Growing up in my parent’s house we spoke Hunglish and, even now, my kids have very little trouble following along, as their maternal side of the family tree continues to hold entire conversations, in half Hungarian and half English.
The downside being: my inability to complete a single reprimand, without referring to some Hungarian proverb my parents or grandmother would bust out in similar parenting situations.
Problem being: my kids have no clue what the heck I am hollering about, in two languages, unless I bust out with a slew of curse words and, well, then they know to duck and cover.
Just the sound of “a fene egye meg“, when spat in between “hulye”, “pofatlan” and “balfasz” is enough to guarantee, at the very least, an awkward silence from the “stupid” “faceless” “sucker”, “damn it” (true translation, makes no sense, I know) especially, if you happen to be on the receiving end.
Still, Hungarian expressions like “lofasz a budosh kurva anyad seggebe” are quite offensive and much worse than its English counterpart: which I cannot even bring myself to type, this early in the day.
Suffice it to say it is quite stinky and most likely very, very painful.
[shiver]
So, what’s my point…and EWWWW!!!…right?!?
I received a call from the nurse at the high school that my middle girl attends: she got in between a boyfriend and a girlfriend being all…[giggle-giggle]…oh, stop it…[giggle-giggle]…and their supposed playful pushing and shoving, which then suddenly turned all…no, YOU stop it…BAM!!!
The girlfriend fell into her locker door (which was wide open) and slammed it into my daughter’s head.
I know, ouch!
Unfortunately, it didn’t end there. Heather then slammed the OTHER side of her head into her own locker and, well, OUCH!!!
Long story, short: she went to the nurse’s office, politely asked for an ibuprofen and then proceeded to vomit.
A LOT!!!
Aaaaand she was still vomiting, by the time I got to her school, almost an hour later, earning us an impromptu ride in an ambulance.
It’s how we roll.
Heather is the only one out of all four of my kids…[knocking on wood until knuckles bleed]…who has ever gone through surgery…twice…followed by two more emergency room visits for complications from a very invasive procedure on her backside.
In teaching hospitals that happened to be staffed with medical students, each and every time.
Seriously, even I was all like, OH MAN, 20-something year-olds are staring at my 13 year-old’s butt, really?!?
She is also my migraine kid.
“There seems to be no cranial damage.”
Only, this time, the pediatric physician on staff had a wicked accent and I heard it as her saying: no anal damage, because I am 12.
“We’re going to treat her for migraine with i.v. fluids and meds.”
Having been there way too many times, my ownself, I got absolutely nothing whimsical to say about migraines or i.v. fluids.
[shiver]
Aaaaaand, that’s when my daughter proceeded to lose her cranium.
“Why DOES IT ALWAYS have to be me DAMMIT?!?”
Not for nothing, but the kid DOES seem to be a magnet for this sort of stuff and I am seriously considering investing in lots of bubble wrap, over the summer.
“Well, you know what your great-grandmother always said?”
Heather closed her eyes and pretended to be sleeping; didn’t stop THIS dork any, though.
“The dog will always choose to pee where there is pee, already.”
[blink-blink-blink]
“Like, you know, when we walk Doofus-Dawg?”
She finally opened her eyes, probably way past bored at this point, wondering where in the heck this was going.
“How he sniffs and then pees on every pole, mailbox or whatever.”
[blink-blink-blink]
“Soooooo, you’re saying I’m a pole, that makes total sense…to no one.”
Ah, a little nugget of sarcasm, it was at this point when I knew that she was beginning to feel a little better and that we (mostly me!) would be okay…SHEW!!!
“Nooooo, I’m saying we’re both more like pee magnets.”
Aaaaaand, then I heard someone else quietly clear their throat.
“The bathroom is just around the corner, if you need, Mrs. Thompson.”
Moral of the Story: Better to be laughed at than puked on, I always say.
[sound of crickets, chirping]
“Hulye” head injuries, “seggfej” proverbs.
© 2003 – 2013 This Full House
With a fan page on Facebook and everything!
CONFESSION: I have this thing about sleeping, in the dark. I know, considering humans are not generally classified as being nocturnal, sucks for me, right?!?
It’s like my internal clock crossed wires (or something) because, at the end of the day, no matter how physically tired or mentally exhausted I may be (and let me tell you, raising 3 teens and my youngest a teen by default, I totally be!) as soon as the light goes out…[sound of a pin, dropping]…my senses automatically kick into…HOLY CRAP!!!!…WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?!?
No, my husband is NOT very happy about it.
In fact, we adopted our first cat (a few months after we were married) because Garth (not his real name) was leaving on a business trip for several days; thinking that a pet would, at the very least, keep me company and, well, he was a very affectionate cat.
Still, old ghosts can be REAL hard to kill (right?!?) and we were both a little surprised to find that it worked: along with the butcher knife I accidentally left under my husband’s pillow, which he discovered on his first night back.
Thankfully, with his hand (not his head) and by its handle. True story.
[sound of crickets, chirping]
Aaaaaanywaaaaay, I’ve been traveling out-of-state and staying in a two-bedroom condo, with two separate floors, for a few nights: which, in my mind, is tantamount to broadcasting fresh meat to every zombie within earshot.
The first night, I slept in the living room: without bothering to open the sleeper sofa, because jumping off and out is…you know…THAT much quicker.
The second night, I opened the sleeper sofa: because I actually didn’t really realize it opened, until now…don’t judge.
By the third night, I was absolutely exhausted: because sleeper sofas can be super-uncomfortable (especially, when you are up all night, with a bad back and stacking cushions high enough to be able to watch The Golden Girls marathon on television) and keeping an ear out for zombies is hard work…YO!!!
Last night: lucky for me, I also happened to be traveling with 3 very good friends who did NOT think twice about babysitting my sorry ass AND calling it a pajama party…instead.
With friends like this, who needs a butcher knife?!?
©2003 – 2013 This Full House
P.S. Did YOU know that Blanche got married?!?
P.P.S. Never mind.
My husband, Garth (not his real name) is really good at not panicking, especially dealing with an emergency situation; when, considering I took to Twitter when my middle girl’s butt exploded, clearly I am not.
On the other hand, I have made it my life’s mission to NOT sweat the small stuff AND have consistently failed said mission (it was more like a guideline, anyway, really) for the last…ummmm, let’s see…how old IS my oldest kid, again?!?
Aaaaanyway, point being (and I really do have one, promise) Garth (not his real name) and I have taken to handling this whole…parenting teens is hard, YO!…by tag-teaming each other, sort of like professional wrestlers would…during a no holds barred steel cage death match.
Blindfolded, with one arm tied behind our backs and buck-naked.
Like, the other night, when my youngest asked for help with an essay and then kept insisting on either disagreeing with or fighting me on ANY and ALL help that was being offered.
My husband walked in through the front door just in time to hear me holler, “Then, why BOTHER asking ME for help?!?”
[ding-ding-ding]
He rolled up his sleeves, loosened his tie and pushed me…every so gently, yet firmly…you know…out of the way.
“I got this!”
Or, whenever Contradictory Boy shows up (a.k.a. our 14 year-old son’s alter ego) and clashes with the gravitational forces on my husband’s forehead, causing a massive facial implosion and one gosh-darned scary-looking unibrow.
[ding-ding-ding]
“Sooooooo, how DOES one go about creating a character in World of Warcraft?”
We ARE the King and Queen of Distraction (a.k.a. SziSzi of Pandaria) and, well, whatever works, right?!?
Long story, short (you’re welcome!) I’ve been driving our oldest to and from work (she’s saving for a car, we live in Jersey, enough said!) sometimes even on the days when I don’t need to use the car (see last parenthesis) unless it snows.
“You don’t want to transfer your fear onto her, do you?”
Now that we have a kid driving (and ANOTHER one driving, this spring) the panic that sets in goes way beyond the fact that I don’t do snow and, well, Eastern-European-types aren’t very good at keeping a straight face; we pretty much suck at poker, too.
“Noooooo, but don’t expect me to stop worrying…DAMMIT…and ANOTHER thing…”
[ding-ding-ding]
Aaaaand, that’s when he shoved a slushy snowball down the front of my pajamas.
“WTF, dude?!?!?!?!?”
Although, it worked long enough for me to stand there and forget just what in the heck we were talking about, I am STILL a little confused by his tactics.
© 2003 – 2013 This Full House
Having lived in Jersey all of my life, I feel it safe to say that we East Coasters are used to freakish weather, experiencing all 4 seasons, sometimes ALL in the same day.
This week, however, I am pretty convinced that surviving the Zombie Apocalypse has got nuh’thin’ on the monster that is Hurricane Sandy.
Thanks to the Weather Channel, I now have apocalyptic catch phrases running around in my head like: #Frankenstorm, #Blizzicane and my personal favorite: #Snor’eastercane.
Sounds like a friggin’ hybrid holiday, yes?
So, in an effort to get Jim Cantore out of my head (dude, it’s way too crowded up there already) I present to you, Twas The Night Before #Snor’eastercane:
(more…)
Sooooo, I’m in my dear, sweet friend Melisa‘s fancy-schmancy car headed to #BBSummit12, my husband calls me on my cell phone and after 4 kids AND 20+ years of marriage — not to mention, having spent a good portion of my oldest daughter’s college tuition on repair bills in just the last month or so — I sort of figured it wasn’t good news.
“Are you sitting down?”
Also, Garth (not his real name) knows I’m a fainter.
“I’m here in the hospital with Hope.”
My oldest daughter took Hope and picked up Grandma to visit Grandpa in the hospital (he was admitted the night before and recovering from pneumonia) and at first I was all, like, okaaaaaaay, aaaaaaand??????
“Wait, okay, so why are YOU there again?”
Long story, short (you’re welcome!) here’s a quick run down of the events prior to my getting on the plane:
Now maybe you know why I was seriously second-guessing getting on a plane, the next day, or ever, in the first place, right?
Still. My son was responding to the antibiotics and my FIL was recovering nicely (thank goodness!) so, I got packing and was super-relieved when my plane finally landed…you know…on the ground…the right way…with me STILL on it…and everything.
“Hope took one look at Grandpa and passed out.”
Sooooo, my poor husband, Garth (not his real name) spent the next 7 hours with Hope, texting me updates and generally keeping me from going CRAZY with worry or convincing me NOT to take part in any activities involving the use of sharp objects and/or heavy machinery.
“Remember when you passed out that one time taking Mama to the Hospital?”
True story. I rushed my mother to the hospital during a gallbladder attack, passed out in the bathroom, tore my head open and was admitted…at the same time she was…her for an emergency gallbladder surgery and me for a concussion.
“Good thing we were BOTH in the hospital when it happened, right Mommy?!?”
Yep…she’s my kid, a’ight…and I’m seriously considering taping EVERYONE ELSE up in bubble wrap, while I’m at BlogHer, next month!
Then maybe investing in a couple of sage sticks, cleansing the house with bleach (straight-up!) and perhaps even hiring an exorcist or something. You know any?
© 2003 – 2012 This Full House
Never being one to tempt fate…[pausing to knock on wood]…I am absolutely sure of very few things in life, like:
Ohhhhhh…and that the water main in front of our house will break AND at the most inopportune time too!
Then something will happen to exacerbate the situation: like one of the three police officers, unlucky enough to pull duty on a Sunday afternoon at the beginning of a holiday week, drives through the river that is running through our street, which inadvertently buckles the pavement and creates a mini-geyser.
Finally, we will begin to see the humor (most probably, on Facebook):
I will blog, or share it on Instagram and misspell at least one word (stupid man-fingers!):
But, the one thing I am REAL positive about (mostly) is that there will be plenty of family and friends who are more than willing to help me remember it as…you know…not ALL that bad…really.
Not when there are folks out there STILL without power (did you hear, Momo’s gone all Little House on the Prairie?) because, as one Twitter friend was kind enough to remind me: water is less important than power.
Having lost BOTH and turning Amish for 5 days last summer, I totally agree.
Aaaaaand then, if I’m REAL lucky, I will find at least one online friend (maybe even two) who is STILL awake and have the best gosh-darned virtual slumberless party ever.
Long live the Three Klutzketeers!!!
[sound of crickets, chirping]
If anybody needs me, I’ll be right here…propped up against the kitchen table, waiting for the service people to show up to fix my dishwasher AND washer (both of which are FUBAR!) so, I can…you know…put ALL this water to good use…YO!
© 2003 – 2012 This Full House
If you were to ask me what pandemonium meant, B.C. (before children) I would have suggested that it sort of sounds like a digestive aid for pandas.
Panda. Ammonium. Get it?
[sound of crickets, chirping]
Beeeeeeeecawse, you see, although I had a weird sense of humor (okay, have) I still would NOT have fully understood what pandemonium meant (literally) and probably even spelled it incorrectly as pandamonium, anyway.
Then I had kids, someone invented spell check (PHEW!) and, well, I can safely say that…YES!…we NOW live in a constant state of:
Aaaaand, I am NOT even exaggerating. Not one bit.
For example, last February: our new-ish dishwasher broke. I called for service and then had to cancel the day they were scheduled to come and fix the darned thing, because I ended up in the hospital with a kidney stone.
[A whole lot of other stuff happened, since then, but I'm going to just go ahead and fast-forward right by March, April and May, in and effort to save you some time, or perhaps take a quick pause for a bathroom break, or something, you're welcome.]
Fast-forward to this week: our new-is washer broke (oh, and yeah, dishwasher is STILL broken, see note regarding March, April and May) soooo, I made an appointment to have both of them looked at, because I am REAL good at multi-tasking like that.
An hour before the service call: this guy comes knocking and tells me, "Water main down the street is broken, we'll have to turn your water off for 5 hours!" and I burst into tears. Luckily, he was a very understanding fellow (had a wife at home AND knew something about piss-poor plumbing) and even offered me a tissue or twenty.
Half an hour before the service call: called to cancel service (AGAIN!) and repair people were all "We have NEVER had to cancel service due to a water main break," and I was all, "Of course you haven't," and "This sort of sh*t only happens to us!"
The next day (Wednesday, of this week, to help you keep up): service guy calls me, while parked in my driveway (sort of like my husband does, so I was okay with it) to ask if our water is on.
During the service call: Doctor's office calls to tell me that the results of my youngest daughter's radiology report from two weeks ago confirms — Hope has pneumonia. Aaaaand, the service guy is all like, "Don't cry!" He didn't have any tissues and I was all, like "It's okay, I still had some from the other guy."
Flash-back, two weeks ago: I was scheduled to work the last day of school in Hope's 5th grade class, except she got sick. Good thing my husband was home from work (took day off for oldest daughter's h.s. graduation, later that afternoon) soooo, he took Hope down to the emergency walk in place. They took an x-ray, said she sounded fine and probably had an upper-respiratory infection and sent them home with antibiotics.
[Note to Self: emergency walk in place does NOT read x-rays taken at emergency walk in place, okay, good to know.]
Yesterday: I called our pediatrician, apologized for cheating on her and took Hope in for an emergency follow-up appointment.
Today: I am happy to report that Hope is fine (she's well onto the road to a full recovery, thank goodness!) and that the parts for both the dishwasher AND washing machine should be here by this weekend.
A few minutes ago: the phone rings, I get a text message AND an emergency email ALL at the same time saying,"Water company has experienced a significant pipe failure…"
I don't know what the rest of it said. I sort of stopped listening after pipe failure.
Morale of the Story: I wasn't lying when I said this sh*t happens to us ALL the time!
Ummmmm….can I use your bathroom?!?
EDITED TO ADD (6/30): Believe it or not, right after I blogged this, Monmouth County (that's us!) issued a state of emergency. A temporary bridge (courtesy of Hurricane Irene) collapsed, damaging some pipes and contaminating our water supply = boil our water until next week, maybe. Seriously, karma is PISSED!
© 2003 – 2012 This Full House
We have lots of stuff scheduled on the calendar for this month (what, you too?!?) however, my being stranded at the airport in San Diego on Friday night was NOT one of them.
Truth be told, it’s not a really bad place to be stranded, really. Also, Jamba Juice? Strawberry Whirl? Yeah, I get it now.
Aaaaand, I was able to get on a direct flight to Jersey (thank you, United!!!) a red eye that would get me home in time to catch Hopey’s concert.
I had a really nice driver waiting for me (thank you, LeAndria!) who insisted that these sort of things happen all the time.
The baggage claim handler, however, was not as understanding.
“Wait, I…just…don’t…get it…why is your bag in Denver?!?”
EXACTLY!!!
“Well, didn’t they give you a baggage claim?”
20 minutes later (I kid you NOT!) I’m STILL trying to make Ms. Crotchety Airline Employee understand why I don’t have my baggage claim ticket (obviously, I picked an awful time to lose the stickin’ thing!) and was trying not to CRINGE each time she scraped a talon on her keyboard.
[tap-tap-SCRAPE-tappity-tap-tap-SCRAPE]
“I just don’t understand, wait a minute, where are you from?”
[heavy sigh]
“HERE, I’m from here.”
[tap-tap-SCRAPE-tappity-tap-tap-SCRAPE]
“You know, bee-cawse you look aww-fully fuh-mill-yuh.”
I took a deep breath, rubbed my eyes, glanced back to see if my driver ditched me (still there, bless his heart) because, if there’s one thing I’ve learned flying as often as I have in the last few years, you just gotta let people like Crotchety Airline Employee tawk.
“You know, there’s a reason why they give people baggage claim tickets.”
[heavy sigh]
“Really? I just want to get home to my 10 year-old.”
[eyes go wide]
“Awwww, is she sick?”
[one beat, two beats]
“Uh…YES, yes she is.”
[tap-tap-SCRAPE-tappity-tap-tap-SCRAPE]
“Found it!”
What?!? Okay, so my kid wasn’t really sick. However, in review of this week:
Desperate times, desperate measures and all.
“Oh, look, the friggin’ computer just went down?”
[rubbing eyes, again]
“That’s okay, maybe one of my other kids can take care of her.”
[eyes go wide]
“How many kids DO you have?”
[yawn]
“Seven.”
[tap-tap-SCRAPE-tappity-tap-tap-SCRAPE]
“Ohhhhhhh-kaaaaaay, here’s your new claim ticket.”
[yawn]
“You poor thing!”
What?!? I made it home AND had time for a quick nap. The concert was AWESOME and, well, Hope seemed very happy to see me there!
[sound of crickets, chirping]
Fiiiiiiiiine, they probably weren’t Crotchety Airline Employee’s real nails…either…AND my bag was delivered yesterday, enough said.
© 2003 – 2012 This Full House
I hate the dentist. What?!? You, too!!! Seriously, the word Novocaine alone (for me, a dozen pokes, per tooth, minimum) or the thought of anything even remotely associated with drilling a hole, anywhere, is enough to bring a shiver down my spine!!!
BBBBBRRRRRZZZZZ!!!
[shiver]
My middle girl (she's 15) however, couldn't care less, seeing as she's had:
So, yeah, Heather's had more blood tests, shots and parts of her body violated by doctors, than me, my husband AND my other kids, combined.
Did I mention, said doctors happened to be training medical students, at the time, like, in "UGH, really Mom, I mean, I don't even know what MY butt looks like!?!?"
Although, her father and I like to kid her about being spared less beatings, than her siblings, considering she DOES have the MOST expensive backside (heh!)
Of course, I kid (sort of) and no, she STILL doesn't find that last sentence, humorous, at all, either, trust me.
Aaaaanyway, so, I took my youngest kids to the dentist office (FINALLY!) since my oldest kids visit their ortho practice AND because, you know, we LOVE sending OTHER people on vacation.
[grin]
They were both a little nervous (me, too!) but, Hope went first (of course!) and then the dentist got down to the nitty-gritty.
"Blah, blah, blah, slight decay in number blah and blah, also in numbers blah and blah."
Okay, not for nothing, but I just thought of ANOTHER word that makes me shiver.
Decay.
[shiver]
Poor thing sat there, EYES WIDE, just like that and, honestly, the last dentist just sort of did whatever, made a cool balloon-ey sort of animal, out of a latex glove, gave her a pencil and sent us on our way.
"We'll have to fix those, right away!"
This one threw his gloves away. Then he left. I'm not sure I like this dentist.
So, I whispered to the dental hygenist, just in case.
"Does decay mean the same thing as cavaties?"
[eyes go REAL wide]
"I HAVE CAVATIES?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?"
PHEW!!! Hope's hearing, however, seems just fine. Still, none of my other kids have ever had cavaties (Glen's checkup went fine) so, there's that.
"Yes, but they're just teeny-tiny ones."
I do, however, like the dental hygienist.
"It's ALL your fault, Mom!"
Backstory: Hope went to her first sleepover, called to tell me I packed the wrong toothbrush and I told her to use it anyway, seeing as she is the youngest and, you know, I'm tired.
[sound of crickets]
Yeah, the dental hygienist gave me that same exact look, I bet you dollars to donuts, that you're giving me, right now.
"Baby, it will be alright, trust me."
Aaaaand, how do I know? Well:
[shiver]
Enough said.
One of the many perks of raising older kids, besides the fact my husband and I have seen each of ours reach double digits and are STILL amazed at our even being able to, you know, count that high.
Okay, mostly me.
Aaaaanyway, we've tried to raise them to be independent, or at the very least, able to pretty much take care of themselves (get dressed, feed themselves, remember to brush their teeth, take their showers before bed and use soap, the last three being mostly for my son) if need be, and work as a team, if necessary.
This week, the need be necessary.
I have been in and out of the house, helping out a dear friend of mine, all week, in fact, I'm not home, right now.
I was, for a few minutes, long enough to pack an overnight bag, kiss Garth (NHRN) when he got home from work (on the lips, REAL HARD!) and, well, then I left.
On the one hand, it's nice to be able to focus my attention (used in the singular, on purpose) wherever it is needed the most, at any given moment.
On the other hand, ummmm, what was I saying, again?
Aaaaanyway, I bought my laptop along, thinking this would be the perfect time to catch up on reading some of your blogs and, in turn, allow you guys to, you know, help keep me amused (thankyouverymuch!)
So, once my friend settled in for the night, I fired it up.
Grrrr… even though we recently invested in a new desktop, my kids STILL insist on accidentally borrowing my laptop on purpose.
Seriously, sometimes being away from home, alone, is good.
Until, I read the note pinned to a new document: Hope's Madlib, in case you get bored, I hope you like it.
PATIENT: Thank you so very much for seeing me, Doctor Thompson, on such pretty notice.
DENTIST: What is your problem, young Bruno?
PATIENT: I have a pain in my upper big bow, which is giving me a severe belly ache.
DENTIST: Let me take a look. Open your heart wide. Good. Now I'm going to tap your Gabi with my dog.
PATIENT: Shouldn’t you give a cat killer?
DENTIST: Its not necessary yet. Yeah! I think I see Walmart in your upper neck.
PATIENT: Are you going to pull my earring out?
DENTIST: No I'm going to sneeze your tooth and put in a temporary globe.
Patient: When do I come back for the ugly filling?
DENTIST: A day after I cash in your tennis ball.
On the one hand, it's a simple little Madlib and, well, big deal, right?
On the other hand, the fact that it was supposedly performed by two turtles, yeah, doesn't change things much, unless, you know, they're naked (Gawd, I love that kid!)
Thankmeverymuch.
© 2003 – 2011 This Full House