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Tag,
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© 2010 This
Full House Blog – All Rights Reserved.
Check out the Official Wordless Wednesday HQ
Tag,
you're it: Wordless Wednesday
© 2010 This
Full House Blog – All Rights Reserved.
This Full House 2004
Found this picture buried deep in our old desktop's files and, well, ignoring the fact that my laptop is STILL broken is not such a bad thing, after all. Buuuuut, now my face hurts, as I'm seriously considering climbing into the h…e…double hockey sticks of a crawl space over our garage and dusting off the crib…too.
Check out the Official Wordless Wednesday HQ
Tag, you're it: Wordless Wednesday
© 2010 This Full House Blog – All Rights Reserved.
Hope is a word that I use often and not just because it happens to be my youngest daughter's name (a.k.a. mommy's little ticket into heaven) but, after years of exhaustive study (i.e. stupid insomnia!) I've come to the conclusion that, for me, the benefits of remaining hopeful far outweigh the risks of considering an alternate ending.
Then, life throws a curve ball and knocks those rose-colored glassed right off of my face and, well, maybe if I had remembered to wear my crash helmet…
"The doctors found something."
…but, this is NOT about me.
"Why did you wait to tell me?"
It's about watching the people I love the most, get smacked in the soft-squishy areas, time and time again, where your body's immediate reaction is to double over and puke…
"What could you have done?"
…and the best I could do is, you know, hold the bucket.
"But, I could have been there."
Then again, I could think of worse things.
"Wow, would you look at that!"
Which is what I was doing (thinking of worse things, I mean) when she (and, I can't tell you exactly who) pointed at the sky and, well, it took my breath away.
"Looks like fingers reaching out from heaven, doesn't it?"
Okay, but I was thinking more like strands of cotton candy.
"Thank you."
It was when she poked me that I realized, you know, she wasn't talking to the sky.
"For what?"
Then again, she might as well have been.
"For just…you know…letting me be…right here…with you guys."
And so, I remain, yours truly and totally filled with hope and perhaps just a dash of anxiety, for good measure.
"Man, would you look at the guns on that guy!!!"
Because, I may (or may not) have used that expression in front of my 9 year-old, before (especially, when watching this chef create the most impossible dinners) and, well, what DOES he have to do with all this?
"Wow, yeah, you want me to ask him if he's married?"
Absolutely nothing…and everything…because, hope is also contagious.
"Yep, you ARE your mother's daughter."
Aaaand, I'm totally keeping her…I mean, it…d'oh…because, I also believe that Hope has this way of making us ALL smile, inspite of ourselves.
"But, you are ALREADY married…mommy…der!"
Aaaand, I'm sticking to it…to her…d'oh…you know what I mean, right?
Happy Love Thursday, everyone!
© 2010 This Full House Blog
I was 12 years-old when we celebrated the Bi-centennial and, sadly, the only thing I remember from the day is getting these really cool pair of socks.
Oh…look…my first crushes…mostly him (on the left) it's like 1976, all over again!
No, these are NOT the socks (can't find a picture, anywhere) nor, do they have anything to do with Independence Day (so what?) but, I thought I'd share another favorite memory from my preteen years (50 extra points for the 1st person who can ADMIT to being able to name that t.v. show!) as, my parents worked (a lot) soooo, my twin brother and I stayed home and watched A LOT of television.
By ourselves.
Today, my kids also enjoy watching television (perhaps a little more than they should, I know) but, summer vacation is waaaay different (sounding really old, now, I know) from when I was their age.
"Why don't you guys go outside?"
Tell me it's like this at your house, too.
"But, it's toooooo hot!"
Because, I swear, my brother and I would have sold each other, to have a swimming pool…in our backyard.
"Will you come with us?"
Then again, there isn't much that my kids do…by themselves.
Or, without my parents.
"You guys coming over on Sunday, right?"
Their dependency on seeing the kids…me…my brother…every week…can be very trying, at times…especially, on Sundays.
"Absolutely, we will be there!"
Still, seeing my brother, watching him play with my kids, listening to his goofy laugh and then his wife yell at him for acting like, well, a 12 year-old [snicker] and getting the chance to spend the whole day…together…is like a breath of fresh air…really.
And then my father WILL start to cry.
"OMG…what's the matter?"
My mother will shake her head, bite her lower lip and then eventually tears would come to her eyes, too.
"No, really…Apu…what's bothering you?"
He will wipe his eyes and slowly look around the room.
"Nothing…seeing you and your brother together…I'm just happy…and that's all I ever wanted!"
My brother will suggest that we watch Independence Day, for the buh-zillion-th time (my son will be the 1st to agree) and then my mom will, once again, bring up the fact that Hope looks SO MUCH like I did, at her age.
And it will take a while for their words to sink in; eventually, the goosebumps will
hit, along with the realization that maybe my parents are NOT as dependent,
as I thought (go figure!) but, in their eyes, merely exercising their right as grandparents.
Or, getting another chance to celebrate deep pride in their adopted country…through their children's eyes…on Independence Day.
"I got an "A" on my report on Hungary…Papa!"
Aaaand, I can't think of any place I'd rather be, or anything else I'd rather be doing, at the moment.
Other than remembering the fun we had, the last time we visited with my brother and he gave the S.W.A.T. helmet to Hopey, on Memorial Day!
"You know, your mother spent a summer in Hungary AND she needed A LOT of band aids…too!"
Aaaaand, it's like 1976, all over again…sort of.
© 2010 This Full House Blog
Almost 3 years ago, I watched my oldest daughter leave the house, for the first time, as a freshman in high school and I thought to myself…PHEW!…1 down and 3 to go!
This year, Heather (she's my middle girl) celebrated her last year of middle school by attending the 8th grade formal.
Glen's 5th Grade Graduation
Glen (my only son) graduated 5th grade and is officially now the 3rd Thompson to hit the middle school…in 5 years.
Aaaand, my youngest daughter just celebrated her last year, before hitting double-digits and was SO excited during her 4th grade orientation, knowing that her sisters and brother attended the same school, and happily admitted to her future new principal, "Nope, I'm the LAST one!"
What? I forgot to get the candle and 8 + 1 = 9, right?
The cake was supposed to say, "Happy Everything!" but, I didn't bust my husband's chops about it (see caption) honestly, I was just too busy stumbling around…feeling all dazed and confused…okay, it's been like that for the last 7 years…but, I am STILL blogging…there, I said it, can I go home now?
As you can see, it is written all over my face (the years, since I started blogging, I mean) still, I can't help but feel that with all these changes (the aforementioned happening ALL in the same week, btw) I have reached a milestone, of my own.
No, it hasn't gotten any easier (nuh-uh, sorry!) but, at least now my kids are now old enough to realize that…nope…life isn't always perfect (I know, act surprised anyway!) however, as their mother (yes, they are ALL mine) I have also learned to embrace those imperfections (mostly) and I truly believe we are ALL stronger for it.
At least, they seem to be more than okay with it.
[hands behind back, crosses fingers and grins]
Happy Everything!!!
© 2010 This Full House Blog
If you have a kid graduating/promoting/stressing over her hair for the 8th grade formal/and/or, celebrating a birthday, this week…then, you know I meant the Pepto Bismol, right?
Wake me up when Monday comes!!!
© 2010 This Full House Blog
Hopey's puppet of a mean principal that's supposed to be a clown (says, she was told to think out of the box) displayed at the coffee counter (or, caw-fee, if you're from Jersey)
Last week (I think) our school district held a book fair at our local Barnes & Noble and my two youngest children were invited to read their persuasive writing pieces.
"So, what's yours about?"
My almost-9-year-old daughter wrote about being tall enough (FINALLY!) to experience her first ride on "a real roller coaster" during a visit to Casino Pier in Seaside Heights, NJ last June.
"Aaaand, what did you pick?"
My 11 year-old son's piece was a little closer to home.
"Mine is about convincing you and dad to give me a door!"
We have doors. Lots of them. There's the front door, the back door, the bathroom door.
[takes breath]
There's the door that leads to the girls' bedroom and the h…e…double…hockey…sticks that is [gulp] their bathroom!
"Because, you know, everyone ELSE has a door."
My son's bedroom is upstairs, like mine, but his is at the top of the stairs and, well, long story short (you're welcome!) no, he doesn't have door.
[gulp]
"You didn't write anything that would, you know, embarrass mom, or dad, right?"
Because, heaven knows, I sure as heck wouldn't (ahem!) and, well, everyone knows that karma is a witch, right?
Riiiiiiight.
Even longer story, shorter (seriously, you should be thanking me!) oh yes, there was lots of lamenting about stuff, like:
(a) Being the only boy, stinks.
(b) Having a bedroom without a door, stinks even more.
(c) Having the litter box…in his room…you guessed it…stinks, BIGTIME.
(d) His sisters are barging in all the time.
(e) Refer to (a) above.
In hindsight, I should be glad that their readings were held in the cafe.
"What did he just say?"
Aaaand, that the blender was really, really loud.
"He can't keep the girls out of his bedroom!"
[eyes go wide]
"No, I don't think he means regular girls…dear."
[one beat, two beats]
"Oh, well, no wonder his parents won't give him a door!"
Not for nothing, but you gotta love senior citizens (they were sisters, I think) but, I don't believe a hearing aide would have made a difference, either way and I shudder to think what the sweet old lady meant by "un-regular" girls.
"What is your boy's name?"
[bites lower lip]
"Harry…Harry Potter."
Aaaand, he's moving…to the closet…under the stairs…next week!
"Oh, that's nice dear."
I mean, it DOES have a door (sort of!)
© 2010 This Full House Blog
Secretly, Secret Vlog from Liz Thompson on Vimeo.
This is what happens, when you go to work and one of your kids "accidentally" finds your Flip camera and attempts to video tape one of her sisters "not on purpose," of course!
[snort]
Such drama, eh? Love that she mentions my blog:
"Do you think I survived, or do you think I died (i.e. she got busted and her sister killed her) leave your answer on ThisFullHouse.com!"
Can't wait to see what happens during their summer break, if it EVER gets here, I mean!
© 2010 This Full House Blog
Me and my girls
I don't have a sister, so I can't say that I know what they are going through, but raising daughters is, well, sort of like what I would imagine boot camp would be like…for parents.
After a while, stuff tends to get a little sweaty, a bit sticky and, sometimes, very, very, painful, but in a good way (although, sweating, especially in certain places where a person ought not, you know, stick together, is NEVER a good thing) and then it's weigh in time.
"What do you mean I gained 320 pounds!?!?"
The estrogen levels, in our house, alone are enough to scare my husband, Garth [not his real name] into thinking, you know, maybe he and the boy should move into the shed.
Because, there's just NO MORE ROOM in our garage — or, something.
"I HATE MY *insert body part here, or family member here*!!!"
No, they don't always like each other (or, me) and that's okay (sort of) but, every now and again, I need to remind myself, you know, it isn't easy being a girl.
Unless, it is a really hot day.
Aaaand, there is a sprinkler nearby.
Throw in a couple of teenagers.
Well, it's pretty easy to see that there is this tiniest spark of a woman inside, just waiting to burst out.
Aaaaand, for a brief moment, I'm allowed into their world and then, suddenly, the girls are okay with the fact that, you know, I'm their mom.
Me, too!
Like my youngest daughter's favorite pair of sneakers, I really do hope it lasts.
Them liking me, I mean, 'cawse, one day, they're going to find someone ELSE to love (maybe, even more than me) and that's okay (sort of) but, for now, they are MY peeps and I am totally keeping them!
© 2010 This Full House