

At any given moment we could have our ancient oven running, along with the convection oven and three warmers. Add in the steam from the dishwashing sinks and you have yourself your very own steam room. You know, kind of like a spa. Yesterday, I gave myself a green bean facial.

The school doesn't have central air, so to cool the area we use a window air conditioner. That's right. A window air conditioner. If you stand in one particular spot by the trash can, you can almost feel a small breeze. Almost.

But, the heat doesn't cause me to have a bad attitude. Quite the contrary. Because yesterday I told the ladies I work with that if I ever hit the lottery, I'll totally buy them a new window unit.

I'm generous like that.

Let it Go

2009-11-02T07:04:00.001-05:00

There are a lot of things you give up when you have children. You simply have to learn to let some things go. Like a good night's sleep, disposable income and liquid assets.

You also have to accept the muddy floors, juice stained school uniforms and beds that don't make themselves.

You have to understand that the bathmat will get soaked, that little children like to smudge up the television, the computer monitor and the car windows, and even though a backpack has come home without the slightest remnant of a snack for over a month, it doesn't mean you won't look in there one day and suddenly find a small container full of moldy strawberries. Hypothetically.

However, since I started my new job I've found it really hard to let those things go ignored because I just don't have the time to deal with them. It's one thing to see a load of laundry sitting on the floor in the basement and think, "I'll get to that later" and it's something else entirely to actually get it done.

It didn't used to bother me if I saw a pair of socks on the living room floor or dishes in the sink, because I knew I would have time to take care of it. Now, I simply don't get that chance. It's frustrating and I have been letting it drive me crazy.

Yesterday, in the midst of cleaning the house, my daughter asked me to stop and listen to her play a song on her electric piano. As I sat on the edge of her bed and listened to her play Pachelbel Canon, I realized that I really need to stop worrying about whether the floors need swept or if the blinds are dirty.

Because as she played that beautiful music all I could think about was how dusty her keyboard was.

Some See Double, I See Poultry

2009-10-28T07:13:00.000-04:00

I have been known to do unusual things after taking Ambien. What is remarkable about these things is that I often have no recollection of them. Luckily I don't eat, drive or call people. Shout out to my big sister! Put down the phone Trish!

Mostly, I just write. As it turns out, I did some of that last night. I vaguely remember penning notes to my two children and to my husband before I went to bed. I know they were love notes, left for them to read when they woke up. If you had asked me what those notes said this morning, however, I would have been clueless.

So sometimes there are brief remembrances about the previous evening, but not always. I logged on to Twitter today, and had absolutely no memory of leaving this update last night:

On Ambien...just saw woman seductively stick her leg around our bedroom door and it turned out to be a huge Turkey drumstick.

A hallucinating, crazy woman in the bed and a woman with legs made of turkey behind the door.

My husband is one lucky guy.

Call Me Sickly

2009-10-26T07:08:00.000-04:00

Ohmygosh, so like remember when I had swine flu and then after that I got pneumonia? And then my doctor called and sent me to the hospital because he thought I had a pulmonary embolism, but I took a test where I sucked in a bunch of radioactive stuff and the bad pain I was having was actually from pleurisy? And right after I got over the pleurisy pain, I got a cold? And then remember how I told my boss that it was TOTALLY a good thing that I had a sore throat because that meant my sinuses were draining? And then my sinuses stopped draining and I started coughing and my lungs felt like they were filled with concrete so I went to the emergency room in the middle of the night because I thought my pneumonia had come back? And remember how the doctor sent me for my third chest x-ray in the last month and then told me that all that gunk that drained out of my sinuses had gone down my throat and into my lungs?

So it turns out I don't have recurring pneumonia, but it does turn out that the sore throat I had two days ago? Was not such a good thing after all.

Things I Said Yesterday

2009-10-23T07:03:00.003-04:00

To my son:

"Maybe if you would have gone to the bathroom when I told you to, I wouldn't be standing in the shower holding your piece of cheese and trying to wash my hair one-handed!"

"Is that stain on your jacket from when you threw up phlegm at recess or is it a blood stain from yesterday's loose tooth?"

"Hurry up and go poop!"

To the puppy:

"Get your butt off my new throw pillow!"

"Get your butt off my laptop!"

"Hurry up and go poop!"

To my daughter:

"The puppy ate your soccer ball."

To a newly purchased cleaning product:

"Your bottle says 'streak-free shine'. You are not streak-free shining."

To the television:

"Wow. Rick Springfield has had some work done."

To my husband, when he asked me suggestively what was for dessert:

"Chocolate chip cookies."

A Day in the Life: Cafeteria Edition

2009-10-21T07:15:00.000-04:00

I work in a school cafeteria. Okay, I'll just say it. I'm a lunch lady. Stop laughing before I shove my mole in your face.

If you want to read why it's the best job in the world, go here. If you don't want to read that, just know. It is the best. I enjoy the work, I get to see my kids and the people I work with are fantastic. I really love my job. If it paid better I would call it downright perfection instead of referring to it as glorified volunteer work.

There are four of us permanently stationed in the cafeteria. There is my neighbor/friend/manager, who knows all the ins and outs of everything. From when to place the produce order, to the intricacies of the computer program, to which kids like to try to sneak an extra dessert.

I am Worker #1. I sometimes help with the computer work and lunch count, I do a lot of the food prep, serve the kids and help clean up.

Worker #2 arrives at 10:30 and helps with serving and clean up.

The last employee is the prefect. She controls the kids. She keeps the volume low and the mess to a minimum. She is the one who dismisses the children and keeps things orderly. She also has a different parent volunteer who comes in to help her every day.

With the exception of a couple of burns on my arms, nearly running out of taco meat and a few burned French fries, this has been a stress-free job. Until yesterday.

Yesterday, my neighbor/friend/manager went to a funeral and left me to work the computer in her absence. Because I would be doing that, a parent substitute came in to cover for me in the kitchen. Keep in mind, lunch begins being served at 11:15. Here's a recap:

* At 10:30 Worker #2 arrives and says she has a migraine. She never complains and is always reliable and would never leave me hanging out to dry, so I know it's the real deal.

* At 10:31 we determine the parent substitute can't be the only person serving, as the entree is chef salad. The server has to ask each student if they want cheese, ham, pepperoni and/or croutons and add them to the bowl of lettuce. One server = Kids not eating until sunset.

* At 10:35 I begin calling every parent I can think of who might be able to come in and sub for Worker #2 so she can go home and have throbbing head and nausea in peace.

* At 10:45 I give up on finding a substitute.

* At 10:50 I call my pharmacist and ask her this hypothetical question. "Say I have a migraine and I took one Excedrin Migraine at 5:30 AM and another one at 10:15 AM, would it be okay to now take a pleurisy pain pill left over from when I had pneumonia?"

* At 10:51 pharmacist says, "No."

* At 10:55 I run up to the office where there is a parent volunteer covering for the secretary, because the secretary is also at the funeral. I ask the parent if she can come volunteer in the cafeteria after she finishes volunteering in the office. She says, "Yes." Yay! Problem solved!

* At 11:00 I explain the situation to everyone. The permanent prefect will help my substitute in the kitchen and they will both serve the kids. The volunteer who is scheduled to come in will be joined by the volunteer who will be coming down from the office. They will control the kids. I will work on the computer as planned. Got that? No? Me either.

* At 11:07 we realize that half the chairs are being used at the church for the funeral. Three of us make a beeline for the music room and steal all the chairs.

* At 11:10 I realize the mouse on the computer isn't working.

* At 11:11 I beg a teacher to help me. She finds me a new mouse. I doesn't work either.

* At 11:12 the mouse starts working and we all come to the realization that the parent prefect who is scheduled to come in, is not going to show up.

* At 11:13 the other volunteer comes down from her office post and tells us she has never prefected in the cafeteria before.

* At 11:14 I consider taking an Excedrin Migraine. Or five.

* At 11:20 my neighbor/friend/manager stops by after the funeral to check on things and sees that all hell has broken loose.

* At 11:30 my neighbor/friend/manager returns from running home and changing her clothes. Then she jumps in and starts serving the kids. You know? While I work the computer...as planned.

And would you believe that at the end of the day she actually said that she feels comfortable taking a day off now? Clearly, she dipped into my pleurisy pills.

Head Case

2009-10-19T07:07:00.000-04:00

I have been going to the same hair salon for many years. I LOVE my hair salon. I love my stylist, the atmosphere, the service and the fact that kids aren't allowed unless they have an appointment. It has been my little oasis.

However, it's not ideal. Sometimes it's hard to get in, it's a 20 minute drive from my house and it's not cheap. And, that whole not allowing kids thing? It means that getting an appointment is even more difficult because I have to coordinate it with my husband's schedule.

So last week, I walked into the little salon at the end of my street to check it out. Not only does this place allow you to bring your kids, but they'll turn on a TV show for them. It's also $30 cheaper than my regular place. Did I mention it's at the end of my street? Exactly a two minute walk from my front door?

Convenience + Lower Price = "Who Wants to Give Momo Some Highlights?"

Because I was a new customer, the guy took care to make sure the color was right. He used three different shades, then gave me a haircut and waxed my unibrow. I was there for three hours.

When you're sitting in a stylist's chair for the better part of an afternoon, you do a lot of talking. When I got home, I realized that the poor guy probably thinks my name isn't Momo, but rather Liar McLiarson. Why? Because these are a few of the things I told him:

1. That I had just got over swine flu and pneumonia, and that my doctor thought I had a pulmonary embolism.

2. That my son almost died from a strep pneumo infection.

3. That my son almost died after one of his surgeries.

4. That my mom was born in Honolulu and used to go to school barefoot and shimmy up trees to get away from wild boars.

5. That my mom was playing marbles outside a church when Pearl Harbor was bombed and saw fighter planes flying overhead. Then one of them crashed down the street.

6. That my daughter weighed 2 1/2 pounds when she was born.

7. That I used to have a high-pressure career and now I work as a lunch lady because my son sometimes chokes when he eats and I might need to perform the Heimlich.

8. That my husband and I went to Florida for a vacation, where we were greeted with temperatures in the 40's. Then it took us four hours to drive 90 miles and we were rear-ended by a semi.

9. That I'm scared of cats because my neighbor's cat used to stand on its hind legs and swat at me while hissing. Then it would attack me.

10. That I grew seven inches in nine months and ended up with stretch marks on my thighs when I was 12 years old.

Hopefully he thinks the chemicals soaked through my scalp and just made me seem crazy.

We'd Better be Talking Bamboo Here

2009-10-15T15:44:00.004-04:00

My 10 year old daughter was recently giving her little brother a hard time when I said, "You had better leave him alone. When he's a teenager, he'll be big enough to beat you up."

She replied, "Nuh-uh! I'll be shooting up then!"

I think she was trying to tell me she'll be growing taller. I think.

The List

2009-10-13T06:46:00.005-04:00

Not too long ago my kids spent the night at my Mom's house. They call her Vo-Vo, which is supposed to be Portuguese for "Grandma", but who knows if we're getting that right. We recently found out that instead of telling the kids they have a cute "behind" we've been telling them they have a nice "ass".

When I picked up the kids after their night at Vo-Vo's, she told me that my son had been well-behaved, which is in stark contradiction to this list.

This list was compiled by my daughter, detailing all the things her brother did wrong. Let's review, shall we?

Stuck his tongue out at me 5 times

Tried to color me

Tried to murder me

Didn't listen

Banged table

Kept trying scraping Vo-Vo's car

What we can gather from this is that three of the items were him simply "trying" to do something wrong. Clearly, we need to work on his follow through.

It's a Hard Habit to Break

2009-10-08T09:29:00.003-04:00

My seven year old son, who has slight OCD tendencies, goes from one bad habit to the next. He went from constant swiping of his forehead, to scratching his arms and legs, to pulling up his pants incessantly, to eyebrow raising.

Most recently, he has regressed to the pants pulling, no matter how many times I tell him his jeans aren't falling down. With this go-round of the pants tugging habit he has decided to throw in pulling up his socks as well. You know, for good measure.

I understand that these things are hard for him to stop doing. Addictions work that way. For instance, my mom, who quit smoking for almost 10 years, started again. But I hardly have room to talk when I can't control myself if there is chocolate within 20 yards.

My daughter often chastises her brother for chewing with his mouth open, but what she doesn't realize is that when she chews gum she resembles Violet Beauregarde. She also starts talking before I've had my coffee in the morning. Oh wait. I guess that's my problem, not hers.

My husband listens to music too loud, I know a girl who over-whitens her teeth and I am friends with lots of people who drive too fast. Hi, Kim! Everyone has a bad habit.

As annoying as they may be, I suppose my son's actions aren't all that harmful. They aren't disgusting either, as was the case when I was a child and I bit my nails. Ew. Now I take care of my nails as best I can. Of course, my new habit is picking my cuticles, because I like to defeat my own purpose.

So tell me, boys and girls, what habit do you wish you could break?

Random Realizations: Illness Edition

2009-10-06T08:18:00.003-04:00

1. After three weeks, "taking it easy" becomes completely overrated.

2. Daytime television is horrible, but middle-of-the-night television is even worse. At one point, you may find yourself so desperate that you watch an episode of Three's Company. Shudder.

3. After two chest x-rays and a lung scan where you have to breathe radioactive gas through a tube, you'll realize that if the flu, pneumonia or possible pulmonary embolism won't kill you, the radiation eventually will.

4. Chicken and noodles is good.

5. Pain medicine is even better.

6. You may be so out of it that you won't realize new carpet is being installed until it's already been laid, covered with mud and cleaned up.

7. When no one will come near you, your dog's affection is absolutely wonderful.

8. Even if that dog stinks.

9. Once you feel better and tell people you're no longer contagious they will still take two steps back if you come near them.

10. You may come home from the hospital to find flowers, home-cooked food and groceries all over your kitchen.

11. And then you will realize how lucky you really are.

Cure JM

2009-10-02T08:21:00.002-04:00

Kevin of Always Home and Uncool has asked me to post this as part of his effort to raise awareness in the blogosphere of juvenile myositis, a rare autoimmune disease his daughter was diagnosed with on this day seven years ago. The day also happens to be his wife's birthday.

*
Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter's cheeks, joints and legs was something he'd never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn't admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions -- none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner -- then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn't know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter's knee showed signs of an "allergic reaction" even though we had ruled out every allergy source -- obvious and otherwise -- that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift -- a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago -- Oct. 2, 2002 -- the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter's first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn't tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don't know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter's condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.com.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research, go to www.firstgiving.com/rhondaandkevinmckeever or www.curejm.com/team/donations.htm.

I Feel Worse Than I Look

2009-09-29T18:53:00.004-04:00

The title says it all.

The pain I've been feeling in my lower ribs since I was diagnosed with the swine flu last week was getting to be too much to bear. What started as hurting when I took a deep breath, changed to hurting when I breathed at all. Last night it changed to just hurting...period.

A chest x-ray today showed pneumonia. Just three days after finishing my Tamiflu, I am once again medicated; this time with an antibiotic. I'm trying not to watch the news, read the paper or, for crying out loud, surf the internet.

So many of you have sent well wishes that I felt I should at least update you...and beg for more prayers.

My son was put on an anti-viral last week as a precaution, but that didn't stop him from coming down with a sinus infection (which was likely a secondary bacterial infection following a mild flu...though we don't know for sure). He has been on antibiotics since Saturday and is feeling much better.

My daughter has been fighting a sore throat and headache for about a week. She's seeing her doctor in the morning.

My husband is totally fine. Lucky sucker.

I appreciate your concern and prayers. Thanks to everyone who is wishing me well.

Pig Hater

2009-09-22T20:49:00.003-04:00

I am a pig hater. Oh, I like bacon, ham and sausage and all...but, when I'm the sickest I have been in about seven years, and it's because some pig went and mutated the flu virus, then I have every right to hate pigs.

I have H1N1, also known as swine flu. I did everything right. I got my seasonal flu shot the first week they were available and planned on getting the H1N1 vaccine. I wash my hands A LOT, I wipe off my shopping carts at the entrance to the grocery store, I use hand sanitizer as soon as I leave a place where I have touched anything and I never, ever use a drinking fountain.

I am taking Tamiflu and have been resting and drinking lots of water for the last two days, but I am still fighting a fever, aches and a cough. I have asthma, so that coughing thing scares me quite a bit. I'm pretty concerned about my kids too. My daughter went to bed with a headache (which was one of my early symptoms) and my son is high risk because of his heart. Your prayers are appreciated.

This blog is mostly light-hearted and I would like to keep it that way. I'm taking a break. I am really sick and if I wrote anything it would likely be a whole lot of complaining. Just ask my husband.

Please send good thoughts our way. This virus is so not good for my anxiety issues.

Small Town Slumber

2009-09-21T08:24:00.001-04:00

I do not sleep. Chronic insomnia has plagued me since I was pregnant with my daughter some 11 years ago.

I have tried everything short of an acupuncturist and I even have one of those lined up. St. John's Wort, Melatonin, anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds have been ingested, relaxation techniques have been used and I have one of the most comfortable beds and pillows I have ever rested upon.

For the most part my problem exists because I worry a lot. Sometimes it's not even the worrying, but rather the constant chatter in my brain. Keeping my cell phone next to my bed helps a little because I can jot notes into it in the middle of the night (using paper and pencil was pretty tough in the dark), but even that doesn't keep the stress of everyday life at bay.

This weekend, we took a trip to my in-laws' house. They live in a small, southern Ohio town in a big, old house with gorgeous woodwork and a great front porch. One of those roomy porches, with a swing and everything. Sigh.

They live across the street from an enormous park where my husband and I walked the dogs and let the kids play until they were so filthy I barely recognized them. We drank some beer, ate homemade food, played cards with the kids and watched football.

At one point on Saturday, my body sunk into their comfortable couch and before I knew it, I woke myself up with my own snoring. Classy, right? Whatever. I don't even care. My in-laws had 11 kids, so they've learned to tune things out. I allowed myself to doze off and on the entire afternoon.

That night, as I was checking e-mail, I fell asleep at the computer desk. I stayed that way, slumped over with my head on my arm, until my husband came to check on me for fear I had died. That's how much I don't sleep. My spouse saw me with my eyes closed and thought I had passed away.

And, yesterday after church I told everyone I was going to lie down. I climbed the steps and tucked myself into bed...and I went to sleep. I napped, people! That simply doesn't happen.

At my in-laws' there is no agenda, no laundry, no meetings and no work. My kids can play freely without me looking at my watch so we can hurry off to the next thing on our schedule.

I have always said I would dislike living outside the city, because I would be too bored. There just wouldn't be enough to do.

Apparently I've been wrong all this time, because not having enough to do was exactly what I needed.

Put a Little Boogie in it

2009-09-18T17:00:00.005-04:00

My son's teacher pulled me aside this afternoon and said, "I'd like to tell you a story...in private."

I'm not going to lie. I have been pulled aside by his teachers before.

There was the time in preschool when he pretended he was at a party and the playground mulch was his confetti. And, who can forget the time he followed the principal around like a mime? Not me.

So, today was nothing new. My son's teacher sent him down the hall to put some things away, then she turned to me and said, "The other day, I looked down to see your boy's hand in the front pocket of my pants."

I put my hand on my forehead and began to shake my head from side to side.

She continued, "I told him that he couldn't do that and I thought that was the end of it."

My eyes opened wide in disbelief. "It wasn't the end of it?"

"No, it wasn't the end of it, because later that day I reached in my pocket for something and pulled out his dirty tissue."

And then she started cracking up.

Thank you, God, for making my son use a tissue in the first place and thank you even more for a first grade teacher with a sense of humor.

I'll Show You Some Curves

2009-09-16T13:54:00.005-04:00

This article has suggestions for buying jeans for women with curvy figures. Um...really, Women's Health magazine? Because the only curve I see is that bended knee.

For Ali

2009-09-14T07:05:00.000-04:00

If you haven't read between the lines you may not be aware that the name of this blog is a bizarre take on "Mom of Ali". Years ago when I created an online account and gave myself the user name of "momofali", my best friend sent me an e-mail asking, "Who's Momo Fali?"

Since then, or at least since the creation of this blog, I often go by the nickname, "Momo". As far as nicknames go, this is significantly better than when my elementary school classmates called me "Dog-Star Diane".

But, even though I am Momo Fali, I am Mom of Ali as well. And, that Ali? Is one heck of a kid.

I talk a lot about my son's struggles, but his older sister was even smaller than him when she was born. Ali arrived 10 weeks early, weighing just 2 pounds, 9 ounces. That was almost 11 years ago. Considering where she started, she has faced a fair amount of obstacles herself.

Her biggest challenge is being the sister of a kid with medical problems. It is not easy. At all.

There have been times when she was promised a day of fun and she's ended up sitting in the emergency room because her brother was sick. There have been mornings when we had to drop her off at a neighbor's house at the crack of dawn so we could get him to the outpatient center for an early surgery. And, there have been countless meals when she's watched her brother choke and vomit at the dining room table.

Needles, meds, doctors, surgeries, therapy, x-rays...these things are a part of her life just as much as they are part of ours. Knowing what she does about life at the ripe old age of ten, just doesn't seem right.

Don't get me wrong. She's still a pretty typical kid. She bosses her little brother around, she talks back a lot and I've actually seen her spit her dinner into her napkin and then feed it to the dogs. Though, truth be told, I've wanted to do that myself a few times.

Despite the things she has seen, or possibly because of them, she is amazingly well-adjusted. She is smart, responsible, kind and compassionate. I am lucky to have her.

It is time that I told her so. Just like the letter I wrote to my favorite teacher last week, I am hoping she reads this so she can know how great I think she is.

Maybe, just maybe, it will actually get her to clean her room.

Loathing

2009-09-10T06:56:00.004-04:00

I feel like I should get something out in the open. I want you to get a true feel for who I am and you can't do that unless you know there is something I despise with my entire being. I always tell my children never to use the word hate, unless we're talking about this.

This thing. This thing that makes me want to stay in bed, tucked safely under my blankets, this thing that makes me never want to leave my house and makes me want to, literally, run away to the other side of the country just so I can get away from it.

This thing is winter. I know there are a lot of people who enjoy the change of seasons and blah, blah, blah, but if you're trying to sell me on the upside to a visit from Jack Frost, you can save your breath. Jack Frost can bite me. And, you know that snowman? He's not called abominable for nothing.

There is the cold, slushy-muddy mess, the illnesses which rear their ugly heads and the not being able to walk out the door without everyone putting on socks, shoes, hats, coats and gloves.

There are no barbeques in winter. There is no reason to say, "A cold beer sounds great right now". There are no lazy days at the pool, or drawing chalk butterflies on the driveway. There are no bike rides, no camping, no catching lightning bugs.

Winter is cold and boring and LOOOOOOONG. And, right now all I can think about is how many days are left until spring.

So, if you live in Arizona and don't mind a house guest...drop me a line. Please.

I'll bring the cold beer.

Dear Mr. Cole

2009-09-07T09:42:00.012-04:00

Dear Mr. Cole,

I have thought about writing this letter so many times. Hundreds of times, in fact. However, something always comes up. Life got in the way of me doing something I should have done 20 years ago.

It is long past time that I thanked you for being a great teacher. It is hard to believe it has been more than two decades since I was a junior in high school and sat in your American Studies class.

My mom and step-father has just gotten divorced, I was working long hours after school and staying up late to do homework. My life was in turmoil and by the time I sat down in your class in the late afternoon, I was exhausted. I remember falling asleep at my desk almost every day. I was struggling.

My other teachers didn't notice; or didn't care to. You did. One day, you returned one of my papers with a hand-written note...I know you're going through a rough time, but college is not that far away and you need to start thinking about your future. I know you comprehend what I'm saying. You're smart and you write well. Don't blow it.

Knowing that someone cared and that someone believed in me, at that point in time, was life-altering; possibly life-saving. Thank you for that. I knew that if I really needed to reach out to someone, you would be there.

Thank you for your knowledge and your kindness. Thank you for teaching me the beauty of the written word, for sharing your faith and for reaching out to a slacking student.

Thank you for being the best teacher I ever had.

Sincerely,

Diane

No Answer

2009-09-04T07:15:00.000-04:00

I was in the kitchen the other day when my seven year old son yelled to me from the living room, "Hey, Mom! Can I watch Cars?"

I replied, "No, you watched it on Sunday and again on Monday. Why don't you read a book instead?"

And, apparently he didn't like my response because then he yelled, "Ugh! Don't answer my questions ever again!"

Baby Talk

2009-09-01T07:01:00.000-04:00

My seven year old son was playing around at bedtime recently, when I heard my husband yell up to him, "Quit goofing off and go night-night!"

I stopped what I was doing and took note of the moment, because I was certain that my husband hadn't said, "night-night" in years and that it would likely be the last time he uttered those words with one of our kids.

I suddenly wondered; when did we stop saying that? Words like night-night, binky and blankie are now but distant memories.

When did my son stop calling me, "Mama" and start calling me "Mommy"? When did my daughter stop calling me "Mommy" and start calling me "Mom"? And, when did she stop calling me "Mom" and start calling me "Hmmph" with an accompanying eye-roll?

These moments fly by, as much of life does, without us even taking notice. I, for one, am too busy cleaning the kitchen or picking up dirty socks to document anything but the big stuff.

I have photos of pre-school graduations and videos of talent shows. I have programs from Christmas plays and boxes full of artwork but, how are you supposed to note the last time your child referred to the dog as a "doggie"?

Hearing my husband call up to our son made me aware that those moments had passed us by. One minute my daughter was eating jars of food she called "num-num" and the next she's bringing home division-of-decimals-by-whole-numbers homework.

And if there's anything that makes you wish your kids were still saying things like "night-night", it's that.

And, I Have a Talking Donkey

2009-08-28T16:26:00.005-04:00

My son came home from school today and as we reviewed some first grade papers I said, "Tell me about your day, buddy. What did everyone bring for show and tell?"

He replied, "Well, some people brought stuffed dogs, and a kid brought Lightning McQueen and one girl brought a doll."

"Wow. That sounds like some cool stuff. What else did people share?"

He jumped with excitement, "Oh! One kid brought a great, big yogurt!"

"A big yogurt?"

"Yeah! Its name was Shrek."

How to Control the Pet Population

2009-08-26T07:12:00.000-04:00

While riding in the car last night my seven year old son said, "Mom, I can't decide if I want to be a vet or a magician when I grow up."

He paused briefly then said, "So I think I'm just going to become a magician and make pets disappear."