My son celebrated his First Communion last weekend.  A dear man, who happens to be my former co-worker as the maintenance man at my kids’ school and who also happens to be one of my son’s best friends, sent him a card of congratulations.

Yesterday morning this dear man stopped by the school and was sipping coffee with the school secretary when my son and I made a trip to the office because of an upset stomach (my son’s, not mine).

We were both excited to see our old friend and my son ran to him and gave him a big hug.  Then he said, “Thank you for the card and the $20!”

Our friend said, “You’re welcome!”

Then my son said, “But, somebody else gave me $50!”

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A few years ago, I was reading a USA Today article about how anyone who was anyone online, had to be on Twitter.  My original thought was, thank goodness I’m a nobody!  I don’t have time for that nonsense!

The article mentioned that the best practice for web users was to, at the very least, secure a Twitter user name before someone else scooped it up.  I decided to join, but that was the only thing I was going to do…just obtain the name @MomoFali so it wouldn’t get taken.  I signed up the very same day I read that article.

That was 10,000 tweets ago.

I could go on and on about the benefits of Twitter.  Just ask my husband.  Most notably, Twitter got me a job.  Holla! It also got me a freezer full of meat, a mention in Ladies Home Journal, roommates at conferences, product recommendations from trusted professionals, blog traffic, great relationships with sponsors, invaluable friendships, help with 6th grade homework and, more than a few times, it has settled an argument in my house.

Do you want help brainstorming when you need a list of red-headed, literary characters for your daughter because the next day is dress-as-a-red-headed-literary-character-day at school?  Go ask Twitter.  She can help you.  Anne of Green Gables, anyone?

Any time of the day or night, I can log on to Twitter and find one of my friends there.  Friends from all over the world with whom I can have instant conversations.  With Twitter, I even helped to find a lost dog when someone in my neighborhood said he was missing.  Within minutes, word can spread just about anywhere you want it to.  Maybe even where you don’t.  Watch yourself, now.

Of course, there can also be a lot of nonsense on Twitter, as you can see from my Dilaudid tweets and some of these daily updates I sent:

Take THAT, all my friends at #mom2summit! We’re talking about NOUNS on Twitter tonight! Yeah, and sentence diagrams. Booyah!

I got a clove filling. Now I’m craving pumpkin pie.

These women on the #Oscars are beautiful, but I’m eating trail mix. With M&M’s. I win.

My husband just got my daughter to agree to read The Lord of the Rings trilogy by bribing her WITH A NACHO. As in, singular.

How old do I sound when I tell you I’m looking at a catalog of compression stockings?

Among the Christmas Ale, I found a Harvest Moon. This is the equivalent of time travel, no?

Conversation from the other room…Kid #1, “Did you fart?” Kid #2, “No, but my duck did.”

I am wearing the mommy and baby dolphin necklace my son bought me at Santa giftland. Because nothing says, “I love you” like Flipper.

I am not going to buy a book for which the TV ad says it is, “Un-put-down-able.” No offense, but I like real words.

Took the kale chips out of the oven, covered the baking sheet with parchment paper and now am baking cookies. I am an oxymoron.

The best thing about Twitter is that social people, like me, don’t have to stop being social.  Ever.  This is great for me and for my husband, because sometimes I want to talk about gladiator sandals and he just wants to watch SportsCenter.

My BFF once told me that the definition of an introvert or extrovert isn’t how outgoing you are, but whether you seek people or quiet time inside yourself when you want to recharge.  I’m definitely an extrovert.

Sure, downtime is great sometimes, but being able to talk about philosophy, dill pickles or the latest hairstyle, anytime you want, is pretty awesome too.

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Tomorrow is your birthday.  It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that you’ve been in my life for less than a decade, because it feels like you’ve been around forever.  Most people say that they can’t believe how time flies, but with you things tend to move at a slower pace.

We have been through a lot together, you and I.  I won’t lie; you’re the reason I have an intimate relationship with anti-anxiety meds and sleep aides.  You are the reason I throw my hands in the air on a daily basis, look up and say, “Lord, have mercy on me.”

I had a hard time learning to love you.  I was scared to love you.  I didn’t think you were going to stick around very long and I didn’t want to get hurt.  I’m glad I let my guard down.  It was the best thing I ever did and I learned that, when in doubt, you should follow your heart.

You bring adventure to my life because I never know what you’re going to say or what you’re going to do.  Even when we’re out running errands together, I feel like I’m living on the edge.  At least I never have to worry about life being dull.

But, I don’t just love you because you keep me on my toes.  I love you because you are strong, smart, funny and so stinkin’ cute.  I love that you aren’t perfect, because it reminds me that no one is.

Happy 9th birthday, Boo.  Mommy loves you.

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This past Sunday morning, my husband was off running 26.2 miles, which meant that I had to make my own coffee and walk the dogs.  Um…rude!

The coffee making wasn’t too bad because I have one of those single-cup thingies now, which means I didn’t have to do much other than push one button.  I wish you could push a button for picking up dog poop.

But, the real challenge in walking the dogs is that we have one that just turned 13 and another one that just turned 2.  Their energy levels are slightly different.  So are their joints.  While one could easily clear a fence, the other one can barely stand up.

My husband is brave enough to take the dogs off of their leashes at the park near our house, despite Daisy (the young dog) once sending a lady over her handlebars when she ran out of the woods right onto a bike path.  And the fact that, just last week, she rolled in a maggot-infested, dead rat.  Side note to the hawk who drops rodents from the sky around here:  Pick smaller prey.

I don’t particularly like dealing with angry bikers with head injuries nor do I want to wash maggots off of my dog…again…so, on Sunday, I took Daisy out in the yard with a ball and a ball-chucker to work off some excess energy that couldn’t be worked off with a regular walk.  Also, thank you to the person who invented the tool that allows dog owners to NOT touch the slobbery ball.  I love you.  Really.

The entire time that Daisy was playing fetch, Blue (the old dog) was sitting at the front window, whining.  I watched her pacing and crying for 20 minutes.  I felt so bad, that after I took Daisy inside, I took Blue out for some one-on-one time.

Blue immediately picked up a big stick and pranced around the yard to show me that, despite being 13 years old, she’s still got it and I was quick to tell her so.  There was a lot of her looking proud and a lot of me saying, “Ohhhh!  Blue has a big stick!  She’s a big dog!”.  And, also a lot of my neighbors looking at me funny.

Then she dropped the stick and started tearing at the grass with her teeth to show me, again, that she’s still got it.  I was happy to see her spunk.

A few seconds later, she found a tennis ball laying in the grass and brought it to me.  I looked into her eyes and saw the puppy that I picked out 13 years ago, this month, when she was barely four weeks old and her head made her so top-heavy that she fell over.  I asked, “Are you sure, girl?  You want me to throw the ball?”  She looked back at me, panting, her ears perked, just waiting for me to tell her to “go get it”.

I threw the ball to the back of the yard and watched as she clumsily trotted after it.  Her front legs ran while her back legs stayed stiff, but she gave it her best effort.

Until she tripped on a tree root.

She landed in the mud with one hind leg facing forward and the other hind leg trapped behind her.  She was doing the equivalent of the doggie-splits and couldn’t get up.

I ran to her, clasped my hands under her belly and lifted her back to her feet.

Then I crouched down in front of her and rubbed her neck, nuzzled my face close to hers and said, “See, old girl…you’ve still got it.  At least Daisy can’t do that.”

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