My oldest, her first Halloween in 1994, I dressed Holly as Little Bo Beep (sorry, Holly!)
Aaaaand, even Heather's face is all, like, seriously Mom?!?
Also, I'm pretty sure Glen is STILL not over the epic diaper wedgie he received from this ill-fitting-hand-me-down Tigger suit.
Which leads me to reason #71,928,099 why I will be fed a steady diet of strained carrots, in a nursing home, somewhere far, far, away.
My 17yo is studying Forensics. Don't ask me why. She's majoring in art education, I think.
Also, the girl can't even squash a bug, let alone, bag a stinky old body part.
Aaaaanyway, she's a huge Bones and NCIS fan (me, too!) helllloooo David Boreanaz and Mark Harmon.
[heavy sigh]
Um, what was I saying, something about body parts? Oh yeah, so I wasn't surprised that Forensics is one of her favorite classes, this year.
"We tested each others' lips, today."
[eyes go wide]
My friend, Melisa (with one S) had a really bad run in with a runaway gas pump, yesterday.
Really, go and give her some love (when you find the time, of course!) because, personally, I can totally relate to her angst.
I mean, honestly, as a self-professed magnet for attracting really, really embarrassing situations AND considering my talent for breaking things HARD!
There really is a REAL good reason why this Jersey girls does NOT pump her own gas.
Yeah, besides the fact that it's illegal to pump your own gas, here in New Jersey (and Oregon, I think) THIS IS a law suit just waiting to happen.
"Oh and be sure to stop at the gas station on your way home."
Now that my oldest daughter is driving?
"I think it's time you learned how to get gas."
I think it's real important to know how to pump your own gas and she does (her father showed her how to do it on our last road trip to Cape Cod) just NOT in Jersey.
"How did you do?"
[one beat, two beats]
"Fine, after I let the gas station dude show me how to pop open the gas tank."
[blank stare]
Ummmm, yeah, we may or may not have forgotten to show her where to find THAT particular button.
[sound of crickets]
WHAT?!? It's in a really weird spot, way down on the floor (I think!) aaaand, I even forgot, my ownself, the gas station dude had to show me where it was, once or maybe twice, I forget.
Morale of the Story: My oldest has decided to pursue a career in art education, as well as attending a college closer to home (YAY!) clearly, she did NOT get her artistic talent from me.
Stupid gas stations, dumbass cars!
© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
Backstory: Hurricane Irene ripped us a new one (figuratively and literally) damaging our roof and chimney, which now causes our ceilings and the front of our house to leak like a sieve, every time it rains.
Flashback: to September, which, turns out, was one of the stormiest months we've ever had, here in Jersey (of course!)
Flash-forward: last night, my awesome friend Sue (who also happens to be my next door neighbor, in my dreams, I wish) Facebook's me while I'm out buying lottery tickets.
Missed it (DAGNABIT!) so, through the magic of the interwebs, I go and watch the episode this morning:
Sorry about the 15 second ad in the beginning (ABC folks gotta keep their lights on, too, I guess) the clip itself is only 30 seconds long and a gosh-darned good example of what it's like to live in our house, when EVERY TIME IT RAINS!!!
Now, if you'll excuse me, the clouds are beginning to roll in.
If anyone needs me, I'll be in the kitchen. Breaking out the pots and hoping that the insurance check clears and/or ABC calls, sometime, soon!
Stupid roof, dumbass Irene.
© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
Loooong before I had kids and waaaaay before automated teller machines — although, it's kinda weird to call ATM's that, since they don't give out lollipops OR dog bones — I was the senior customer service representative for a large manufacturing company.
Before that, I was the secretary to the plant manager, as well as various vice presidents and a couple of marketing and district sales managers in their corporate offices.
Then, the owner was indicted (long story, I hear he pretends he's Elvis now) and, well, I got another job as a, you guessed it, a customer service representative.
However, this time, for a rather large manufacturer of toilets.
So, yeah, I have a lot of experience, dealing with customers and their crap, at an executive level.
I empathize with anyone working in a service-based capacity, whenever dealing directly with the public, because, well, people suck.
Unless, I happen to be the customer.
[eyes go wide]
I took my 17yo shopping last night [shiver] because, the house magically disappeared the ONLY two pairs of jeans that fit and, well, yes, the cashier was probably all like, "UGH, I just want to go home," too!
Then again, I can't think of ANYTHING else I would rather NOT be doing, than shopping, at 6:00 p.m., on Sunday night, can you?!?
"We're NEVER going home, you know that, right?!?"
At first, I thought she was talking to me and I was going to answer her (because, I'm nice like that) but, she was actually talking to the other cashier, who was already checking out the ONLY OTHER person on line.
[popping her gum]
"I know, right?!?"
I am NOT even kidding! She really DID say that, right in front of me, THE CUSTOMER, while pop-pop-popping her gum and…really?!?
[rolls eyes]
"I don't know HOW you guys put up with these people ALL day?!?"
Again, not directed towards me, THE CUSTOMER, honestly, I was kind of tired and, you know, still sort of confused.
"Is there a problem?!?"
[sound of crickets]
I turned to ask the person behind me if I had magically turned invisible and, well, there was no one there to ask, as I was THE ONLY CUSTOMER BEING CHECKED OUT AT THE TIME.
"Geez, are they EVER going to make the announcement?!?"
Honestly, I was all, like and, not for nothing, but if I had EVER talked like that, in front of customer, I would have been fired, three times over!
"What announcement?!?"
Good, the other cashier was all, like (see face above.)
[popping gum]
"You know, that the store is closing?!?"
[one beat, two beats]
My turn.
"Oh, you didn't hear it?!?"
THAT got both their attentions.
"They made that announcement about a half an hour ago."
She tossed me my bag, mumbled something about it being about time and started closing out the sales in her cash register.
"Have a nicccccccccce night."
She said, like a blood-engorged snake.
[whispering]
"But, I didn't hear any announcement, either, mom?!?"
Actually, there wasn't. She had another 30 minutes to go.
"Thank you and g'night!"
I grabbed my daughter's arm, mumbled something about it NOT being my problem the girl doesn't know enough to wear a watch, or check to see what time it is.
What?!? Blame me for being old-ish, if you must. But, the kid needed jeans, otherwise I would have totally left the stuff right there on her counter, without even paying.
You got a problem wit dat, Skippy?!?
© 2003 – 2011 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.
So, we've been without hot water for…ummmmm…what day is it, again?
Aaaaanyway, I was tired of feeling all, you know, ummmmm-ish (i.e. a distant relative of the Amish, I think) and stinky (P to the U!) really, I bet yous guys have enough of your own stuff going on, your ownselves, right?!?
Riiiiight.
Soooooo, I put on a thick layer of purple eyeliner (actually, it's more plum-ish) fired up Spotify and did some serious desk chair dancing with Prince.
Or, whatever he's calling himself, these days.
I don't know which is funnier: a) the fact the sound is all borked up or b) the fact that the sound is all borked up AND yeah, I still posted it.
Because, I am ALL about making YOU guys feel a little better about yourselves.
With love,
I.M.A. Dork
© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
My husband, the kids and I were ALL having a nice, quiet, leisurely dinner at the dining room table the other night.
[blank stare]
Okaaaaay, so, maybe the kids weren't actually at the table.
[eyes go wide]
Fiiiiiiine, they were all out eating at other people's houses.
[taps foot]
Buuuuut, my husband and I were eating…uh…standing up.
[sound of crickets chirping]
Aaaaanyway, my husband was in the middle of telling me a story about something that happened at his work the other day and then ended it, very abruptly.
"What's the face for?"
[blink, blink]
Honestly, I wasn't even aware of my giving a face.
"Which face?"
I can't help it. Part of it stems from my being raised by Hungarians, a culture whose emotional heritability increases exponentially.
"THAT FACE, right there!"
Seems some of the kids were home…early…and immediately began to throw their mother (that would be me) right under the proverbial bus. Apparently, I have six (6) distinct faces, which they then began to categorize, thusly:
A = Awesome: For those moments of pure joy and one that I would hope most folks are probably pretty much used to seeing, right? RIGHT? Riiiiight.
B = Be Quiet: One I use when fighting my inner-12-year-old or trying REAL HARD to keep my mouth shut (shuddup!)
C = Catatonic: Believe it or not, this is one of my least expressive faces which, come to find out, is a clear sign that I am NOT listening.
D = DER!: I've got teenagers, enough said.
E = EWW: My most multi-functional expression and can be easily translated from,"What's that smell?!?" to "Meh, I've seen hairier!"
F = Fear Me: Thankfully, I don't use this one very often (DO NOT!) but, one my kids, my husband, the dog and whoever else manages to bring out the Jersey in me (YO!) fear the most.
Oh, and jackwagons who insist on double-parking in the drop-off lane, THIS is the one you'll most likely see from your review mirror, complete with its own personalized set of eye baggage and everything!
You feel me?
© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
I wrote my very first blog post 8 years ago (Happy Belated Blogivesary to me, heh) on September 2, 2003 (at 3:38 p.m.) and poop may or may not have been involved.
My youngest was still in diapers and, well, it's understandable, really. Raising 4 kids, under the age of 10, life revolved around my being the center of their world — handling poop was a large part of it — which, thanks to the internet, had just gotten a whole lot smaller.
I now had the ability to communicate, with other people, over the age of 10, unwashed and in my pajamas (as far as anyone knew!)
To be given the opportunity to put my thoughts (scattered and nonsensical, as they may have been) into actual words (thanks to spell check) blogging felt empowering AND downright intoxicating, really.
Minus, the poop, of course. Especially, for a self-professed, semi-professional, poop-handlers (like me) you know?
We've shared a lot of stories in 8 years and, now that my kids are older (me, too) perhaps even managed to work in a title, involving just about every major bodily fluid and/or function known to the universe.
Because, contrary to what most people think (about moms, who happen to write a blog, or twenty, too) it's not ALWAYS about the poop.
"Grandma's on the phone and she sounds upset."
My in-laws were in Massachusetts, on their way back home to Jersey, they got hit by another car and my husband could hear the emergency crew trying to get her side of the car open, they got there THAT fast (thank you Holyoke EMT!)
While my husband showered and prepared to break the record for driving, round trip, thru MA, CT, NY and NJ traffic (enough said) in 9 hours (it CAN be done) my kids took to task.
My middle girl Googled information for the local authorities, hospital and hotels, while the youngest wrote the information on sticky notes.
Aaaand, for all the worries about kids today and their fascination with the internet (not to mention, the moms who blog about them) I have to say, it was nice to see mine use their cyberpowers for good in the time it took me to find my dumbass phone.
Only, because my oldest used her cell phone to call it.
Then, she texted this picture to my husband's cell phone and, I am very,VERY happy to tell you, they are ALL back home and doing fine.
Morale of the Story: Potty-training is hard, raising tweens and teens is like [insert bodily fluid and/or function, of choice, here!] in the wind.
Beeeeeecause, you NEVER know what's gonna get thrown back at you AND it's not always about the poop, anyway.
Don't believe me? Rather than telling you about the rest of our horrifically emotional weekend (you're welcome!) I did a quick search: PUKE WINS!
Aaaand thank YOU for allowing ME the chance to, you know, share.
© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
Last winter, you may or may not remember my telling you about the house next door.
Miss Grace turned 103, this month (bless her hearty little, uhh, heart) so, about 2 weeks ago, I pulled into my driveway and saw our other neighbor cutting her grass.
DANGIT!
The 3 of us have very large properties (as in, DANG, but this grass got real long, didn't it?!?)
I don't remember the EXACT measurement (that particular brain cell burned off about 2 kids ago, I think) but, I'm pretty sure we're about 300+ feet long, backdoor to end of mow-able backyard and, well, that's A LOT of grass clippings, my friend.
Our riding mower is broken (of course!) and I can't very well sit by and watch our other neighbor, who works the night shift and coaches in the afternoons, cut Miss Grace's lawn when he could be, you know, sleeping.
But, the self-propelled portion of our lawn mower is ALSO broken (I know, go ahead and act surprised anyway) making it more a non-moving lawn mower (as in, DANG, but Miss Grace has got a lot of shrubs, doesn't she?!?)
I don't remember the EXACT moment (after 4 tours of potty-training duty, I'm pretty much thankful for even a small fraction of brain activity) but, I'm pretty sure it was AFTER cutting underneath her holly tree.
3 things came to mind:
1. Poison ivy lives here.
2. Miss Grace is NOT allergic to poison ivy.
3. I am SEVERELY allergic to poison ivy.
No worries. I've done this before (sadly) and know EXACTLY what to do:
1. Take a shower, IMMEDIATELY!
2. Dry off, COMPLETELY!
3. Wash infected clothes and any towels used, SEPARATELY!
Besides, Karma dictates I should be fine (no?)
HAH! Made you itch!!!
So, here I am, 2 weeks later, fresh from the doctor's office, thinking I was suffering from some sort of horrible contagion, with a prescription of prednisone (it makes my brain itch, like crazy) just so you know:
3. (REVISED) Wash infected clothes and any towels used SEPARATELY and IN HOT WATER!
Next week: I'm ripping out her holly tree and planting a dogwood (shhhh, but don't tell her, okay?) after I borrow a HAZMAT suit, of course.
STUPID poison ivy, DUMBASS Karma!
© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
