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.
Forget your troubles; come read about mine
Archive for September, 2009
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EmailIf 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.
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,
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
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