posted by Momo Fali on January 14, 2012
If you recall, I had a little experience in Manhattan a few months ago with some prominent bloggers and the former Editor in Chief of Redbook Magazine, Stacy Morrison, wherein I made myself look like a bumpkin in a sushi restaurant. Stacy is now the Editor in Chief of BlogHer, which not only makes her my colleague, but also the colleague with whom I bonded over flaming nostrils.
Stacy sent me a package the other day and this is a video of my son sampling what I received. Before you go commenting and telling me that I’m an evil mother, you should know that I tested it first. I also believe in letting my kids try new things, because you never know if they’ll like it. Unless, of course, that new thing is bourbon.
posted by Momo Fali on January 11, 2012
Since before Christmas, and my sister’s cancer diagnosis, when my mother-in-law was in the midst of her cancer treatments and a friend’s dad was fighting the same ravaging disease, I have not had it in me to write. I don’t know why.
Sure, it’s logical that when so many people you care about have been irrevocably touched by an awful disease that it’s hard to let your mind stray far enough to find words, but I have written through a lot here; more than I even care to rehash (or link to).
While I doubt that anyone would mind if I needed time to sort out this lack of creativity, I would love it if I could find it inside myself to write something for them. A tribute, a rally cry, something to make them smile…anything. Instead, I sit here and stare at the wall in a quasi-funk, feeling sorry for everyone. I hate that. They would hate it too.
But, I feel like my muse is hooked up to a chemo pump and my mojo is being burned away by daily radiation. I know that people I love are hurting and I can’t pretend otherwise.
This state of being miserable just isn’t me. I’m not used to being depressed. I’m always anxious, yes, but not downright sad. This has to change right now. I can’t expect them to put up a good fight when I’m not doing my best to do the same.
So, I’m making a promise to stop this nonsense. It doesn’t do any good to stare at the wall and wish things were different. If that were the case, I’d wish everyone was healthy and that I was in Fiji with a raft and a fancy drink and I would see my muse walking toward me on the beach with a Macbook in hand. Swoon.
Tomorrow is a new day full of hope and opportunity and I’m not going to waste it. It’s the least I can do. For them.
posted by Momo Fali on January 9, 2012
1. You wake up to find random plates and bowls on your nightstand.
2. Your daughter takes the candy from her Christmas stocking and hides it in her room.
3. Your husband asks, “Did you eat my Skittles?” Yes, I think I did.
4. Your husband asks, “If you only ate a banana, then why is the peanut butter on the counter?”
5. The bin of recycling is full of cereal boxes that you don’t remember emptying.
6. Your waistline disappears.
posted by Momo Fali on January 5, 2012
My husband has a cold. That noise you just heard was the collective groan of wives all over the world. That’s right, it’s the dreaded Man Cold.
In my husband’s defense, he rarely gets sick. He doesn’t have the combined history of asthma, pneumonia, meningitis and sinus infections like I do. And, people, I’m just scratching the surface of my ailments. Truly.
He isn’t used to the headache, cough and all-around nastiness he feels…and I’m not used to being around it. Especially the part about how he can’t breathe through his nose which means he snores like there are real-live lumberjacks sawing logs right next to me. And, my husband just grew a full beard, so if he puts on a plaid shirt I might just mistake him for one.
He has been kind enough to sleep on the couch for the last two nights, which leaves me free to take an Ambien and fold my adjustable bed into the shape of a taco and sleep like a baby. That part is kind of awesome. My husband doesn’t even like it when the bed has a slight roll (or, what he refers to as its golf-green shape). He likes the mattress to be flat. BOOOR-ING!
But, although I have plopped myself onto the middle of the mattress, kept the light on my side-table shining so that I can read magazines or paint my nails, listened to the TV without having to cup my hand behind my ear, and have sat in a half-taco while I type this blog post, I still hope he feels better soon.
Because that man-cold is a brutal beast. Just ask all of the wives who groaned.
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