This Full House Archive

Author: Liz@ThisFullHouse

So, I Wrote This Blog Post on Katie Couric’s Website

Raise your hand if you NEVER thought you would EVER read THAT blog post title here at This Full House of crunchy floors and sticky socks [raises handed] me, either.

Unlike my house, I like to keep things light and airy on my blog.

Then my oldest daughter Holly and I were invited to NYC to tape a segment of Katie Couric's new daytime television show and I never thought I would say THAT (out loud) either.

The show on Dating Violence aired on Katie yesterday and my husband was more than just a little surprised to learn that I did not watch it.

"What do you mean you didn't watch it?!?"

Honestly, a part of me was all, like, I wonder if the camera caught a glimpse of us — we were in the front row, to the right of the stage — truth is, it was VERY difficult for me to sit through it the first time.

"Mom, I'm on break and they got the show on here at work!"

Especially, with my grown up baby girl sitting next to me, considering this was Holly's first experience at attending something like this AND not having been on a real date-date before.

It's okay, she said I can blog that.

Quite frankly, hearing the story of University of Virginia college
student Yeardley Love's murder, at the hands of her "former" boyfriend,
was beyond brutal.

Listening to Yeardley's mother and sister speak of their grief over her death, for the first time, in front of millions…well…as a mother, sister and daughter, it shook me to the core.

I was then asked if I would be interested in sharing my thoughts
about the show on Katie's website and, as a mom of 3 teens and 1
tween…well…how I could not?!?

I looked through my notes (note: I'm the only one typing away and was so glad the staff thought to introduce me as the "blogger of the day" during one of the breaks after also noticing all the WTH?!? looks I was getting from the rest of the audience!) and then tossed them aside.

"I just talked to Holly about the possibility of my being able to blog
our conversation [after the show] and she is okay with…me, too. Just a thought."

Sadly, I am no stranger to dating violence. I decided to share my story and it was the MOST difficult blog post to write.

I feel very, very fortunate to be able to say that the experience left me with nothing more than a migraine…physically, I mean.

Frankly, I was a little worried about some folks considering sharing my story as the airing out of dirty laundry and I would have to agree with them.

There is NOTHING light and airy about dating violence.

"So, I wrote this blog post on Katie Couric's site."

My husband, Garth (not his real name) has long made peace with the fact that I blog stuff about us (9 years and counting) however, I don't share any stories here that I wouldn't feel comfortable telling you about on your couch or at my kitchen table.

"I know you wrote it, I shared the link on Facebook."

I need no further validation — other than perhaps my and Holly's story will spark conversation in other families, as well.

Aaaaand, trust me when I tell you that my hands are shaking, even now — here is the link:

http://www.katiecouric.com/features/my-experience-with-dating-violence/

No, this was not a paid opportunity. The mental and emotional release…priceless.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

Are you a victim of domestic? Call or text the National Domestic Violance Hotline: Peer Advocates are available for assistance and support 24/7. Text
“loveis” to 77054 or call 1-866-331-9474 or 1-866-331-8453 TTY or chat live online.

September 21, 2012
Cape Cod or Bust, Garth (not his real name) fuh-bid!

Yeah, I was thinking about stocking up…BIGTIME!

I nearly tripped over this basket of sage sticks while in Provincetown this weekend (I know, like in Massachusetts, read on!) and swore I could hear fate hollering: heeeeeeeeere's your sign.

If you've been reading my blog for any length of time (most especially, this past summer) then you already know: the #FUBAR runs deep in these here parts.

We're gonna need a bigger boat!

Which is why I was a little hesitant about the last-minute, "Hey I got an idea, how about you
and the kids getaway for the weekend", road trip courtesy of my husband Garth (not
his real name) in a last ditch-effort to give them SOMETHING vacation-ish to write about in school.

Aaaaaand, since they are off from school on Monday and Tuesday for Rosh Hashanah (Shanah Tovah, to all my Jewish friends!) while my husband, on the other hand, is not (dammit!) the timing was sort of good-ish.

On the other, other hand: it is, at the very least, a 5+hour car drive through 5 states of traffic (NJ, NY, CT, RI, MA, enough said!) ALL BY MYSELF.

Moving onto the foot: then again, he knows that my friends find his random acts of spontaneity to be very, very sexy…me, too!

Warmest and bestest welcome…EVUH!!!

So, I texted my friend Sue (a.k.a. As Cape Cod Turns) that night, to let her know that we'd be in town the next night (or, since I had to wait for the kids to get home from school and we'd probably get in around midnight, the day after that) so as to give her plenty of time to…you know…go out, make plans, stock up on some extra sage sticks, or something.

The funny thing is she then told her parents, who then offered up their downstairs for us to stay and so on…and so on…and…well…yes, they are SUPER AWESOME like that.

Provincetown fun, way fun-ner with friends!

We've been going to the Cape since fuh-evuh…as far as the kids are concerned…so they made a list of their favorite memories and it was my job to squeeze 2 weeks of vacation…into 3 days…besides driving them…ummmmm…EVERYWHERE!…and back again, I mean.

[rolls up sleeves]

(more…)

September 18, 2012
I Need a Smartphone to Tell Me I Have a Smartphone

I’ve been trying to convince my husband, Garth (not his real name) that he really DOES need a smartphone and NOT just for updating your Facebook status, sharing in some Doctor Who love on Twitter or playing Bubble Shoot and Words With Friends.

[Ahem]

Not to mention…ohhhhhh, LOOKIT! HOW CUTE!…Doofus Dawg is napping with his favorite blankey…hang on a minute.

[point, shoot, share, DONE!]

My current obsession with Instagram is another really good example (okay, so I’m a little late to the party, I have an android, enough said!) however, I did not post the pic of Doofus-Dawg.

It’s really not ALL that great (seriously, have you seen Neil Kramer’s stuff?) I blame Andy (a distant relative of Siri, or something like that) he’s not the sharpest android on the block, but I love him anyway.

Besides, THEN what would I blog about?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Aaaaanyway, what was I saying?

[stares at stains on couch]

OH YEAH! Garth (not his real name) finally broke down, got himself a smartphone and we now have epic Bubble Shoot marathon sessions together, almost every night before falling asleep on the couch, and everything.

“You two and your silly little phones.”

My oldest daughter does not have a smartphone and, now that she’s working and has started paying for some of her own stuff (thank you Jezuss!), she wants an iPhone.

“Andy, are you really just a silly little phone?”

I also do NOT have an iPhone (I only pretend that I do) but, Andy and I? Yeah, we’re good. In fact, my smartphone has enabled me to share a lot of experiences that I would otherwise have trouble…you know…remembering (DAMMIT!) Andy has effectively become my blogging muse.

Another example: I took this fun pic, while hiking with my oldest daughter, earlier this week and shared it on Twitter.

Spending oldest girl’s dayoff hiking. Found new trail. Goes on forever. May be a little late for dinner. instagr.am/p/PZz9zem4nq/

— Liz Thompson (@thisfullhouse) September 10, 2012

Aaaaand, yes, only LATER after walking for nearly 2 hours, in the wrong direction, did I realize that we could have used Google maps to figure out just where in the hell we were.

[point, shoot, share, OH SH&T!]

Moral of the Story: Having a smartphone really DOES come in handy…whenever you remember you have one…I mean…or something like that.

If anyone needs me, I’ll be upstairs nursing my bad back and looking for the owner’s manual…DAMMIT!

Stupid smartphones, dumbass Andy.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

Freshly-Brewed Elsewhere: I am very honored to be working with Hallmark as a Life is a Special Occasion
featured blogger — this month’s post is all about Kit Kats, Click-Clacks and the realization of just how much I really hated grade school!

September 12, 2012
11 Years

September 11, 2012

It was 2001, soon after the World Trade Center attacks, when a momfriend and I both volunteered to help with the talent show and lead my middle girl Heather's kindergarten classmates in singing God Bless the USA by Lee Greenwood.

There were many songs of patriotism sung that night, each met with the
more than just the obligatory whoots and hollers from various family members, friends and teachers, as our children waved their flags and mouthed words they
didn't quite understand at the time, followed by standing ovations that
lasted very late into the evening.

Heather is a junior in high school, Holly a college freshman in the spring, their two youngest siblings continue to navigate through the myriad of hallways of middle school with no recollection of this day, 11 years ago.

Time goes on. My husband and I gaze across the Raritan Bay and it still takes a few moments to orientate ourselves. The feeling that there is something missing will always be there, as we remember.

God Bless the USA.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

September 11, 2012
In Blog Years, I Should Be Friggin’ Rich!

9 years ago, I had a momfriend over for a playdate (remember those?!?) and, while we did share stories about our kids, fueled by tall glasses of spearmint iced tea and assorted kid-friendly snacks (probably fishy crackers and gummy bears, don't judge!) my friend and I waxed poetic about the days when we both dreamed of becoming famous writers.

Okay, mostly her, because she was (and still is) a screen writer (for real) and I just liked to pretend as if I were just as…you know…writerly.

"Have you thought about writing in a weblog?"

Smiling politely, I slowly refilled her glass and effectively acknowledged the fact that I had NO IDEA what a weblog really was.

"What the frig is a weblog?"

I'm from Jersey, enough said.

Aaaaaand, the rest my friends is…as they say…hysterical. No, really. Looking back at those first few posts, I swear, it's pretty obvious that I am in no way, shape or form as writer-ly as I pretended to be.

Still, living out my life online, sharing stories that I now treasure (okay, more like cling to like a forgotten child) and the extreme privilege of getting to know and eventually meeting some of my best friends in world…priceless.

Something that, up until this very day, a lot of folks still can't seem to wrap their heads around and that's totally okay.

It's hard to explain, I guess I'm just not that writer-ly.

So, for your reading pleasure and in celebration of my 9th blogiversary, my first blog post ever with no revisions, left as is when I first wrote it, one big friggin' paragraph of misspellings and all:

9/02/2003

Every pillow in my house has been relocated to the center of my
living room. Why? The oldest of my four children, who is 9, has a
playdate and it's raining outside. Enough said?!? My daughter's little
friend is a well mannered, intellegent little girl who happens to share
in my daughter's facination for pretend. One would think that at 9,
thanks to Brittany Spears, Bratz Dolls and belly shirts, MTV would hold
their interest rather than the giant maze totally constructed of pillows
growing ever taller behind me. I mean every pillow, down to my
youngest, who is 2, crib pillow. She was not very happy at first, but
with a lot of reassurances made by her older sister, she gave up her
pink frilly pillow for a promised entrance into the once completed maze.
Everyone is in the act. My second oldest girl, who is 7, is busily
adding her inventory of pillows. My son, who is 4 and the only boy in
this house besides the two cats at the moment, has been accepted into
the fold as well, light saber in hand. Play dates are very difficult to
control in my house. With good intentions, I invite the 9 year olds,
the 7 year olds and even a 4 year old friend (my son is in desperate
need of male bonding) for some summer or after school fun. I have a 9
room house, 2 of which are bathrooms, 2 of which all 4 of my children
share as bedrooms, 1 of which is my room dedicated to stock piles of
clean and dirty laundry. This basically leaves the main part of the
house (where, by the way my desk is smack dab in the middle of) open to
attempted organize play. We bought this house because of its,
"kid-friendly" potential. Today, I find myself retreating to my
computer and reflecting on the mountain of pillows, soon to be
dissassembled if anyone even thinks about getting any supper placed in
front of them. My four year old son, who is half naked with a feather
sticking out of his head, is screaming somewhere toward the back end of
the house ("He's an indian for goodness sake!" I only asked.) My 2 year
old is happily slamming the bedroom door upstairs ("She's thunder! We
need thunder 'cause it's raining outside!" Again, I only asked). My 7
year old is bent out of shape ("They never want to play what I want to
play!" No, we cannot have Kaitlyn over this afternoon.) The 9 year
olds are running back and forth between the upstairs and the downstairs
bedrooms screaming, "Can you hear me now?" ("The commercial is totally
hysterical, Mom!" I didn't ask this time.) I look at the clock and see
that the play date has an hour and a half to go and so do I, because
thunder just pooped!
– posted by Liz @ 9/02/2003 03:38:00 PM

See, I told you. Not very writerly-ish, right? To me? PRICELESS!!!

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

September 7, 2012
See what I did? Notice how THAT didn’t work out very well? Don’t do it THAT way, okay?

As a blogger (or blog-guh, if you're from Jersey) I'm often times asked for my opinions on various family-related subjects and have even been allowed to share my thoughts on really important stuff (like, helping to make blog comments count) every now and again.

Isn't this the rock you slipped and fell off of when you were little, mom?!?

Aaaaand, not because I'm some sort of expert or anything. It's just that raising 3 teens, 1 tween and killer dust bunnies (be careful, they bite!) my husband Garth (not his real name) and I have become quite accustomed to expecting the unexpected.

Sort of like jumping waves at the beach, really.

My husband's first response would mostly likely be "Okay, relax, this too shall pass, let's just move along," right after my obligatory "Holy crap on, a stick!" acknowledgement of just how quickly FUBAR life can get.

Ummmmm, so, like, where's Mama Bear?!?

In other words: I am just another mom, trying to hold it together, just
like everybody else, who's maybe grown a little more accustomed to
dealing with crap…on a stick!!!

Which is why, rather than doling out worthless little pieces of advice
pellets from my parenting Pez dispenser (sorry, been watching too many
late night episodes of Cheers lately), I believe in leading by example.

Or, not.

"Hrmph, I think Unfriendly Neighbor bought the house next door."

Our 104 year-old neighbor moved into an assisted living facility, her house was on the market for only about a month when it went under contract and in the house next hers lives the neighbor who hates my kids.

"How do you know HE bought it?"

I have this TERRIBLE habit of thinking out loud. Which, of course, then opens me up to being challenged by anyone who happens to be around at that particular moment. This time, it was my 13 year-old son.

"Well, the house sold this month."

In the 19 years that we've lived here, I can count on one hand the times Unfriendly Neighbor has helped us with keeping Ms. Grace's lawn manageable.

"Aaaaaand, he's mowing the lawn AGAIN!"

I mean, NOT that he is supposed to or anything, however, Unfriendly Neighbor's got a riding mower and…wait for it…ours has been broken for years.

"Oh, I said hello to him, is that bad?"

[blink-blink-blink]

"Aaaaand, he actually said hello back."

[blank stare]

"So, maybe he doesn't hate us as much as YOU think he does."

Okay, my turn.

"How do you know?"

Brilliant, right? That'll learn my son. Challenge an adult, that's fine, be ready to back your argument up with fact(s).

"Because, I went to cut the hill for you and it was already done."

Dammit.

My husband fixed our self-propelled mower so it actually, you know, self-propels now. So, I tackled the small-ish field behind our pool yesterday, where the kids play softball, soccer and such, ignoring Unfriendly Neighbor as he rode by, not caring whether or not he heard me cursing like a truck driver each time the damned thing stalled in the high grass.

"Maybe he felt bad and saw that it was taking you a real long time."

[blank stare]

"It's a good thing I waved and said hello to him then, right?"

Yep. MUCH smarter than me.

[flash-forward to earlier this morning]

"So, it turns out Unfriendly Neighbor did buy the propery next door."

Leave it to Garth (not his real name) to take the intiative to, you know, actually check real estate records.

"Well, he IS cleaning the place up real nice."

Not that I'll be baking him a cake, anytime soon or anything.

"Maybe it will help our property value go up, a little more, too."

Then again, what do I know?

"Maybe I'll bake him a cake or something."

Stupid grass. Dumbass economy.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

September 1, 2012
Summertime Blew(s)

It's the last week, before the first week, of the first day of school and dang if it doesn't feel like just yesterday when I was writing about the last week, before the last week, of the last day of school.

It's ALL fun and games until someone loses their weenie.

I had such GREAT expectations of trips to the beach, quiet little picnics in the park, impromptu backyard weenie roasts with friends and maybe even a holiday weekend away with Garth (not his real name) you know, just the two of us, like old times.

Then, you know, life happened.

Noah should be floating by, any minute.

Our plumbing broke, my youngest got sick (pneumonia, in the summertime?!?) then our street broke again (which broke our plumbing, AGAIN!) ummmmm, what else?

Oh, yeah! Then, our car broke, we had to rent a car so that I could drive my oldest to work and no I cannot make this stuff up.

But, wait, there's more!

She's a saucy little leemur.

My youngest passed out while visiting grandpa in the hospital while I was all, like, WHAT THE HELL?!? and feeling totally helpless to, you know, help from a thousand miles away.

UGH! Then my poor father-in-law was rushed back to the hospital while I was all, like, SERIOUSLY?!? because, you know, I wasn't home THAT time either.

So, while my mother was in the hospital getting her new arm (it's official, she is the bionic grandmother) we had my dad stay with us this month, you know, just in case…DAMMIT!

We've grown used to seeing heavy machinery as lawn ornaments.

You know what? To save time, just go ahead and read through the rest of July's blog posts and most of my stuff for August (when you have time, of course) and perhaps it will help you better understand why I currently hold the title of President of The FUBAR Club.

On a scale of one to ten, this summer blew (A BIG WET ONE!) to the point where the kids and I are actually looking forward for school to start and I never thought THAT would EVER happen.

In fact, my husband Garth (not his real name) and I celebrated our 22nd wedding anniversary on Saturday by taking all four of our kids back-to-school shopping…at the mall…at the same time and everything…and NO!…I have no idea what is wrong with us, either.

"Because, we're too young to buy wine!" they said.

Then, they gave us our anniversary present — beautifully hand written notes (love that!) with sentiments that both Garth (NHRN) and I really needed to hear (like, RIGHT NOW!) — however, this particular one really stands out:

It was written by our youngest. She is being very polite. Enough said.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

August 28, 2012
It’s Official, Mom’s a Dorkfish!
I took my kids to the beach for the first time the other day (yes, I know, it's the next to the last week in August) in a last ditch effort to have them be able to write something other than, "We hung out in our backyard," on their summer reports and I couldn't help but feel a little like a tourist (in my own backyard) saying stuff like:
- Ouch, that sand is HOT!
- How far is it to the water, anyways?
- Oh, damn, we didn't bring an umbrella.
- Is it low tide or high tide?
- Damn, that sun is HOT!
- What's up with all the red flags and why isn't anyone in the water?
- Oh, look at ALL the pretty seagulls.
"Nooooooooooooooo, don't feed them!"

I did, however, remember NOT to feed the seagulls — a cardinal rule, which once broken may or may not cause one to be severely beaten with a beach umbrella, here in Jersey anyways.

Hopey digs the beach, sort of.

On the one hand, it's SO MUCH easier taking older kids to the beach — grab a few towels, beach chairs, a couple of water bottles, a little spending money for french fries, maybe even a corn dog (or twenty) then sit back and remind them NOT to feed the seagulls.

On the other hand, I pine for the days when my kids were easily entertained with a shovel, a bucket or watching tourists get beat with beach umbrellas.

This is the quietest these two have been ALL summer!

Then again, I have been their main source of entertainment (especially, during the summertime) for the last 18 years and, well, I'm perfectly fine with just hanging out and NOT feel the need to actually have to do anything — other than remind them to, you know, turn over and go get mom a corn dog.

Aaaand, these two actually LET me take their picture!

Now that my oldest has graduated high school, is working and pretty much learning to support herself by contributing to the household for stuff like groceries and car insurance (reminder: we live in Jersey, the land of HOLY HELL, HOW MUCH?!?) not to mention, with my middle girl entering her junior year and having to start the college search all over again (see also: HHHM?!?) I realize that our days of spending quiet afternoons at the beach…together…are numbered.

"The waves look AWESOME mom, c'mon!!!"

Not to mention, my being able to jump, up and down, and expecting to successfully land, on the ground, on both feet, on purpose.

"Mom, behind you, LOOKOUT!!!"

I totally forgot about the OTHER cardinal rule: Never, EVER, turn your back on the ocean, which once broken may or may not cause one to be bitch-slapped into next week by an incoming wave, here in Jersey anyways.

SLAP!!!! Aaaaaaand, I could NOT for the life of me get up AND not because of the wicked undertow or anything, either.

SLAP!!!! I would reach up and grab onto my son's swim trunks.

SLAP!!! Aaaaaaand, he would slap my hand away (each and EVERY time) so I would, you know, fall back into the water.

SLAP!!! Then reach up again, grab onto my son's swim trunks, not thinking that the poor guy was trying to keep me from pulling his swim trunks off. So he claims.

"OMG, that was the FUNNIEST thing we have EVER seen!"

Note to self: next time, try to stand [up] further away from the lifeguard stand.

Moral of the Story: As I strive for continued excellence in being a source of entertainment for my teens and tween, as well as the entire Jersey coastline, dammit.

Stupid undertow. Dumbass corn dogs.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House
August 24, 2012
Hey You Guys, Get Off My Kids’ Lawn!
I remember walking home from school with my brother (uphill, both ways, bare feet, in the snow, etc…) and both of us running past the abattoir (exotic-like name for slaughter house) as if being chased by zombies.

Living around the corner from a slaught..I mean…abattoir was scary enough (and downright disgusting, in the middle of August, enough said) however, I can't begin to describe the old lady who lived next door without feeling as if I need to get up and run away, real fast, right now, because LOOKOUT!!! SHE'S COMING!!!

Thinking back on on her blood-stained apron and pack of hell hounds (some sort of beagle mix, from hell) I'm guessing she worked next door at the abattoir, at least I hope she did, because the alternative explanation of someone walking around wearing a bloody apron…well…LOOKOUT!!! SHE'S COMING!!!

We were upsetting her dogs, you see (more likely, walking to close to where the dead bodies were hidden) either way, I hated walking home from school and often times remind my kids about how lucky they are to have their own personal car service (that would be me!) not to mention, NOT having to live around the corner from an abattoir.

Well, good morning sunshine(s)!

@thisfullhouse UM, in Illinois we at least get a knock on the door first, to let us know…OMG #FUBAR

— Melisa Wells (@melisalw) August 21, 2012

According to Melisa, I should have been all…WHAT THE?!?…and, considering we've had plumbing problems since the beginning of summer and they've been ripping up our street consistently for the last two weeks, I was sort of…MEH, WHATEVER!…about it.

Until the kids started waking up:
- What are those guys doing on our lawn?
- OMG, can't they fix it right the first time?
- Hey, they're ripping up the flower bed!
- We worked TOO HARD for them to mess it up!
It took me a few minutes to calm them all down — seriously, ALL four of them were ready to go outside (in their pajamas and everything) to holler at the poor guys who, really, were just doing there jobs and, honestly, probably don't give a fig about peonies.

"Don't worry, I'm going to write a letter to the water company and the town."

My 13 year-old son continued to stare out the dining room window for about…oh, I don't know…however long it took me to drain the rest of my coffee mug.

"Nope, I'mma get my baseball bat!"

SNORT! Talk about role-reversal, seriously, and I couldn't help but imagine my kids wearing bloody aprons.

Doofus-Dawg, however, would make a terrible hell hound — although, he WOULD lick them to death.

They did eventually put my peonies back, however, the shock of being ripped out of the ground by a bulldozer, I swear I can STILL hear them screaming. The peonies. Not the workmen, who were unusually quiet, btw.

Their heavy machinery, not so much.

They DID, however, move their heavy machinery to make way for my kids' car service (me, remember?) and yes there ARE perfectly nice people here in Jersey…dammit!

They're baaaa-aaaack!

HEY YOU GUYS, YOU BETTER GET OFF OF MY KIDS' LAWN!!! BEFORE THEY WAKE UP!!!

Aaaaaand, I'm hiding the baseball bats, just in case (you're welcome).

Stupid plumbing. Dumbass heavy machinery.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House
August 22, 2012
Color Me 50 Shades of Surprised, In Katie’s Green Room!

A week ago (today) my oldest daughter and I traveled into NYC to tape a segment of Katie Couric's new daytime television show (never thought I would say that OUT LOUD…right?…me, either)!

We were both super-excited to be able to share in the experience of my being asked to blog during the taping (I'll be the one hiding behind a borrowed laptop) the subject matter, however, left us both feeling emotionally, mentally and physically exhausted.

I am not at liberty to share with you what the show was about (not yet, anyways, it's airing next month) I can tell you, however, that the entire audience was made up of mothers and daughters with a pack of tissues strategically hidden under everyone's seat: enough said.

Holly and me hanging out in the green room (it really IS green)!

The best part, besides the fact that Holly and I got to hang out in Katie's green room together and pretend we do this sort of stuff ALL the time, was the conversation leading up to and after the taping.

"Does it matter that I've never been on a date?"

My husband, Garth (not his real name) and I have this unspoken rule about allowing our kids to date at 16.

"Because, you know, the show is about teen dating and everything."

Shhhh, don't tell anybody…okay?!?…and now that our oldest girls are turning 19 and 17 in a couple of months (pausing to let that sink in…still pausing…looking for the friggin' rewind button…Holy Hannah Montana…where DOES the time go?!?) would you believe that neither of our daughters have had a boy ask them out…on a date…or whatever…EVER?!?

"But, you do intend on dating…eventually…right?!?"

I can't say that either of my girls are very happy about it (not as much as their father and I, anyways) or never wondered, "What the heck is wrong with me?" and "All my friends have had boyfriends!" out loud, once or a bazillion times, either.

"There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with you."

Long story, short (you're welcome!) teenagers don't date — they hook up, meet up, whatever, no strings attached — and, well, pardon the 70's reference, it's just NOT their scene.

"How old where you when you started dating Mom?"

Okie-dokie, here we go.

"18…no WAIT…19!"

Okay, so I don't remember EXACTLY. It was a while ago. I started working full-time a week out of high school and dated a string of LOOOOOOS-SUUUUUUHS (seriously, my parents will tell you) before a swearing off dating ALL TOGETHER after finally putting an end to a REAL BAD relationship.

"I remember you telling us about him."

Although I can't claim to know EVERYTHING there is to know about raising teens (besides the fact that the rules do tend to change, quite frequently, sometimes within seconds of each other, depending on which kid we're talking about, I mean) because they feel comfortable enough to talk to their dad and me (mostly me) about almost anything (or, at all even) has remained my constant proverbial golden ring of parenting.

"I'm SO GLAD you met AND then married dad!"

Me, too (a.k.a. understatement of the century) and yet I cannot, for the life of me, wrap my head around the fact that we will be celebrating our 22nd wedding anniversary this weekend!

Enough said.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

August 20, 2012