This Full House Archive

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

PLEASE Don’t Call It A Sweet Sixteen Party!
My son is turning 16, next Friday. SIXTEEN!!! The difference between his turning 16, as opposed to my two oldest daughters having crossed that bridge…with very little pomp and circumstance, other than a group sleepover…YAY!!!…while my 13 year-old daughter is already clipping through fashion magazines for prom dress ideas…WOW!!!…is that the boy insists his turning 16 is really not ALL that big of a deal.

Guess what he wants for his birthday?!? G'head, I'll wait!!!

Glen: I have to tell you about something my friends and I did in school.

Aaaaaaaand, here's where being a mom of a teenager (for the last 9 years) comes in REAL handy.

Me: [blank stare]

Rather than jumping to conclusions (which is the only form of exercise I seem to be getting, these days) and imagining the worst possible things my son and his friends could have done, to want me to hear it from him first…because TEENAGERS…I've learned that's it's probably a real good idea to just…you know…shut up and listen.

Glen: This kid invited us to a party.

Still shutting up and listening.

Glen: He's a special needs kid, it's his birthday, but we're not sure how we feel about going.

This is the part where my brain nearly exploded and it took ALL of my strength (mental AND physical) to not want to revisit the last almost-sixteen years of parenting my son, because clearly I'm NOT doing it right.

Me: What do you mean, you're not sure how you feel about going?

My husband and I have been especially mindful of our childrens' need to be able to understand and acknowledge empathy, however, our parenting doesn't always necessarily translate well outside of the home…because PEER PRESSURE!

Glen: We want to go, but for the right reasons.

So I asked him for their reasons:
- Birthday Boy visits everyone's lunch table, for a few minutes, every day.
- On this particular day, he invited each of the kids to his birthday party.
- He had a list of 21 kids (TWENTY ONE!) who accepted his invitation and said they would go…and then as soon as Birthday Boy left their table…they whispered to each other how…nah…they really weren't going.
- Throughout the day, my son and his friends were asking around, you know, to see who was going (or not) to Birthday Boy's party.
- None of them expressed any interest in actually going.
And the number one reason why my son and his two best friends actually went to Birthday Boy's party:
- How would YOU feel on your birthday…if no one showed up…seriously?!?
Not including my son and his two best friends, four other kids were there and they ALL had a really great time — especially, Birthday Boy!

Don't get me wrong. This is not a post about how I feel my son is better than your son (or daughter) and, quite frankly, the boy is especially gifted at driving his father and I bat-shit-crazy…more often than not…trust me.

Glen: You can blog about it, if you want to.

But because people are always so quick to point out how (or when) a kid should (or shouldn't) act…especially if he or she is not your kid…it's nice to hear whenever a teenager is NOT driving his parents bat-shit-crazy.

Glen: Because not ALL teenagers are like that.

Aaaaaaand, my son thought it was good to know — me, too!

Glen: But…PLEASE…don't call it a sweet sixteen party!

Sometimes, these blog post titles just write themselves…YO!
January 16, 2015
One Flew INTO the Cuckoo’s Nest

Today started out not so great, however, I was mentally prepared for it (living with 3 teens, a 20-something-year-old and not sleeping very well, having agonized over ALL the things, last night), because there's always a fair amount of crazy going on at our house and I am a fully-functional worry wart.

Heather: Holly has an interview, so you're taking me to work, right?

There's a long and very convoluted story of why Heather doesn't have her driver's license, yet. It's not my story to tell. Suffice it to say, spring cannot come quick enough.

Me: Yup!

[looks out window]

BAH!, it's snowing like crazy.

Because I'm a…BAH!!! It's snowing like crazy!!!…sort of driver. Then the car broke down and then something broke in my head. You know, the type of broke that makes your nose run, while you stare at absolutely nothing, and a long line of spit starts to form…from your chin…to your chest.

Or am I the only one who has broken head, runny nose and spit-forming-from-your-chin-to-your-chest-type moments?

So, yeah, I was feeling very, very sorry for myself, when I heard the bird hit the backdoor.

BONK!!!!!

Heather: OH NO, IS IT DEAD?!?

My middle girl was working from home (because the car broke and then MOM'S HEAD BROKE!) and we both just stood at the back door, staring at this poor little bird, lying on its stomach with its legs all splayed out and its face stuck in the snow.

Me: Well, its legs are moving.

But the poor bird seemed to be having trouble lifting its head from out of the snow.

Me: Maybe it just knocked the wind out of itself.

I know…I personally would've been all…HOLY CRAP!!!…who put that door there, dammit?!?

So, I reached down, picked it up, held the poor thing in my hands and stroked the top of its head…while the snow dripped from its beak…in a light shade of pink.

Heather: Look, Mom is being all Snow White.

Not really, I was wearing pajamas, but it was snowing.

Me: He's breathing a bit funny, but his eyes are open, I don't want to scare it.

I wiped the snow from the back step and gently placed him down.

Me: We'll just have to let nature take its course.

I mean, it's a bird. Birds don't live that long, anyway. Right? Flying into stuff or getting eaten by something bigger. What are you going to do? It's survival of the fittest.

Me: FRIG THAT!

I grabbed some lint from the dryer (there's always plenty to share!) and placed it under the bird.

Me: There, now his belly won't be cold.

The bird was still awake, but not moving much, besides flexing his tail feathers.

Heather: Maybe we can put him in a basket and hang him up high, so the hawk doesn't get him.

GOOD IDEA!!! I grabbed one of the baskets from the kitchen, lined it with some more dryer lint, gently placed the bird inside and hung the basket right outside the backdoor.

Now, mind you, both Heather and I were running around the house…looking for just the right basket…and more lint…during this entire time…with the dog running right behind us…because BIRD!!!

And then Melisa called.

Me: OMG! We're trying to save a bird!

Melisa has visited with us a couple of times (most recently, this past October) so she's used to the crazy. Aaaaand she can pretty much follow along (for better or worse) whenever I crazy-talk.

The poor bird…I couldn't just let it die…it DESERVES a chance to live…I'M GOING TO SAVE THIS BIRD, DAMMIT!!!…and she kept listening, because she is a good friend, like that.

Heather: I think it's moving around!

So she stepped outside to take a closer look…

Heather: OH!!! It just flew away!!!

Then something else broke in my head and I started crying into the phone. And then my daughter wanted to know why I was crying?

Me: Because…[sniff-sniff]…I already started writing this blog post…[wiping nose]…in my head…[sniff-sniff]…with two alternate endings.

I like this ending MUCH better, because that's EXACTLY how my mind works and welcome to my brain!

Melisa: IT'S A SIGN!!!!

Aaaaand, then my day started to get MUCH better.

Me: Now If only I could come up with a good title!

Blog post title inspiration, courtesy of Melisa.

January 9, 2015
The Gifts That Keep On Giving!

I loved whenever my kids would bring their school projects home and, considering we've had a kid in preschool, grade school, middle school or high school since 1996, we have certainly collected a fair amount of "pretties" over the years.

Every now and again, I'll find a construction paper greeting card tucked deep in between some books or reach for a pen and grab one with a plastic daisy (my favorite flower) taped to the end of it and I'll remember…ohhhhh, yeah…this was the Mother's Day card Glen made me and that is the pen that Hope gave me one Christmas.

In fact, these 4 little clay pots are the first thing I see…every morning…stacked by oldest to youngest, from top to bottom, all dusty and everything.

Ask me what we ate 2 nights ago and I'll give you an epic………[blank stare]……..oh, wait a minute…I just blogged it, like yesterday…haaaaaaaaang…onnnnnnnnnn…okay, it was my favorite go to family meal: Hungarian Beef (Pork, Lamb or Chickent) Stew!

[blink-blink, blows bangs out of eyes, blink-blink]

Soooooo, point being (because I really do have one) I've got a real super-selective memory.

Me: Can I use your really pretty tea-infuser cup?

I've been trying to cut down on my coffee consumption. That's right, I said it! Because I've recently got hooked on drinking loose tea (I blame Melisa!) and I couldn't remember where in the heck I put my little plastic infuser, but found my daughter's really prettiful tea cup with lid and everything!

Holly: You mean, YOUR really pretty tea-infuser cup?

…….[blank stare]……..

Holly: I gave it to you for Christmas, 3 years ago!

Ohhhhhhhh, isn't that niiiiiiice?!?………[blank stare].…….AAAAAAAAND I LOVE IT!!!

January 8, 2015
Watch Out, Watch Out, She’s Got Man-fingers!
I have NEVER been (or will ever be) associated with anything even remotely petite. I was one of the lucky ones to have blossomed earlier than the rest of my entire second grade class, which earned me the nickname "Amazon", because SECOND GRADE and…flash-forward eleventy-three years…SARCASM!!!

Then, sometime around the fall of 6th grade, the Wonder Woman television show hit the airways:

Aaaaand, I was all…BOOM!!!…POW!!!…NOW all the world is ready for me, and all the wonders I could do! Even though I wasn't as…uhhhhhh…tricked out…as Lynda Carter was (still is) …physically…or any other 'cally…especially, in the 6th grade…or ever.

Not to mention, the show had pretty much ended by the time we got into high school and then John Hughes brought back petite…dammit.

Disclosure: I am a HUGE John Hughes fan, literally.

Still, after birthing 4 babies, I've grown to love my 5' 9", size 12 body frame — bumps, lumps, hug-worthy squishy parts and all — my man-fingers, not so much. Most especially, texting with my man-fingers. On the other hand (see what I did there?!?), they come in very handy when:
- Opening wine bottles
- Opening pickle jars
- Opening ALL the jars
- Poking holes into packages
- Ripping open cardboard boxes
- Poking and ripping ALL the things
- Flipping someone the bird (don't even make have to!)
- Epic 5 stars — my teens gave me that one, I still don't know what that means
Yesterday, I came up with a new one:
- Scrubbing grout into total submission
Yah, that's right, no grout is safe! Unless, it's bathroom floor-type grout that's been multiplying since last New Year's Day. Then…OH YES…it's gonna get ugly, real fast.

Flash-forward this afternoon: I mentioned how the tips of my fingers hurt while chatting with Melisa (because she's a good listener and NEVER judges me and I love her!), but even she had a hard time imagining why the tips of my fingers would hurt.

Me: Yah, it sort of looks like the prune-y skin you get after swimming.

Melisa: [waiting for me to finish, because REALLY?!?]

Me: I think maybe it was the fact that I used straight-up bleach, to clean the grout.

[one beat, two beats]

Melisa: Because, CHEMICAL BURN!

[blink, blink]

I looked down at my man-fingers.

Getting all up close and personal with my man-fingers…

UPSIDE: I didn't even feel burning them while making dinner, too much.

Deep-fried man-finger, it's what's for dinner!

Sooooo, I guess there's no use in hiding it any longer…[heavy sigh]…YES!!!…my name is Wonder Dork…and I have man-fingers…and you should be feeling really, really good about yourself…right now!

You're welcome.

©2003 -2015 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything! Also, I'm attempting to blog EVERY DAY in 2015, I hope it lasts! #TFH365
January 5, 2015
Free labor!

I was pregnant with our oldest daughter when Garth (not his real name) and I bought our house, which makes for an awesome timeline…because our oldest daughter turned 21 in November…and now I don't have to worry about doing too much math, to figure out that we bought this house 21 years ago and…YES!!!…I'm an awesome planner, like that.

3 more kids later, not so much.

This house was supposed to be our starter home. What?!? Okay, fine. I guess it's safe to say that we're just really sloooooooooooow starters…ahem…aaaaaanyway, a modest 3 bedroom home would fit us perfectly.

3 more kids later, not so much.

Now that the kids are mostly grown and 2 are very nearly out of the house, there's really no reason for us to upgrade to a larger home. See how that ALL worked out?!? Besides, our 3 girls have grown used to sharing a bedroom for this long, what's another year or twenty, right?!?

Note to our girls, if any of you are reading this post right now: that was totally a rhetorical question.

Anyway, here's the really, really, best…I mean like totally AWESOME…part of having ALL 4 kids STILL living at home:

It's 38 degrees and sunny out, ALL HANDS ON DECK!

FREE LABOR, enough said! Oh, and if you're wondering where kidlet #4 is?

Hope likes to organize stuff, she gets it from her Dad!

I've put her organizational skills to good use — she's already gone through the ENORMOUS stack of filing that's been piling up since I don't remember when and is waiting for permission to shred!

The Christmas tree, on the other hand, will most likely stay up until around sometime in February…because I'm also easy-breezy, like that.

©2003 – 2015 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything! Also, I'm attempting to blog EVERY DAY in 2015, I hope it lasts! #TFH365

January 2, 2015
Because a picture paints a thousand words AND sometimes maybe even a house!
Contrary to what the rest of my family feels (except for my son, who celebrates his birthday on the 23rd), January is one of my most favorite months of the year. For me, waking up on New Year's Day is sort of like turning to a fresh page in a brand new notebook or purchasing a novel I've been aching to read.

Half the excitement is in the anticipation of the journey, equaled only by the endless possibilities in watching the progression of a story unfold.

Personal blogging is a lot like that: I have ALL the words in January, but then life begins to quickly insist on equal (if not more) facetime and, well, trying to weed through all the suckage…day in and day out…has a way of knocking even the most coherent sentences…senseless.

Case in point, see previous paragraph.

Long story short: My kids and I have literally grown up in this space and celebrating the start of 2015 also means I've now entered into my 12th year of blogging, however, I'm personally finding it increasingly difficult to write — not without feeling as if I'm being kept behind the border of some imaginary line of what is or isn't blog-worthy.

Excuse my Jersey, but FRIG THAT!

I take a lot of pictures, every day. I also share a lot of photos on social media, because they are moments that have either given me a good laugh or moved me in some way and…honestly…I enjoy sharing laughs and movements are good, too.

Photos have always been an inspiration to the stories I've shared here at This Full House, in fact, this blog has morphed into a timeline of sorts for…oh, I don't know…like settling family disputes or dating our appliances.

For example, when our water heater broke (among other things) last month:

Garth (not his real name): When did we get this &%#$ing water heater, anyways?!?!

Me: Wait, let me check the blog.

[one beat, two beats]

Me: We got the &%#$ing water heater in September 2009, when I posted about Our Date night on Twitter.

Social media is awesome, but it will never replace blogging…not completely…because you can squeeze only so much awesome into 140 characters, right?!? RIGHT?!?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Right. Soooo, for my first blog post in 2015, I grabbed my phone…looked out my kitchen window…and grabbed a shot of the very first thing I saw, you know, for inspiration:

It's a photo of my husband, Garth (not his real name) and he's painting the house…again.

So, besides explaining to you why he is painting the house in January, I can also prove to our insurance company that:
- YES!!! My husband is painting the house!!!
- He has been TRYING to get the house painted since around Thanksgiving!!!
- But he also works 3 out of 4 weekends, most every month.
- And he's literally freezing his ball-bearings off!!!
- Still TRYING to get the house painted!!!
- BY JANUARY 16th!!!
- Which is the deadline before they cancel our homeowner's insurance!!!
- If we don't get the house painted.
- BY JANUARY 16TH!!!
- And did you know that paint is best applied only in temperatures ABOVE 35 degrees?!?!
- Because, WINTER!!!
Stupid insurance company, dumbass exterior latex paint.

©2003 -2015 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything! Also, I'm attempting to blog EVERY DAY in 2015, I hope it lasts! #TFH365
January 1, 2015
13 Things NOT On My Bucket List

Blogging while under the influence of teenagers is hard, but blogging in December is way harder and this is where my son would holler, "That's what SHE said!" from somewhere else in the house, because teenagers are very selective about their hearing and especially with regard to retaining information — most especially when passing along said information, at the most inappropriate of times.

Siiiiiiiiiigh.

Oh, and I was going to throw in something about working full-time, but decided not to (you're welcome!) because life sort of has a way of coming back and biting me in the butt…REAL HARD…and I happen to looooooove AND neeeeeeed my job.

Soooooo, how about if you and I cop a squat on the couch, grab a couple of pillows and chat a little bit about anything OTHER than the holidaze…kids…bills…or not being able to identify the source of the smell emitting from the kitchen, at the moment, m'kay?!?

My friend, Melissa created a brilliant list of blog post prompts to get us started…or 128 ways to help ease my current state of blogstipation…because having words stuck in your head is painful, man!

Today, I'm hitting up #7: 13 Things NOT on My Bucket List (in no particular order, but equally as terrifying):

1. Bungee jumping: I'm terribly afraid of heights. Like in can't-get-past-the-third-floor-of anything-AND-fight-the-urge-to-puke-my-brains-out-at-the-same-time-type of terribly afraid. Besides, I free fall all the time. It's not pretty, even this close to the ground. I'll be happy to cheer you on, with my eyes closed and everything.

2. Skydiving: See number one above. See also, AHHELLNO!

3. Ride in a hot air balloon: Okay, so we've pretty much established the fact that, if it's off of the ground, but I can still see the ground or feel the slightest puff of wind on my face, it's most probably on my NOT list. But I'll be happy to cheer you on, with my eyes closed, etc…

4. Hold a monkey: I've seen how they look at me, maybe start off with handshake first?

5. Look inside a mouth of a volcano: We have teenagers, been there and done that.

6. Blow glass: Considering I mistakenly suck in when blowing bubbles, all the time.

Hang on a second…

Alright, get it out of your system…THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!!!!!…and shouldn't you be doing your homework or something?!?

…thanks, moving on…

7. Have my nude body artistically painted: As far as YOU know, anyways (you're welcome!)

8. Own a fabulous pair of designer shoes: Because my feet don't write checks my mouth can't cash…wait, that didn't come out right…THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID!!!

9. Have drinks in an ice bar: Because I am that dork who tries to see if their tongue sticks to the bar and…well…YouTube couldn't handle so many hits…YO!

10. Survive at paintball: Two minutes in, I'd be dead.

11. Drive a zamboni: Okay, I lied. YES!!!

11. (for real!). Go skinny-dipping: Oh wait, nevermind.

12. (because 11 is being a jerk!). Find out how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop: Especially, NOT in an ice bar!

13. Eat frogs legs: Without eating the whole frog, I mean…because I'm an ALL-IN-type of person, as well…YO!

Okay, your turn to tell me what's on or NOT on your bucket list. Better yet, blog it!

©2003 -2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything!

December 10, 2014
James and The Chocolate Advent Calendar
It's the holidays, again — or the holidaze, as we call it at our house. It hit 70+ degrees, yesterday…and the Weather Channel dudes promised 60's, today…then we're supposed to get hit with a snow storm, tomorrow…and WELCOME TO JERSEY!

I even saw a couple of gnats flying around, all confused and stuff, until I squashed them against the kitchen window…because gnats are gnasty.

[sound of crickets, gasping for breath]

Aaaaaanyway, for the holidaze to have officially arrived at our house, at least one of three things has probably happened.
1. A major appliance has died or is very nearly dead.
2. Someone in our immediate family is dealing with a medical emergency.
3. One of the vehicles is in need of a major repair.
And by Thursday, we hit two out of three: the water heater broke; Doofus-dawg got REAL sick and we had to rush him to the animal hospital on Saturday.

Aaaaaand, YES!!! We consider our pets as immediate members of our family, because fur babies are people, too.

[the sound of crickets, exploding]

Long story, short: the hits just keep coming, it's been a loooooooong and stress-filled week/month/year, you guys.

Xrays are clear, thank goodness! Treated with i.v. fluids, injections of anti-nausea meds and antibiotics. So we're on Doofus-watch for the next 12-24 hrs., making sure dogfriend here continues to feel better. Dude galloped to the front door and was all "The couch is calling mah name!" 🙂

A photo posted by Liz Thompson (@thisfullhouse) on Nov 11, 2014 at 11:29am PST

There IS some good, here: our Doofus-dawg pulled through and is on his way to a full recovery, just in time for "Are you going to eat ALL that Turkey?" Day.

[knocking on wood, until knuckles bleed]

Okay, that's some REAL GOOD news…right there!

"Hey mom, it's me."

Aaaaaand, then…after spending last weekend with friends…my oldest called home, very early (i.e. before I had a chance to finish my first cup of coffee) yesterday morning.

"My car broke down."

Without going into too much detail (you're welcome!) this, my friends, is a fine example of THE WORST possible timing, at it's best.

"GAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

My two oldest girls carpool, together. My oldest is in-between jobs, at the moment. Both of our cars have hit 100,000+ miles. For reasons too looooooong and booooooooring to go into, something in my brain broke. I was just two gray cells shy of having a total mental breakdown.

"Call your father!"

Because I'm an awesome mom, like that.

2 cups of coffee later, I dropped my middle girl off at work and, although I was much calmer than when we first left the house (I blame it on my broken brain), my thoughts grew very dark.

Why this? Why now? Why us? And, more importantly, how in the heck was I going to get 2 other people to work, with 1 working car between us?

I pulled a u-ey (or a u-turn, if you're not from Jersey) and decided to make a quick stop at Michaels, because suckage like this calls for some serious yarn-therapy…YO!

There were three skeins of the oatmeal-colored yarn I needed…yes, I NEEEEEEDED THEM!!!…and thank goodness, because I was already running dangerously low on gray cells…but I only grabbed two skeins…so as not to deny anyone else some yarn-therapy…and welcome to my brain!

"Hold onto the calendar TIGHT, Jimmy."

I stood in line behind a woman with three little kids, I'm guessing all under the age of double-digit-back-talk, the youngest sitting in a stroller and holding on…TIGHT….to an advent calendar.

[whispering]

"There's chocolate in here!"

[a little louder]

"The kind you eat!"

I looked down and realized that the little boy was actually talking to me.

"Mmmm…hmmm."

Pro-Tip: Little kids aren't very good at understanding when an adult isn't in the mood for conversation, just so you know.

"Every day, we get to eat one piece!"

This time, I just nodded my head, because I'm awesome with little kids, like that.

"Me…my sisters…even my dad…"

A grin broke out all over his face and I began to feel this funny sort of fuzzy warm start to wash over my body.

"Wow…you mean, you share chocolate with your dad, too?!?!"

He smiled, nodded his head and continued to poke at the calendar.

"Uh-huh…aaaaaand…he gets to open the FIRST window!"

Aaaaaand then it hit me…like a trunk-load of unfinished baby books, upside the head…the longing for the days when a quick trip to Michaels and a simple little chocolate advent calendar could bring a smile to our faces, like that.

"We get one of these, all the times!"

Funny thing is, so do we…ALL the times…in fact, arguing over who opened the first (or last) window has become a sort of family tradition, every December 1st.

St. Nicholas arrives today to leave treats for good little and not-so- little kids, guess who left BOTH her slippers out…just in case? Happy Mikulas Day 🙂

A photo posted by Liz Thompson (@thisfullhouse) on Dec 12, 2013 at 2:57am PST

Along with putting their shoes out on St. Nicholas Day, every December 6th!

Something in my brain began to heal. I was once again reminded of the little things that make this frazzled, wigged-out and very tired mama's heart…happy.

"Wow, it's so nice of you to let your dad open the first one!"

And then the suckage didn't seem all that bad, really. Nothing that we can't live (or haven't lived) through, before.

"Yeah, I know. His name is James, just like mine!"

Nothing that a chocolate advent calendar couldn't remedy, I mean.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you…James!"

I smiled all the way back to my way car, I even made eye contact with folks (some of them, smiling back), because I just got schooled…by a pre-schooler. And thank you for the reminder, little James.

©2003 -2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything!
November 25, 2014
Garth and the Amazing Technicolor Dream House

Garth (not his real name) and I have been planning to paint our house for a long while, however, like most of our DIY projects (see also: all of them), preparing for one thing…leads to eleven more unplanned projects…which need to be addressed, first…before we can even begin thinking about starting on…ummmmm…wait, what WERE we talking about, again?

[blows bangs out of eyes, looks down at hands, picks at chipped fingernail polish]

OH YEAH! Painting the house. Right. So, it doesn't help that one of us is more of a…let's just sit back and wait…perhaps think about this a little more, rationally…type person. While the other one of us is all…ohhhhhhhh, let's just throw caution to the wind and get'r done, already…DAMMIT!!!

Guess which one of us is which. Go ahead. I'll wait.

[taps foot, counts one Mississippi, two Mississippi]

IT'S ME!!! I am so NOT a good sit back and just wait-er.

Autumn is the perfect time to paint the house: look at all the pretty colors!

Loooong…boooooring…even more convoluted than usual…story short…we're to the point where we HAVE to paint the house and, well, Garth (not his real name) had some scheduled time off, last week…sooooo, PERFECT TIMING!!!…besides, we've been prepping for this moment for a very looooong…well…hang on…let me show you.

Back of the house, color swatches circa at least two kids still in diapers ago (I think)!

We were leaning towards the second color from the left. Some sort of Sante Fe terra cotta, I think. Then our parents got sick. My parents moved. Brother gets married, invites all 6 of us to be in the wedding party. And then "Maybe next year" turned into "Meh…the house doesn't look THAT bad, right?!?"

Front of the house, circa at least one kid in high school ago (maybe).

Actually, you can't see the color, not anymore. It was a lovely barn red, but my husband HATED IT and covered it with our newest selections.

Oh wait, I lied. Here's a small section he missed.

5 years later…I have to agree with him…ICK!!! So, he sent me to Home Depot with the following instructions: pick 3 of your favorite colors (see pic above the blood red) and then we'll just eenie-meenie-minee-moe-it!

This right here, my friends? Is just all sorts of sexy. After 20+ years, dozens of snow storms, Nor'easters and 2 major hurricanes, the house is getting a fresh coat of paint. The old girl is smiling and looking good, already — house, too 🙂

After a week of prepping the house for painting…for real…Garth (not his real name) completed the garage-side of the house, thinking we could let it set overnight and THEN decide if we really, really like it.

Yeah, I'm leaning towards the smokey plum.

Aaaaand, then it rained…and rained…and I'm all like…MOTHEREFFER!!!…meh, I've waited THIS long, what's another couple of days…or twenty more…right?!? RIGHT?!?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

One could ONLY dream. Besides, at this rate, we could simply continue testing color combinations and have the house painted in…[does the math]…another 30 years…give or take a high school graduation…yo!

©2003 -2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything!

November 3, 2014
He’s Army Strong, Mom’s Still in Training

As a child, I remember reading about the Declaration of Independence in history class and quietly smiling to myself, thinking…THIS!…this is why my family is here.

"Mom, I want to enlist into the military."

But I cannot think of too many words, other than those my 15 year-old son has been saying, since he was 4 years-old, that can simultaneously fill my heart with joy AND feel as if someone or something is trying to dig its way out of my chest, one spoonful at at a time.

"I spoke with an Army recruiter during Career Day."

And yet, in the last few months, I have heard very little else.

"I told them I want to be an Army Engineer."

My heart is about ready to burst both with pride and dread, all over my face.

Glen at his Uncle Bud's deployment ceremony, 2004.

Here's the thing, encouraging my 4 year-old that…YES!…Army dudes are indeed awesome, is easy — especially, since he idolizes his grandfather (my dad immigrated to the U.S. in 1956) and his favorite super hero happens to be my brother, Uncle Bud the Army dude.

"And I told them that I plan on joining ROTC, next year."

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

"I'd like to visit West Point, can we go?"

So, my husband and I took a road trip, with just our son.

Most gorgeous views of the Hudson River Valley, EVUH!

The weather was absolutely gorgeous, perfect fall day with temperatures in the 60's (my favorite!), but it was also a bittersweet day; for Garth (not his real name) and me, I mean.

I have lots of pictures of trees, they comfort me.

This post has been in my head for a very long time. It's still very hard to put the words together, because this is not about politics (I'm not that smart) and I'm not looking for a philosophical debate on history or religion (I'm not that clever, or awake, probably).

Day out with our future soldier, he's been wanting to visit West Point since he was chin height.

A photo posted by Liz Thompson (@thisfullhouse) on Oct 10, 2014 at 10:26am PDT

I'm just a mom, who loves her child(ren) with every ounce of her being, who's trying…really, really hard…to raise my kids to be…well…MUCH smarter, than me.

Battle Monument, West Point

Now that they're grown (mostly) and can pretty much think for themselves (see previous parenthesis), I can tell you EXACTLY what the hardest part of raising teenagers is: trying NOT to feel as if you're losing control of…well…every thing.

We are smiling, AM SO!

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.

I'm not going to lie, I'm proud AND scared as hell, you guys.

BUT! I'm going to continue to try really, really hard to stay strong; even though I know, that my kids know, I'm about a backstroke away from drowning in my own feelings.

"Thanks for bringing me, this was a good day."

Because, in my head, I can't help but see him as that same little towheaded 4 year-old…running around…always with the running…wearing his favorite Power Rangers sneakers, pretending to be a super hero…like his Uncle Bud.

He's an evil child, this one!

Upside of raising teens: when they grow independent enough to cook for themselves and start making you fried Oreos and stuff…yo!

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October 21, 2014