This Full House Archive

Author: Liz@ThisFullHouse

George Bailey Meets Clark W. Griswold, Jr.

My husband, Garth (not his real name) works for a bank. Don't worry, he's still a really, really nice guy.

In fact, his customers think he's gosh-darned decent enough to switch from the much BIGGER bank he used to work for.

Previously known as, "the bank that shall not be named."

Now, he works for a small local community bank and I often times joke about my being married to George Bailey (look it up, youngsters) oh, and how my husband is REAL GOOD with OTHER people's money.

Still, I decided to invest in a new dress for their holiday party, seeing as I wore the same dress for the last 2 years and, even though I'd be hard-pressed to remember what the heck anyone else wore (unless it was REAL shiny or SUPER short!)

I took my 16 year-old dress shopping with me, just in case.

Okay, so it is a bit shorter and a whole lot shiny-er than I would have picked (did I mention, the kid is 16?)

Still, it was nice to be able to dress up and pretend like I know how to walk in heels, without fear of breaking my neck, climbing an elegantly-carpeted-and-ever-so-winding-staircase, on the way to the bathroom, for a few hours anyway.

Aaaaand, we had a really, really great time together (see pic at top of post) UNTIL!!!!

"BAH!!!! WTH??? THESE STUPID LIGHTS WERE WORKING YESTERDAY!?!"

When my husband, Garth (not his real name) tried to quickly finish putting up the Christmas lights before heading over to my parents' house for dinner and, well, have you seen the movie Christmas Vacation, yet?

"Maybe, I shoulda done a drum roll, or something?"

[blank stare]

George Bailey, meet Clark Griswold!

[sound of crickets]

I blamed the kids, don't judge.

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

December 12, 2011
A Hungarian’s Recipe for Hungarian Gulash: You Say Goulash, I Say Gulyas – Let’s Just Call it Soup!

This is what Hungarian Gulyas (a.k.a. Gulash, Goulash) is supposed to look like (for real!)

You may or may not know that my twin brother Steve and I are first generation born Americans.

Yep, we grew up in the kitchen, breathing in the delicious aromas of my mother's and grandmother's Hungarian cooking.

Feel free to trust me when I tell you that there is absolutely NOTHING better than a big old steaming bowl of happiness, served up with some crusty bread, on a cold, wet, gloomy, or slightly sad sort of day.

Hungarian comfort food, baby!

You know that reddish-brown-gravy-laden stew-type dish served over noodles and featured as "Hungarian Goulash" in cookbooks and cooking magazines?

Nope, that is actually called Pörkölt (purr-curlt) although, also filed under Hungarian comfort food, it is very versatile and can be prepared using beef, veal, lamb or chicken (a.k.a. chicken paprikash!)

You can find my family's recipe for Pörkölt HERE!

Gulyas (ghoul-yah-sh) on the other hand, is a soup.

Backstory: Gulya in Hungarian means herdsman, or cowboy. Gulyas (a.k.a. Gulash, Goulash) means "of the herdsman," who would have prepared this dish in a cast iron pot hitched over a stone fire pit while working the puszta (pooh-stuh) or the Hungarian prairie, if you will.

Although, they probably didn't include dumplings in their recipe (I don't think.)

I mentioned something on Facebook about making Hungarian Gulyas (et al) yesterday and then promised to share my family's recipe here with everyone, too!

So, to set the record straight:

(more…)

December 9, 2011
Dressing Room Conspiracy (The Vlog)
Just a few afterthoughts:
- Yes, my nose is always THAT itchy (I swear!) It is a nose of substance (SNORT!)
- Turns out, schlub is a real word after all (thought I was being all cleh-vuh, shoulda known beh-tuh, DER!)
- But, it's not what I meant (less mean like and more Jabba the Hut-ish.)
- See thumbnail above (seriously?)
I will post "the dress" my almost-16yo picked for me (it's like this one, only in black/silver) before I go out on Saturday AND once I shave my legs, of course!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
December 7, 2011
Feeding Your Inner-Grinch

You know what's annoying, besides the thought of people gifting Lexus-es and diamonds the size of my mortgage, I mean, or is that just me?

Oh, and those stupid "don't jiggle it, when you wiggle it" Old Navy commercials, I mean, seriously, isn't that the reason most people are wiggling it, in the first place?

Because, no amount of active wear is going to keep me from jiggling like a friggling vat of jello, most especially, from the knees up.

Condescending asshats.

Which brings me to my original point (I think) because, I really did start out having one.

[glances at wall calendar]

Oh yeah, now I remember. What IS it with people this time of year?

I get it. It's hard to feel all festive around the holidays, when life hands you a bag filled with crap and stuff.

Still. It's no excuse for folks to act like asshats, is it?

Like, walking across the parking lot at the mall yesterday (a death-defying act, here in Jersey, anyway) helping my SIL shop for new work clothes (she's doing fabulously well with her new wellness plan) and nearly getting run over (twice) by asshats who clearly saw us coming and hit the gas, anyway.

Maybe, because I was jiggling, when I should have been wiggling, no doubt, DAMNIT.

Aaaaand, that's another thing. What is wrong with jiggling? What if I like my jiggle? I mean, raising 2 teens and 2 pre-teens (soon to be 3 teens, hold me!) some of us work REAL HARD to look this jiggly.

Unlike, the poor woman I ran into at the grocery store (literally, vertically-challenged people should like carry a flag or something) as she was tearing into a box of protein bars.

"I didn't get a chance to eat, today."

It was nearly 4 o'clock in the afternoon and, well, been there, done that.

"Yeah, I hear ya', at least it's something healthy, right?"

Then, the poor woman insisted how she really "did eat more than a normal human being should," at Thanksgiving (didn't we all?) she also lost her job, right before Thanksgiving (UGH!) but, is thankful to have friends who will pay her to watch their children (sort of) and how, at this rate, she will NEVER get rid of the extra 10 pounds, yada, yada, yada.

Did I mention, she looked to be about 30 sizes smaller than me?

"Well, sounds like you have enough on your plate already."

[eyes go wide]

"I mean, maybe you should give yourself a break."

Honestly, why do we (mostly, women like you and me) put such pressure on ourselves, all the time? Especially, about our weight? Most especially, around the holidays?

"Sounds to me like you could use a real good hug, too."

She then apologized, telling me I had a nice face, for which I thanked her for, REAL HARD (lucky for me, she turned out to be a real good hugger, too) and then we went on our merry-ish way.

Morale of the Story: Don't judge a person by their jiggle (or, lack thereof) just wiggle alongside, even better, hug them REAL HARD instead, or something like that.

You know, thinking on it some more, maybe people aren't such asshats, afterall…just hungry.

[sound of crickets chirping]

Stupid holiday commercials, dumbass Old Navy.

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

December 5, 2011
Eloquence, Thy True Name is Silence

You know what's funny? Not in a, "What do you call a fake noodle?" an impasta (hahahahahaha!) sort of way, either.

The fact that I have a kid graduating high school (still not the funny part and kind of sad, really, but don't get me started, m'kay?) and everyone is all, like, has she picked a college yet?

No matter how many times I get asked. I feel funny answering them.

"Um…well…she's not sure…that is…uh…not right now, maybe later…er…what?"

YES! I am the anti-eloquent. Articulate people fear me.

Most recently, standing in line at Dunkin' Donuts in the supermarket (the peppermint hot chocolate was mocking me and deserved a good tongue-lashing, okay?)

"How are you, Liz?"

GAH!

The thing about having 4 kids, going to 4 separate schools, I pretty much can't go anywhere in town without running into someone who has/had a kid going to school with one of my kids.

[eyes go wide]

This time, however, I actually managed to scare the buh-jeez-us out of her with a single word. And, not a real one at that = I.M. Talented.

"Sorry, perhaps you should consider cutting back…eh?"

Thinking back on it now, I should have played along by telling her I was there for the hot chocolate. But, we're talking me = Queen of the Afterthought.

"How are the kids?"

Here we go.

"Oh, they're fine, thanks!"

Well, that was easy.

"Your oldest is graduating, right?"

Damn.

"Yes, yes she is."

Phew. Too easy.

"Has she picked a college, yet?"

Damn. Also, as if it were THAT easy.

"No, no she hasn't."

C'mon hot chocolate.

"But, my middle girl is going to BU."

[eyes go wide]

"What grade is she in, again?"

[grin]

"She's a sophomore in high school."

She politely nodded her head, I paid for my hot chocolate, we exchanged pleasantries about the upcoming holidays and then each went on our merry way.

Morale of the Story: When in doubt, don't say anything. Bring up one of your OTHER kids, instead…or something like that.

Seeing as my middle girl really does have her mind set on going to Boston University, ever since the 5th grade and, well, it's like I told my oldest.

"There is NO SHAME in working your way through college."

Besides, that way, I get to keep them around for a little while longer…but, shhhhh…don't say anything, okay?!?

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

December 2, 2011
Day 30: I #NaBloPoMo’d This Here Blog Aaaaand, I Liked It (Sort of!)
Today is the LAST DAY of NaBloPoMo and this marks my 30th blog post, this month.

Deep breath, exhale, repeat.

I realize that there is way more news-worthy stuff going on in the world at the moment and, honestly, can think of at least several other note-worthy achievements I’d rather claim, like:
- Inventing a dust repellent (totally safe, unless you are dust, of course!)
- While I’m at it, making lint, split ends, blogging over the age of 40 and wearing pajamas to work totally fashionable and uber-trendy (also, bringing back the word uber!)
- Creating a sarcasm font (balanced by an equally efficient auto politically correcter, of course!)
- Also, self-washing AND self-folding clothes.
You know, stuff like that. Because, seeing as I am entering my 9th year of blogging (i.e. will be moving to my toes, in order to keep track, real soon) I feel it safe to say that life has a way of squashing one’s motivation…period.

Especially, when under the influence of teenagers (just wait, you’ll see!) also, it’s sort of hard to argue with an algorithm.

Which is probably why, around halfway through the month, I was pushing myself at 10:30 p.m. to sit down, relax and just write.

So, yes, my committing to AND actually following through NaBloPoMo is indeed a BIG FRIGGIN’ DEAL!

Aaaaand, not so much for the notoriety or page hits (actually, judging by this month’s blog stats, not at all) you know, that I know, that you know AND even if you don’t, NaBloPoMo’ing does NOT make me a better blogger, than you, or anyone else.

On the other hand (or foot) I hope you do forgive me, for my feeling like less of a dork…for just one day…to be able to say…I DID IT…NaBloPoMo’d the h-e-double-hockey sticks out of this here blog!

Aaaaand, while I’m at it, I hereby proclaim myself as the “Queen of Awesome!”

[ducks to avoid falling sky]

On this here blog, anyway.

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

Aaaand, so this ENDS my NaBloPoMo-ing it, this month (first time NaBloPoMo-er) feel free to check out what I’ve NaBloPoMo-ed (PHEW!) when you have time, of course!

^{Feed me, see more!}
November 30, 2011
Bathroom/Library Redo, Done, For Real (I Think!)

So, remember how I decided to redo the bathroom/library a few days before hosting a houseful on Thanksgiving?

Aaaaand, then I was just sitting there, minding my own business and preparing a mental list of things to forget….GASP!!!!

When I realized that, after taking the poor beat up old pantry (up there) out to the garage….I mean….storage area….there was absolutely nothing to lean on while, you know, thinking.

Then, my husband Garth (NHRN) had a brilliant idea.

"Why don't you just take the door off and put those basket thingies in it?!?"

[blink, blink, blink]

BRILLIANT!!!

So, on Thanksgiving Eve, I repainted it (pistachio) then sponged it (golden rod) for good measure. Now we have a place to lean on AND store our unmentionables and stuff.

Although, someone swiped my brand new magazines and cut 'em all up to make a collage for a last-minute art project [cough-cough-Holly-cough-cough] DAGNABIT!

So, I "borrowed" two baskets from someone's cubby (thanks, Holls!) because, parenting IS all about give and take, you know?

NOW…I feel content in officially calling the bathroom/library redo…done (I think!) and you're welcome.

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

I'm NaBloPoMo-ing it, this month (first time NaBloPoMo-er) feel free to check out what I've NaBloPoMo-ed, thus far (PHEW!) and let me know how I'm doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!

^{Feed me, see more!}

November 29, 2011
#NaBloPoMo Day 28:
Old Country Fiddle

Todays Prompt: describe an heirloom that has been passed down through generations of your family. What is its significance to you personally?

This is my grandfather's fiddle. Although, my father doesn't remember his father ever playing it (then again, my dad escaped Hungary when he was 19) as the family genealogist, he passed it on to me.

Violins play a prominent role in Hungarian folks songs — especially, gypsy music.

One of my favorite childhood memories is going to see Gypsy Joe and his orchestra play at the Hungarian Club and dancing the Csardas (ch-ahhr-dahh-sh) with my grandmother, on New Year's Eve.

Although, the appraiser didn't seem very impressed by the fact the stick is fashioned with real horse hair (or wild hog, I forget) considering all the miles this fiddle has traveled and the stories behind the hands that lived its music, in my eyes, it is a true treasure.

Aaaaand, I like to imagine my grandfather, playing it, just like this and (at about 2 minutes, 30 seconds in) start twirling like it was 1974, all over again, because violins do that to me.

I guess it's in my blood, you know? Hoop-pah!!!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

I'm NaBloPoMo-ing it, this month (first time NaBloPoMo-er) feel free to check out what I've NaBloPoMo-ed, thus far (PHEW!) and let me know how I'm doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!

^{Feed me, see more!}

November 28, 2011
All Decked Out & No Place Like Home

Decking the halls, walls and/or anything that stood still long enough at my mother-in-law's house on Friday. But, wait, there's more!

Hope all decked-out and taking a well-deserved break before dinner guests arrived at our house, last night. But, not quite finished yet.

Because, today at their Mama's and Papa's house, the kids are getting REAL GOOD at trimming trees. Anyone else need any help? Got hot chocolate? A dozen cookies, or twenty?

Home again, all snuggled in my favorite chair and enjoying a hot cup of tea. Let the holidaze begin!

In the meantime, I'll be right ovuh-heh, unable to move until probably sometime mid-December…YO!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

I'm NaBloPoMo-ing it, this month (first time NaBloPoMo-er) feel free to check out what I've NaBloPoMo-ed, thus far (PHEW!) and let me know how I'm doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!

^{Feed me, see more!}

November 27, 2011
Where There Is Smoke, There is Dinner

My husband, Garth (NHRN) worked the last 2 weekends and spent Black Friday putting out one fire after another at the bank.

By the time he got home, well, you know that saying about getting away with poking the bear once? Nope. They lied. I just hope my eyebrows grow back by Christmas.

So, on penalty of dismemberment, I asked the kids to…please, for the love of all things holiday…let their father sleep in, this morning.

The kids insisted I wasn't telling them the truth.

"What's wrong with him? Is he sick? No, really, did you even check if he's still home?"

Because, they know he is the early-riser of their parental units (annoyingly pleasant, too) the fact that mom was up before dad, feeding the pets, making the coffee AND unloading the dishwasher…just…does…not…compute…before 7:00 a.m., even…wth?!?

After nearly 22 years of marriage (I know, we've been together longer than some of you have been alive and unromantically symbolized by copper, btw) I can't remember the last time he slept past 9:00 a.m., either.

Until, today.

"Good afternoon!"

So, of course, I spent the rest of the day reminding him how nice of me it was to allow him the 240 EXTRA MINUTES, to himself, all comfy cozy, while I put out one fire after another (in between dismembering teens and tweens, of course) and, you know, Merry Christmas early!

Besides, we were having company for dinner tonight and, considering EVERYONE is pretty much sick of turkey, by now, we decided to tag-team the food shopping.

Then, we put up our Christmas tree (who knew they would keep quiet long enough for me to keep my promise, DAGNABIT!) so, by the time I finished putting dinner in the oven, I was pretty much running on fumes.

BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP! BLEEP!

The smoke alarm went off while my 12 year-old son was playing Xbox with some of his friends.

"Dude, is your house on fire?!?"

[one beat, two beats]

"Nah, that just means dinner is ready."

It's been a loooooooooong day, my friends.

Tomorrow, we're off to help my parents put up their tree and only then will our holidaze be complete.

Or, as we like to say here in Jersey, "Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-friggin-la!"

In the meantime, if anyone needs me, I'll be upstairs, replacing the smoke alarms and trying to remember why in the hell I had children, again?!?

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

I'm NaBloPoMo-ing it, this month (first time NaBloPoMo-er) feel free to check out what I've NaBloPoMo-ed, thus far (PHEW!) and let me know how I'm doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!

^{Feed me, see more!}

November 26, 2011