This Full House Archive

Category: It’s not the years, HONEY – it’s the mileage!

  • Failing On MY OWN Terms, DAMMIT!

    Warning: I’m about to dump a bunch of raw words into your feeds, but I really need to throw my intentions out into the ether, you know, to make sure that shit sticks.

    Leaving

    Okay, now that the straights are gone, I can open up and speak a couple of truths, and if you're still here, thank you!

    I walked away from my “dream job” a year ago: A position that allowed me to financially support our household, while GarthNHRN and I continued to help care for our handicapped parents.

    I turned my back on people (team members/friends) who trusted me to do my job well: I still feel real shitty, even after calling my team (in tears) to let them know I was resigning that evening, each of them reassuring me that they "get it" and proving to be perfect examples of what it means to be good humans, ending the call with words of encouragement, because there is nothing worse than losing control of your own failure.

    I spent most of yesterday re-working my resume (AGAIN!): To make it all clean and shiny and help me stand out among the hundreds of others submitting theirs for positions I'm applying to, as well.

    The number of emails in my "rejections" folder is growing: Currently, I've received 13 (that's 1 rejection per month since leaving my job) not counting the number of submissions and follow-up emails that still remain unanswered.

    On the one hand, I get it: Learning how to fail is THE HARDEST life lesson, isn't it? 

    On the other hand, I still feel real shitty: There's a thin veil between moving passed an unsuccessful situation and allowing failure to define us.

    WHICH IS WHY WHAT I'M ABOUT TO PUT OUT INTO THE ETHER IS LITERALLY SCARING THE EVER LIVING WORDS OUT OF ME!

    Oldest girl (getting home from work, walking into my office, and finding me hunched over a keyboard): What'cha doing?

    Me: Updating my resume, AGAIN!

    Her: You should be writing your book.

    Me: Everyone (and their Mother) is writing a book.

    Her: Yeah, but they're not writing YOUR book. 

    Me: Who would read it?

    Her: Me, my friends love your writing, a lot of people think your words are inspirational, and you have a story to tell, right Heather?

    Middle girl (passing through to use the bathroom): What?

    Oldest girl: Mom's book.

    Middle girl: Oh, yeah, JUST WRITE IT, ALREADY!

    So, I'm filing this post under "Who's Parenting Who" and setting a daily reminder to "JUST WRITE IT, ALREADY," because the fear of failure is pretty much like succumbing to defeat and I am NOT going to let THAT BITCH define me — if I fail, IT WILL BE ON MY OWN TERMS, DAMMIT!

    [rolls up sleeves, blows bangs out of eyes]

    Moral of the Story: Intention-throwing is hard, man. 

    Don't waste your time on shit that doesn't stick, or something like that, yo!

  • How To Live A Good Story, Just Write

    Evie.10.8.19Since you've been gone, Evelyn Grace Thompson has happened, and she's got her Nagy Papa's eyes, too.

    I sat down and logged into my blog, for the first time in a very long while, and found a post sitting in draft mode for more than 2 years: A funny parody of Children's Songs I was attempting to adapt for the Sandwich Generation: Think "The Wheels on the Bus" as "The Wheels on the Rollater," going round, and round.

    Which I finally deleted (frankly, there's nothing funny about getting old) and then I found myself deleting more than typing—because now, everything I attempt to write sounds really stupid…or a rambling bunch of dumb…which is also stupid…and JEEZUS, I MISS MY DAD!

    It's been exactly 743 days since I watched my Father take his last breath, while holding his hand and reassuring him that he lived life well, as his last words to me were, “I wrote a real good story, yes?”

    You know how people say coping with loss and grief gets easier with time?

    Yeah, NO, it doesn't. Life goes on, yes. Without my Dad.

    In fact, SO MUCH of life has gone on since his passing:

    • We’ve helped my Mom through open heart surgery
    • Stood by our Son as he recited his marriage vows
    • I accepted a position at “my dream job” that allowed me to visit Paris for the first time
    • Left that same job to help take care of my Mom
    • Celebrated our youngest graduating from high school
    • Grieved over the sudden loss of my Father-In-Law
    • Welcomed our first Grandbaby to the clan

    Each and every moment I could have and would have blogged about, but did not—because, honestly, it's ALWAYS felt TOO SOON, without my Dad.

    And then I realized something (because, I'm also quick like that): Life continues to move at a fast pace, but there isn’t a minute that goes by that I don't feel the ache of something missing…or think to myself…DAMN, but Apu would’ve LOVED this moment…because, as much as I’d like to believe that time heals a broken heart, no one LOVED and LIVED LIFE as HARD as my Dad.

    HOWEVER, here's the thing: The thing is, my Father's story is far from over, it continues with us.

    Soooo, in an effort to try and follow through on my promise to my him, I'm going to start blogging life (again) and just write—no matter how dumb or stupid I may think it sounds—I mean, MANY of you guys already know HOW MUCH that man LOVED TO LIVE IN UPPERCASE!

    Okay? Okay. Pull up a cloud, Apu.

    Here we go, LIVING LIFE IN UPPERCASE!

  • Finding OUR Waldo

    Our son signed up to become a Marine, at the beginning of his senior year of high school, through their early enlistment program, which means we've had almost a full year to prepare for Glen's departure – although it seems like yesterday I grounded him until boot camp. 

    19399266_1462569090429974_1231236675346829445_n

    Glen's recruiter, at Glen's high school graduation

    And we played out each day, with a little more reverence for military families, while trying to better understand and appreciate our son's life-long dream of serving in the military was going to happen, whether WE were ready or not.

    Still. I personally found myself feeling greedy and becoming even a bit needy – asking him to help me with the food shopping, or convincing him…why, YES!!!…I would feel MUCH better, if he would join me in an early evening walk…growing greedier and needier, every step of the way.

    Thisfullhouse2017

    Our "group graduation gift" to Glen was a weekend family getaway to D.C.

    On the day he shipped out, the six of us set our alarms for 3:00 a.m. and spent the next 90 minutes waiting for Glen's recruiter to arrive at the house – it was one of the worst and best mornings of my life.

    The girls and I sat around the kitchen table, all bleary-eyed from cry-laughing, while Glen and his Dad tested each other's endurance for dead arm punches and purple nurples, because boyzzzzzz will be boyzzzzzz.

    Sunrise

    Saying goodbye to Glen was hard – heralding a new beginning for our Son, by welcoming the sun, not so much.

    The girls suggested we go to the beach to watch the sun rise, in an attempt to distract us from all the, well, you know.

    If you were to ask me to describe what it was like watching Glen walk out the front door…knowing we wouldn't be able to see or speak with him…I mean, no phone calls, no emails, no Skype, no texts…nothing more than an occasional snail mail…for the next 13 weeks…well, it's sort of like me asking you to hold your breath…for as long as you can…and then punching you in the gut.

    Mailbox

    First letter has been written and is on its way to boot camp!!!

    Every day, my husband lets me be the first to check the mailbox, hoping TODAY will be the day we hear from Glen – nope.

    It's been 12 days and, although we've received word from his DI (drill instructor) that he's doing fine, no letter from Glen, but it's okay, he's sort of busy, I guess.

    My husband and I have joined a couple of Facebook groups in support of parents and family members who have recruits attending the same boot camp as Glen. Here's the really cool part – every week, the parents attending boot camp graduation take photos of other recruits training around the camp and, as a courtesy to new military parents, post these photos to the Facebook group, hoping we'll catch a glimpse of our recruit, with captions like, "Find Your Waldo!" and "More Waldos!

    Waldo Sighting First

    w, that first kid in line is REAL tall…heyyyyy…wait a minute…there's no mistaking that cleft chin and those flared Thompson nostrils…OMG!!!…that's MY kid!!!

    We've found four additional sightings, this week!!! And we'll probably continue spending every evening, scrolling through thousands of photos, and texting each other…this sort of looks like him, yes?!?…for the next 11 weeks…and then it'll be OUR turn to pay it forward and help other parents find their Waldos…because that's what you do for family…besides, what's another kid or eleventy-hundred, right?!?!

    Related articles
    Everyone has a story, here's yours!
    Don't Break My Heart…My Icky, Sticky Heart…
    They Say Humor Helps Your Heart, Mine Is Cry-Laughing!

  • What’s That Smell?

    If you were to ask me, as a parent of older kids, "What do you believe has been the MOST effective aspect of your parenting style?" I would need to be allowed some time (at least 48 hours) to be able to verbalize a coherent answer…BECAUSE TEENAGERS…and then…after thinking about it for 72 hours more…I would have to say…HUMOR!

    What I've lost in patience, my funny bone has grown exponentially, over the years, but NOT as much as my improper grammar usage <—- although, I nailed this run-on sentence (the misplaced modifier was unintentional) and my over use of comma splice is stellar, yo!

    Grammar
    Yesterday, our oldest had a doctor's appointment to discuss an issue that could've been much MUCH scarier (turns out, it's not as serious as we first thought, THANK GAWD!) and she asked me if I would go with her…you know…for moral support, because (raising four kids, and all four of their grandparents now dealing with a plethora of health issues, as well) I'm good with waiting room banter.

    "Phew, what's that smell?"

    Although I was asking the wrong person, because our oldest daughter has a terrible sense of smell, I really didn't need any validation — hello, my name is Liz and have you seen the SIZE of my nose?

    A few minutes pass, and my daughter is doing her best to pacify my insisting the whole room MUST smell what I'm smelling!

     "THERE! You smell it now?"

    I also have a bad habit of thinking out loud.

    "I don't smell anything."

    Now, I'm beginning to doubt myself, because the smell sort of comes in waves. I start stealthily sniffing myself. Nope, not me.

    "Honestly, it smells like poop!"

    I begin to look around the waiting room that is now filled with soon-to-be Moms, remembering how everything smelled absolutely awful when I was pregnant, I mean they HAVE to smell what I'm smelling!

    "Maybe it's just my imagination."

    THERE IT IS, AGAIN!

    "Okay, you guys HAVE to smell that!"

    [sound of crickets, chirping]

    Clearly, these poor women are not accustomed to waiting room banter, but a couple of trips to the pediatrician should ease them into it, nicely.

    Or maybe I need to add "phantosmia" to my ever-growing list of weird crap my body has been going through, literally, lately?

    OH WAIT, then I remembered the woman who walked by us with her little boy to use the bathroom.

    "I'm going to go check the bathroom."

    AH-HAH!

    I walked up to where the receptionist was sitting, knocked on her window and whispered, "Someone left a soiled diaper in the bathroom," to which EVERYONE chimed in:

    • So, THAT'S what that smell was!
    • Ohhhhhh man, NOW I SMELL IT!
    • I was trying to breath through my mouth!
    • Smells like that kid has a healthy appetite!

    And my favorite, being:

    • "OMG! I thought maybe it was "our" imagination."

    Moral of the Story: Never underestimate the power of our olfactory receptors, because we Moms are bound to become the collective brain trust of bad smells!

    [sound of crickets, choking]

    Stupid nose, dumbass diapers.

    Related articles
    Everyone has a story, here's yours!
    Don't Break My Heart…My Icky, Sticky Heart…
    They Say Humor Helps Your Heart, Mine Is Cry-Laughing!

  • Eggs Are Stupid, Let’s Throw Husbands At Them!

    My husband, Garth (not his real name) and I have been married for…uhhhhhh…okay, so we've been married for nearly…ummmmm…a lot of years, however, we still sometimes experience ah-HAH moments, you know, liiiiiike enjoying a quiet morning walk before work, while I try and figure out my travel schedule and my husband goes through our meal plan for the week, and…whoa…we're both all…maaaaan, but how our lives have changed, eh?

    My husband has taken over a lot of the cooking and it's not like I don't know HOW to cook (been doing it since I was 10!), now I just sometimes forget.

    "You want me to hard boil some eggs for breakfast?"

    Two of our kids are home sick and, trust me, I know that they're old enough to take care of themselves, NO DOUBT, but I was raised by a Hungarian Grandmother (and Mother), who…at the first cough or sniffle…would break out their mental list of old world remedies, half of which my kids should be VERY happy I've forgotten about.

    "Des, pleabe!"

    I put up a pot of water to boil and then grab an entire dozen…of eggs…because there are half-a-dozen of us currently living here AND my kids have mastered the art of sharing…especially, viruses!!!…and then I break out my fool-proof hard boiled egg recipe:

    • Put eggs into a pot of water
    • Bring eggs to boil
    • Remove pot from heat
    • Cover and let the eggs sit for twenty minutes

    "There's a trick to peeling these, watch!"

    I grab the pot to show my middle girl the trick to peeling hard boiled eggs, and then my husband walks into the kitchen.

    "You know, there's a trick to peeling those…"

    Here's the thing.

    "YES! I KNOW THE TRICK!"

    The thing is, I know my husband has been doing A LOT of the cooking, and the food shopping, and the everything else-ing that I used to do, and yes, I am blessed he wants to help…BLESSED!…but I already KNOW the trick to peeling hard boiled eggs!

    "Empty the water, cover the pot, and shake the eggs around, like this!"

    And it WOULD have worked, if I had remembered to set the timer.

    Fool-boiled eggs

    Aaaaaand, THIS is what hard boiled eggs are NOT supposed to look like!

    *DROPS MIC*

    The end.

  • Why Did I Let My Kid Shred My Hair?

    Our youngest cut her own hair when she was 3 years-old (the only one of our four to ever do that, by the way), because being the youngest can be really hard, you know? Unless you have (and know how to rock) a pair of pink cowgirl boots, of course! 

    Garth (not his real name) and I have always tried really hard to help our kids cultivate their own sense of style (i.e., point them toward the clearance racks and just get out of their way), however, Hope had fully-grasped her sense of…um…uniqueness at a very young age.

    3693478723_91f2806c5f_b

    Still, it's hard to be the youngest, feeling like you're constantly following along in someone else's footsteps can be a bit lonely, even in a houseful, sometimes. Our baby girl has gone through many transformations in her 15 years of being…ummmm…Hope.

    Her Goth stage was the most…errrrr…interesting…and don't EVEN think about bringing up her shockingly pink hair…because, well, it's just not shocking enough, anymore, DANGIT!

    "LORT?!? Why did you EVER let me wear my hair like that?!?"

    As if I ever had a choice. Hope has always been a free spirit = she is my hippy-child. Still, it's real difficult for her to NOT allow her free-thinking to feed into all the draaaah-maaaah and, well, YOU COULDN'T PAY ME ENOUGH TO BE FIFTEEN, AGAIN or GO BACK TO HIGH SCHOOL, am I right?!?!

    Hope

    After 20+ years of parenting, I feel it safe to say that self-esteem issues are best cultivated when you try to look like everyone else. And I may have mentioned this to my kids, once or twenty times, every day, especially to my girls.

    Still, behind all the selfies and Snapchat filters, you can't hide the fact that growing up female is complicated enough (why IS this STILL happening?!?), especially when you're a Mom.

    On the one hand, we preach self-esteem to our children, and on the other hand, our own confidence eludes us, the moment we see it in someone else. Why IS that?!?

    On the OTHER other hand, intellectually, most of us already understand it to be a defense mechanism…LORT!!!…how we women compare ourselves to each other…eh?

    "And I am in desperate need of a haircut!"



    Hope aspires to be a hair and makeup artist and, well, somehow she doesn't believe that my husband and I think it's a worthy-enough profession, because teenagers tend to put words into their parents' mouths and they really do think the silliest thoughts, sometimes.

    Hair by Hope

    "I love the idea of helping other women feel good about how they look AND maybe feel a little better about themselves and myself, too!" ~ Hope

    And that's why I let my kid cut my hair.

    The end.

    P.S. It's actually "shred" not "cut" and I stand (I mean, sit) corrected, yo!

    Related articles
    Everyone has a story, here's yours!
    Don't Break My Heart…My Icky, Sticky Heart…
    They Say Humor Helps Your Heart, Mine Is Cry-Laughing!

  • Grounded Until Boot Camp

    It's been 36 minutes, since I hugged my son and wished him luck, reassuring him "not to worry," and "you got this," as I followed him through our front door and watched him get into his recruiter's car. I then proceeded to spend the next 36 minutes reliving the last 17 years, as parents do, with every passing milestone, I suppose.

    However, this time, Garth (not his real name) isn't home to reassure me that "he'll be fine," and there's really "no need to cry," because he's staying at my parents' house, helping to take care of my Dad and getting him to his dialysis appointments, and then taking him to visit with my Mom in a sub-acute facility (she's recovering from a real bad fall), while I continue to work from home, until the weekend, when we switch places and, well, the last six weeks haven't been easy on any of us.

    "I don't feel like you guys are here for me."

    Most especially, our son.

    "I talk about my enlistment and all you do is shake your head and look sad."

    I have had sooooo many thoughts and opinions about my son's imminent enlistment into the Marine Corps, but I've been pretty much keeping them to myself.

    "I don't feel like you support my decision."

    Until now.

    Needless to say, my husband and I are very proud of Glen and, as an American born of immigrants, I'm humbled by our son's dedication to "honoring his Grandparents and all their hard work, wanting a better life for future generations" (those were my son's exact words, when explaining his desire to enlist, during our interviews with each of the military branches).

    "We've done everything we can to help you get here, haven't we?"

    Keeping every deep, dark and terribly awful fear imaginable from creeping out of my heart and slithering its way up onto my face, not so much.

    "So yes, I'm sad. And afraid. Just as your training will involve learning how to protect others, while protecting yourself, you're going to be a pretty tall target, and there will be people whose job will be to try and kill you."

    I was being brutally honest with him, and myself, because it's been 60 years since my parents first set foot on American soil and danged if it doesn't seem like the world is moving backwards, we're ALL standing on shaky ground, right?!?!

    "As your Mom, my first and foremost wish has always been for you to be happy."

    It's hard sometimes, you know? Pretending to be fearless. Especially for someone who wears her heart on her sleeve…[raises hand]…not without leaving a permanent dent on my face, I mean.

    "And your father and I will always fear for your safety (okay, mostly me), but do NOT mistake that as our being unsupportive."

    So, I set my alarm for 4:00 a.m., which every parent reading this will undoubtedly understand it to have been unnecessary, as I was awake for most of the night and I finally gave up on sleep when my son's alarm went off at 3:00 a.m., as we sat together, in a mostly dark and quiet house, waiting for him to take his next steps towards gaining his independence and logging in another sleepless night for me and his Dad.  

    36 minutes later, I became >this< much closer to graciously accepting my new role as a military mom…as reasonably and as calmly as possible, at 5 o'clock in the morning, I mean…so, yeah, there isn't a parent prouder than I am of you…RIGHT THIS MINUTE…my son…AND DO NOT EVER FORGET IT…or consider yourself grounded until boot camp!!!

    Edited to add text received from my husband, GarthNHRN: Your post sounds like he's going now. You should make it clear this is a medical and he doesn't go until next summer.

    Okay?!?! Soooo, we good?!?! Good!!! Which pretty much guarantees you guys another post, next August, you're welcome!!!

     

    Related articles
    Teenagers, You Goth To Love Them!
    He's Army Strong, Mom's Still in Training
    The Growth Plates

  • Blogging Under the Influence of Teenagers; It’s Constipated!

    If you were to ask me, as a social media enthusiast and OG blogger (never mind, just exactly HOW old gangstuh, you whippuh-snappuh, you!), hey Liz (psssst, that's me!), what IS the MOST difficult part of blogging…wait, I KNOW THIS!…for me, it's typing out this introductory sentence. This first paragraph is crucial, as it serves as a mini-outline for the blog post: It tells the reader what the blog post is about — the hook, if you will.

    Here's mine: Life with teenage/adult kids does NOT get any less complicated, in fact, I haven't performed THIS many face-palms in the history of This Full House and I've been blogging for…wait, WHAT YEAR IS IT?!?….holy Hannah Montana…I've been over-sharing for 13 years!?!?!

    13466288_10153632846060808_581779520024350054_n

    The kid formerly known as Mini-me — she's MUCH prettier and smarter all growed up and everything, if you haven't already figured that out!

    GAWD, I'm old. But I still look good, yo. Anyhow. These last six months have been…what's the word…hang on, there was a tried and true old blogging adage we used to use…wait…I KNOW THIS!!!…oh yeah, nucking futs!!!…okay, fine…technically, it's two pretend words…unless I type it like…NUCKINGFUTS…yeah, works for me, how about you?!?!

    [blows bangs out of eyes, scratches at underground zit on chin]

    Aaaaaanyway. Life is moving REAL fast, like in…wait, what do you MEAN you're a senior in high school…sort of crazy, and, well, I have a funny story to tell you.


    But first, here's a picture of the newest high school senior in da house. Cute. Right?!?! He's also working part-time at the fast food restaurant that shall not be named (that one is for Melisa's husband!) and "making bank" <— not sure if that is even a relevant term any more, but whatevs —> and, for the folks who are JUST catching up, Glen has been preparing to join the military, since the age of 3, BUT he's made a final decision about exactly which branch of the military. 

     

    Soooooo, this is happening. Researching his choices, I'm holding it together pretty well (sort of), you guys.

    A photo posted by Liz Thompson (@thisfullhouse) on

    It's not the Air Force (although, they did have the prettiest recruitment center and I realize that pretty recruitment centers should NOT have anything to do with his decision, but it was nice to be able to visit a pretty recruitment center, just saying), or the Navy (visited them on an off day, I think), or the Army (like his Uncle Bud).

    This week, my husband and I will sign the early-entry papers, allowing my son to enlist as a Marine — which probably should have been the first sentence of this blog post and welcome to my brain, lately.

    I have sooooo many thoughts and opinions about my son's imminent enlistment into the Marine Corps., but I'm actually saving those for another blog post…or twenty…along with my transition into working full-time and becoming the sole-breadwinner…although, my husband makes a real pretty Mr. Mom…also blog-worthy, for another time….you're welcome!!!

    Glen: How could you joke about something like this?!?

    I don't remember EXACTLY what we were talking about…because, I am the mother of two teenagers and two twenty-somethings…brain cells are at a premium…but, I was cracking an inappropriate joke about it, so it must have been pretty heavy.

    Me: Because it's either laugh or cry, my son.

    [blank stare]

    Me: Sometimes the only thing you CAN do is to laugh, to keep yourself from crying, my son.

    [BLUB,BLUB, BLUB, GRRRRBLUB] 

    Garth(NHRN) [hollering while running out the front door]: GAH!!! Friggin' house is constipated, AGAIN!!! 

    Moral of the Story: Maaaaaan, boot camp is going to seem like a sabbatical (okay, not really) and is this boy going to miss us, or what?!?

    May the road rise to meet you, may your backflow be nominal and may you NEVER run out of toilet paper, my son. In the meantime, if anyone needs me, I'll be right here, trying NOT to cry and pretending like this blog post ACTUALLY made SOME sort of sense to you, yo!

    Related articles
    Day 1: Because a picture paints a thousand words AND sometimes maybe even a house!
    Everyone has a story, here's yours!
    Don't Break My Heart…My Icky, Sticky Heart…

  • If Wonder Woman & Mr. Mom Had A Baby

    GarthNHRN and I have been married for 25 years (and YES, it totally does sound like a lot of years to be married and IT IS a very long time to be married, to the same person!) and we've been parents for 22 years (wut?!?!) and I've been a full-time mom (while working part-time from home as a professional blogger, writer and content producer) ever since.

    Until this past April: When I accepted a full-time position at my current job.

    And then my husband lost his job, in October.

    This is the first time I'm speaking of it in a public forum, because my husband is much more private about his thoughts and feelings, while I'm more of a better out than in type of over-sharer.

    You guys have lived through some of the best and possibly THE WORST times in my life, most recently with my Father recovering from heart failure AND kidney failure.

     

    Watching a new day unfold from my parents' kitchen window and hoping for a better day for Dad. His recovery has been a…

    Posted by Liz Katkics Thompson on Saturday, January 2, 2016

    I can honestly say, without hesitation AND with complete confidence that GarthNHRN would also agree, these last 5 months have been absolutely dreadful AND have offered up some of the MOST stressful periods of our ENTIRE marriage, EVER.

    On the OTHER hand!

    We've experienced some of the BEST stop, drop, laugh your ass off, snort-worthy funniest moments…EVER!…as a family…and, oh YES…there is the food!

     

    My husband made us lunch. And my first thought was…WOW!!!…he really needs to lower the bar, a little. And then I ate it in like four bites. Carry on, Garth(NHRN)!

    Posted by Liz Katkics Thompson on Monday, November 2, 2015

    Now that I am working full-time and commuting into the city (a.k.a. New York City, if you're NOT from Jersey) my husband and I have gone through a sort of Freaky Friday role reversal kind of thing. For example, GarthNHRN does ALL the:

    • Cleaning
    • Cooking
    • Driving kids to school
    • Food Shopping
    • Laundry
    • Picking kids up from school

    And then, he does a whole lot more:

    • Drives my Dad to (and from) dialysis every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday
    • Does the food shopping for my mom, while Dad is at dialysis 
    • Because dialysis takes about 3 – 4 hours
    • Each time
    • Has met with doctors, nurses, pharmacists, therapists, and pretty much every "ist" there is to make sure that "my" parents are getting the best care possible
    • Without going bankrupt
    • That last bullet is ongoing

    Aaaaaaand yet, the man still manages to make the rest of us feel pretty gosh-darned thankful he's around.

     

    GarthNHRN (singing from the kitchen): Tiiiiiiny bubbles, in the wine…Me (singing along): Maaaaaakes me happy…GarthNHRN: All the time…I love it when my husband ad libs 🙂

    Posted by Liz Katkics Thompson on Thursday, January 14, 2016

    Long story short: If Wonder Woman and Mr. Mom had a baby, he or she wouldn't be even half as awesome as GarthNHRN, however, I imagine it would look a lot like this:

    Have you seen Channing Tatum & Beyonce's "Run The World (Girls)" vs. Jenna Dewan-Tatum's "Pony" lip sync battle?!? It. Is. EPIC!

    Aaaaaaand, before you get your boxers all in a bunch, honey (not YOU, I'm talking to GarthNHRN, but feel free to hang around, Queen Tatum Bey, honey) this post is meant to be a reminder…for the times when…you know…you are feeling most un-awesome…or whenever we're having a bad day…but not today.

    Okay? Okay. Now YOU do me (TWSS!)

    Related articles
    Everyone has a story, here's yours!
    Don't Break My Heart…My Icky, Sticky Heart…
    They Say Humor Helps Your Heart, Mine Is Cry-Laughing!

  • NaBloPoMo 2015: Have You Thanked A Drawbridge, Lately?

    I love going through my Instagram feed, especially while riding the train, first thing in the morning. You people take good pictures, while I play with apps and filters and pretend like I know what the heck I am doing. Photo apps are so much more forgiving, they make even the most…meh, it's a drawbridge…image worth an extra 3 seconds of non-scrolling. FullSizeRender

    Today, I took this picture of one of my favorite little coves along the water (in between the Raritan River and the New York Bay) and a drawbridge…but, well, the poor drawbridge can't help its utilitarian feel. I mean, it's a drawbridge. A hard-working, under-appreciated and often times thought of as an inconvenience to commuters rushing to and from work type of drawbridge. And it deserves a little love, dammit.

    IMG_1027Add a little charcoal filter and it becomes a much more interesting drawbridge, don't you think? Even the high-tension wires in the the back look almost cool and the shadowing of the water directly under the bridge, very deep!

    IMG_1028

    Hit it with a little pen and ink, and the drawbridge transforms into something so unlike a drawbridge, right? Still, I can't stop staring at it.

    IMG_1029This one is called Fusain Painting, which means creating art with a charcoal in stick form, made from the wood of the spindle tree — don't believe me? Google it, like I did 🙂

    IMG_1030

    Aaaaand, then my favorite filter: Van Gogh Style! I adore the coloring, now this drawbridge makes me feel all artsy-fartsy and stuff. Thank you SO MUCH and have a nice day, drawbridge! 

    NaBloPoMo November 2015