This Full House Archive

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

Nearly Wordless Wednesday: Don’t Sweat the Dirty Laundry

Sure, when my mother's over, it's a folding party and…NO!…I was NOT even invited!

Although, I gave up hope of ever "finishing" the laundry, a long time ago, I still think it's cute how my mother comes over and gets my kids to help her fold their laundry, sort of.

"I can't believe that this basket is full of JUST socks!"

6 pairs of feet make for a lot of socks, I guess. Still. It's easier to holler at the kids, when they're getting ready for soccer, field hockey, or whatever else requires some extrasensory protection against stinky sports equipment.

"DID YOU CHECK IN THE SOCK BASKET???"

Now that the cooler weather is here, we're going to be hitting the sock basket (pretty hard) and, well, while most people would probably think that blogging about my mother, folding my laundry, with my kids, is pretty, you know, sad and a pathetic state of the blogging universe, these days, really.

"Ewww, this one still looks….crusty."

On the surface, it's snot.

"Like boogers, right?"

To a wigged-out, frustrated and disenchanted blogger (like me) it's all about seizing the moment, to be able to look a little deeper, then commit all of your thoughts and feelings into a few short paragraphs, well, some folks would STILL consider this to be just a silly little story.

"Only Mama can make even folding laundry…look fun!"

I call it sublime poetry.

CLICK!

"You're not going to blog that, are you?"

I just don't sweat the dirty laundry, all that much, anymore.

Check out the Official Wordless Wednesday HQ
Tag, you're it: Wordless Wednesday

In Other News: Nestle Family Blogger Event – Lessons Learned, Social Media and Twitter

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved

October 7, 2009
Rinse, Spit and Don’t Bother Repeating Yourself, I’ll Wait!

Look, she spits just like a little brother!

My 3 girls argue, a lot. Sometimes, it's over really dumb stuff, like, I don't know, this one is copying that one, while the other one is always annoying everyone else (guess which one, go ahead, I'll wait) but, having 3 sisters, who argue, about dumb stuff, all the time, can be awfully hard on a guy.

Still.

At our house, when push comes to shove, it's the teens vs. the tweens and, well, guess who gets to referee? Go ahead, I'll wait.

NOBODY!

"You are such a loser!"

Not anymore.

"Well, you are a bigger loser!"

Especially, now that they're older.

"Nuh-uh!"

It's a never-ending battle of the, yuh-huh's.

"Yuh-huh!"

See what I mean?

"ENOUGH!"

Still, I'm tired; not getting any younger, either (DAMMIT!) and, well, enough is enough, right?

"I MEAN, IF I HAD A DOLLAR FOR EACH TIME I WISH I HAD A SISTER!!!"

I mean, I don't really remember the last time I really "talked" to my kids, without hollering, first.

[blank stares]

Honestly, I'm getting really tired of reminding my kids how I don't see my twin brother as often as I'd like and just how lucky they are to, you know, have each other to argue with, since no one ever seems to want to listen to me.

"Mom, what ARE you talking about?"

See?

"Why would you call your sister a loser, like that?"

[blank stares]

"Catch a grip, Mom; I'm just congratulating Heather for losing all that extra weight she picked up since her surgery."

[blank stare]

"Well, I bet you can't spit as far as Hopey can!"

Okay, so I may not be the quietest, most smartest mother in the world.

"Ready…set…go!"

But, I'm certainly not the dumbest. Guess who won? Go ahead, I'll wait!

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved

September 28, 2009
The Back-to-School Night That Almost Wasn’t
Earlier this month, on the first day of school, I posted this video on TheMotherhood.com and went on…and on…about how, after having recently earned my 15 year pin (okay, not really, but parenthood ain't all sunshine and rainbows, so they really should give us something, right?) I am JUST NOW learning how to breath.
- Conference call
- Doctor's appointment
- Conference call
- Field Hockey Game
- Soccer Practice
- Back-to-School Night #3
Yeah, well, I lied.

[heavy sigh]

I also remember saying something about, "not being a big fan of back-to-school nights" and how, you know, I just don't like doing them anymore.

"Are we going tonight, Momma?"

Then, I remembered something else.

"Yep, as soon as Daddy gets here."

My oldest kid is a sophomore in high school.

"Then, we can go."

But, I missed her freshman orientation and, well, my parents never met any of my high school teachers, or were ever really able to play an active role in our community (with both of them working full-time and part-time jobs, I don't blame them) so, I went.

"Are you ready, Momma?"

As ready as I'll ever be, after:
- Dropping Holly and Hope at Glen's soccer practice
- Loaning coach Glen's social studies book (sucks to be his son, right now)
- Picking up Heather from field hockey
- Meeting my husband back at Glen's soccer practice
- Dropping Hope and Heather off at home
Then a quick potty stop…for me…of course.

"You used to be a lot more Zen!"

I hate it when other mothers remember stuff, like that.

"What happened?"

It's true. I used to be real cool and calm about stuff, when my kids were little(er), while other mothers were all, like, ACK, but snow days and television ARE the devil!!!

Holly pretended not to know me, but it didn't work.

"Hi, I'm Holly's mom!"

See?

"Yes, well, you walked in with her, so…."

Yes, I took her with me. Hello? 4 kids in 4 different schools. 16 teachers between them. Lucky if I remember my kids' names. Still. It was sort of fun to sit next to her and make fun of…I mean…get to know the other parents and stuff.

"You are such a child!"

See?

We got to sit all of 10 minutes, before it was time to head over to…uh…I think it was Biology…maybe, English…I forget.

"Which one is yours?"

But, I wanted to check out the biographies posted on the back wall and found Holly's, right away. It was easy — she loves to draw anime.
- Favorite Sports: None
- Favorite Athelete: None
- Favorite Outdoor Activity: None
Oh, and Holly hates sports and the kid who would love to live in the city.

Thank goodness, seeing as 3 outta 4 of my kids like sports and, well, I needed someone to stay home, or at least pretend like staying home is, you know, a good thing, too.

Then, I saw this:
- My Hero: Mom
Aaaand, well, you know, I am just really, really glad I went.

"I'm hungry!"

Besides, once your kids get older, perhaps one day you will also begin to believe that back-to-school night isn't really all that bad, after all.

"Wanna get McDonald's?"

It's sort of like date night, with kids, only a whole lot cheaper and without all the busted plumbing.

"Sure, after I call your grandparents, before they go to bed, to tell them Heather won't need anymore butt surgery!!!"

Aren't you glad I didn't take Twitter?

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved
September 25, 2009
Wednesday’s Child
"I made the team!"

Most parents would be very excited, perhaps even a little relieved, to see their child commit themselves to the rigorous mental and physical demands of competitive sports and, ultimately, make it through to the final cut.

[blank stare]

"Did you hear what I said?"

I am not one of those parents.

"Oh yeah, yeah, I'm just, like, wow!"

See what I mean?

"Congratulations, sweetie!"

Of course, I'm happy for her. Like her younger siblings, she's played recreational soccer up until the 6th grade. However, rather than going pro (heh) and playing for the middle school, like most of her friends did, Heather had a hard time finding a comfortable place.

"Did you get a chance to speak to your coach about, you know?"

Then, she got sick and, well, being able to sit comfortably, in class, or excusing yourself, dozens of times during the day, without question, or embarrassment was a blessing.

"Yeah, she's totally cool with it."

I thought about writing a note, explaining the situation to her coach. Even dialed her coach's number, before hanging up and finally deciding that this is perhaps one of those times when life should just be allowed to run its course.

"Are you okay with it?"

Honestly, um, no. Quite frankly, I am scared to death that my child is going to land flat on her ass and, you know, this time, not be able to get up.

"Oh yeah, yeah, I mean, the surgeon said it was, like, okay."

She played her first game, yesterday. They won. 6-0. I survived it. Barely. Still. I'm not looking forward to Thursday for two reasons:
1. She has an appointment with the surgeon to see if her condition (for lack of a better word) requires more surgery.
2. They play the meanest, nastiest field hockey team, ever.
For now, I'm keeping up appearances, like there's absolutely nothing wrong with her playing field hockey, or my suggesting that perhaps it would be a good idea if she wore the protective gear, for the rest of her life, thankyouverymuch.

Later.

"Can I dye my hair red?"

She is the only one of my kids [knocking on wood until knuckles bleed] to have gone through surgery, twice and, as much as I feel awful saying it, it couldn't happen to a tougher child.

"And then could you, you know, dip my ends in black?"

After all, she was born on a Wednesday.

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved
September 23, 2009
Cloudy With a Chance of Niagara Falls

This is what it looks like, when your toilet needs a root canal!

I was 5 months pregnant when we moved into our house and, almost 16 years later, my husband Garth [not his real name] and I still lovingly refer to it as, "our starter home."

"Why don't you just sell it, as is, and move over here?"

My MIL was just being nice. Really, she was. I mean, after all, I've had terrible luck with appliances and our water heater blew up, just last week, which resulted in a mad dash to grandma's for a quick shower…or 6.

Still, I doubt that my FIL is ready to give up the "no waiting" bathroom rule at his house, not just yet, if ever.

"OH SH*T!"

The last time I heard my husband holler like that, well, the water heater blew up and I was all, like, SHUTUP!

"[cough]…Toilet…[wheeze]…water…[gasp]…broken…[cough]"

No, you can't break toilet water — though, in this house, you really never can tell — but, my poor husband had just gotten home from taking himself, along with my two oldest girls, to the doctor's office and finished sending me this text:

"Heather has strep, I've got bronchitis, waiting on Holly's culture…"

To which I promptly texted back:

"Holy Sh*t!"

Honestly, I felt bad for Garth [not his real name] I really did. Still. Having spent the last 6 days with him…home…sick…then, the kids getting sick (again!) well, I just knew it wouldn't be long.

"We're closing in 15 minutes."

I tried to explain to the nice girl manning (or, femaling?) the doctor's office that I had this really important trip coming up, that requires me to be away from home, for a couple of days, alone, without having to pack any soccer cleats, or field hockey sticks, not to mention, making multiple trips to the hardware store, or supermarket, while escorting a bunch of rowdy kids, or a couple of moody teenagers, not to mention, hovering over a cranky husband, while he tries to fix something, AGAIN and, well, MY THROAT HURTS DAMMIT!!!

"Okay, Mrs. Thompson, your culture came back negative."

[eyes go wide]

"Er, given the circumstances at home, I'm going to write out a script, anyway."

No, I would never advocate the overuse of antibiotics. However, this is my house, not yours and well, something's gotta give, sometime.

This week, it's the toilet.

"Oh, and your blood pressure is higher than usual."

Aaaaand, I hear that the west coast is really beautiful this time of year — but, I really don't care — given the circumstances here, at home, I'll be happy just to be able to get away and NOT worry about taking my sweet time in the shower, or use a toilet that works!

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved

September 21, 2009
In Our House, Safety First Usually Happens the Fourth Time Around

My youngest daughter (she's 8) is tired of being last. How do I know?

"It's…[sniff]…real hard…[hiccup]…to be…[snort]…the youngest…[sniff]…all the time!"

Because, she told me, just the other day.

"I know, sweetie."

I grew up in a generation where parents thought it would be a real good idea to, you know, start talking to their kids about stuff, while mine were, well, still learning English.

"But, it's not easy being grown up, either."

Besides, their parents never talked to them about stuff, and their grandparents never talked to their parents, and so on, and so on…

"Besides, you are a safety!"

What? I never said I was good at it. Talking to my kids, I mean. Besides, she was wearing her safety patrol belt. I saw it. It triggered something in my brain:

a) They didn't have safety patrols when my oldest girls were in elementary school.

b) How upset my son was, when he didn't get picked.

YES…that's it…this would be Hope's claim to fame!

"Aaaand, well, your sisters and brother didn't get picked."

But, in my head, all I could hear was a much younger, not to mention, more tired and less grayish, inner-voice saying how this, too, was a bad thing to say and this line of reasoning will, no doubt, one day, come back and bite me in the butt, too!

[sniff]

"Yeah, aaaand I didn't pretend to lose my belt, like some kids did, so I could get a cool new orange one, either!"

[sound of crickets chirping]

"Um…yeah."

What? She's got a yellow belt. Apparently, orange is way cooler. Aaaand, it's not like she actually went through with it, right?

"Because, being a safety means I'm responsible, right!"

Aaaand, in this house, seeing as I'm her mother, that IS a good thing.

"Right!"

Even now, after years of trying to raise my kids, to be kind and respectfully towards each other, I can't help but think that there aren't enough good feelings in the world, to keep any one of them from believing that, eventually, someone got more [insert tangible, or intangible item here] than they did.

"I told Mrs. So-and-So that I am the first safety in the house!"

Then, I looked at the clock.

"Just tell Mrs. So-and-So that Mommy made you late, again."

What? She's a mother AND she knows me.

"She'll believe you."

Besides, it was the best I could do, without at least my second cup of coffee, I mean, right?

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

September 14, 2009
Hump Day Diddy Dumbs: Just Another Date Night on Twitter
I wonder if he spent this much time, you know, picking out my engagement ring?

After spending Labor Day weeding the garden, along with property the size of a football field, then just hoping for a quiet moment, or two, before the work week started (did I mention, we got kids?) this wasn't quite what we had in mind.

"Do you hear water running?"

My poor husband, Garth [not his real name] is too busy switching off lights, or turning down the temperature, to worry about a mid-life crises.

In fact, he's turned into quite the eco-nazi!

"Relax, I'm washing clothes."

Later.

"Oh SH*T!"

Well, to make a rather long story short (you're welcome) this is what happens, when you give a busted water heater, to a couple, married for 19 years, on Twitter:
Damned, if his holding out for that tax credit doesn't cost us in the end…literally!!!

Morale of the Story: The next time someone asks you if you hear water running, you say YES!!!

Or, risk a couple of sleepless nights, lying awake, stinky, watching your husband put a few extra holes in the wall!

Or, not and spend the rest of your life, posting stupid stuff on Twitter, like me.

[Edited to Add: We did NOT go with a tankless water heater, after all. It would have been placed as a special order, which would have meant a few more days, without hot water. Oh, and we decided to install it ourselves. Because, we just LOVE a challenge. Besides, it called for another date night. This time, in the laundry/play room, where we spent a whole 7 hours, last night, alone, together, you know, making it fit. Aaaand, that's what she said last night. Buh-duh-bum. I'm here all week, folks. Try the veal!]

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights
September 9, 2009
Is It Any Wonder I’m Not the President of the PTO

My father's school picture, taken in Hungary, during the 1950's, when they used to call each other, "Comrade!"

My in-laws turned me onto genealogy back in the 90's. I still remember logging into AOL, taking a shower, making a cup of coffee, putting Heather (my middle girl) down for a nap and then quickly dusting the computer screen, or wiping up sticky spots on my desk — it took THAT long to load a page.

Eventually, I added a few more kids to my family tree and, well, somehow the past took a backseat to planning for the future.

Today, I find myself unable to think passed deciding on which dropoff/pickup lane makes the most sense or, depending on what school I'm at, just what in the heck is his/her teacher's name, anyway?

Never mind, planning the next meal, without thinking, you know, this just may be my last.

"No, Heather has field hockey and my soccer practice was yesterday!"

Because, I swear, 3 days into the school year and it's already killing me.

"Hey, but I need another notebook!"

What?

"Oh, me too and here's the extra stuff my teacher needs!"

Huh?

"Yeah, me too and did you remember to sign the good behavior contract?"

Are you serious?

"Yeah, me too and we HAVE to use book socks!"

I thought recycling paper bags was a good thing?

"Mom, are you okay?"

No, I'm far from being okay. In fact, I'm being held accountable for every little thing — like, each time my kid sneezes, passes gas or laughs out loud (LOL, for you kids in the back) in class — but, I realize that not everyone has 4 kids, attending 4 different schools, or is used to walking around in a perpetual state of confusion, like me.

"Yeah, yeah, fine."

Still, I can't help but wonder how my father's teacher would have reacted, if she received the following email:

Dear Comrade Teacher,

When dropping little **Jimmy off at school, I was surprised to learn that all the rumors were true.

I mean, there was absolutely no place to park and the car pool lane reached all the way out onto the highway — as far as Starbucks, even!

So, I parked in the next town over and walked little **Jimmy to the door, but couldn't get to it, because about 100 parents beat me to it.

Then, at the end of the day, the same thing happened, except, Jimmy came out a whole different door, from this morning and, well, I'm confused and **Jimmy is upset.

Yours truly,

Comrade Parent

**I don't know anyone named Jimmy.

But, the rest of the stuff is true and I could have written to any one of the 4 schools my kids attend, really.

"My teacher said that you can pick me up at the same door that you drop me off in."

Phew…well, okay…glad that's over.

"What's for dinner?"

[blank stare]

"Never mind."

I mean, honestly, lunch is at 1:00 o'clock; how hungry can she be?

"I forgot to eat my lunch, today."

Never mind.

[Edited to add: Recycling paper bags is okay – in fact, using old Christmas wrapping paper as book covers is okay, too – phew, glad that's over!]

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights

September 4, 2009
TLC Book Tour: The Curse of the Good Girl by Rachel Simmons

Growing up, I didn't have a lot of friends. Girls, I mean. I guess it was around the time I entered the 2nd grade (around my youngest girl's age) when I realized that little girls weren't very nice.

In fact, I quickly learned that some little girls could be very, very mean, too.

"Look she's got boobies!"

I'd like to believe that, like me, Buffy (you know, the frenemy slayer) has since grown up, gotten over the fact that she felt the need to single me out, in front of the entire 3rd grade class, for wearing a pale lemon yellow body suit, without a training bra, but is raising her children with a little more common sense and compassion.

I doubt it, though.

Then again, raising 3 girls (and 1 boy) of my own, I often times find myself fingering the scars of my youth and can't help but wonder, you know, if it weren't for Buffy, would I be the mother I am today?

I have the extreme pleasure of being the 1st stop on the TLC Book Tour for September 2009, featuring The Curse of the Good Girl – Raising Authentic Girls with Courage and Confidence by Rachel Simmons.

(more…)

September 1, 2009
19 Years of Marriage and She’s STILL Got Nothin’

"While any couple that reaches their 16th, 17th, 18th, or 19th wedding anniversary certainly has an occasion worth celebrating, there are no traditional gifts associated with those anniversary years…About.com"

I used to think my MIL was nuts (sorry mom, but wait, it gets better) especially, around holiday time, or whenever a member of the Thompson Clan reaches some sort of milestone, that typically requires some form of congratulatory gift-giving.

"Would you mind buying your father a card, for me."

What?

"I didn't have time to run out and buy a gift."

Seriously? After 50-something years (I forget) not even a simple little card? How weird, right?

So, I thought.

"What's this for?"

My parents were over the other day (because, they went to Costco, again, and have been keeping us in breakfast cereal, laundry detergent and diet soda, for years, now) and handed me an envelope, along with a half-a-dozen sponges, because you can NEVER have enough sponges, right?

"Happy Anniversary!"

[blank stare]

"It's this Tuesday."

I knew that, sort of.

"How many years is it, now?"

I really can't blame my poor husband, Garth [not his real name] for questioning my ability to remember.

"19, so there!"

Never mind the fact it helps to have been married on an even year and the start of a new decade (I am not stupid, much) makes the math SO MUCH easier!

"Yeah, but she didn't remember why I sent flowers, last month."

Right. Not at first. I mean, seriously…ladies in the house…wouldn't you be like, "Whoa?" when it's clearly not your birthday, anniversary and you're not pregnant [knocking on wood until knuckles bleed] but, this guy is…like…standing at your door with a big bunch of flowers?!?

"Someone loves you, very much!"

Yeah, I tipped the flower dude, but who's sending me flowers?

"19 years ago, love began in earnest…"

Okay, it was signed Garth [not his real name] but, we got married on August 25th (I remember, because we got pictures to prove it and everything) and, well, I was pretty sure I wasn't pregnant.

[Edited to add: Darn sure, since I have my period, right now, you're welcome, Mom!]

"OUR FIRST DATE!!!"

I'm sure I made my husband a little deaf, screaming into the phone, as if I were answering the bonus round of [enter your favorite game show, here] or, something.

"Did she mention, she nearly bit my head off, yesterday?"

When did I turn into everyone's whipping child? I think it was around our 15th anniversary, or something.

"Yes, but she admitted that she was wrong."

I love my mother. Really, I do. Yet, she insists on saying and doing stuff — like, buying my kids food, clothes and investing in Hallmark greeting cards — just to make me cry.

"Yeah, it was wr…wr…[deep breath]…totally not right of me."

Seriously, 16, 17, 18…it really doesn't matter…after a while, the years start to blend, anyway.

4 kids, 2 cats and 1 sock-eating doofus-dog later, my life has become this mosaic of undefinable moments of comfort, knowing that there are those times, when I feel lucky just to be able to get out of bed.

"Aaaand, I made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich!"

Or, be able to make a simple peace offering, like a hot cup of coffee, or peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which, in turn, is met with equal (albeit, unspoken) gratitude.

"So, Happy Anniversary!"

It's the gift that keeps on giving.

[heavy sigh]

As for tomorrow, I got nothin'!

[blank stare]

Please, don't judge me (forgive me, mom) it's a comfort to me now, knowing that at least my MIL will understand.

"Yeah, at this point, it would be too expensive to replace her!"

Besides, Garth [not his real name] makes me feel like I know stuff — like, how I make a pretty mean peanut butter and jelly sandwich!

If that's not love, I don't know what is…Happy [enter corresponding year, here] Anniversary to us!

© 2009 This Full House – All Rights Reserved.

August 24, 2009