This Full House Archive

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

  • Picture Perfect Thursday: Attack of the Smiley Fries

    I am NOT a morning person and my husband is…well, let me just tell you…he’s like a fluffy little bird happily twittering about in the early morning sunshine – scary, I know – needless to say, we go to great lengths to stay out of each other’s way and try not to, you know, talk…too much.

    "Coffee?"

    He hands me a hot steaming mug filled with the sweet elixir of life, as I stumble off to the shower.

    "Herumpfuh."

    Then, feeds the animals.  I mean, the pets.  The kids are old enough to fend for themselves, thank you.

    "Turkey, roast beef or peanut butter?"

    Also, makes their lunches.

    "Nope, uh-huh, I don’t think so and NO, because you just bought yesterday!"

    And fields any (and all) of their questions – although, the children have not yet appreciated the fact that, in doing so, their father HAS saved them from encounters with the beast, that is their mother – bless his squishy heart.

    By dinnertime, it’s a whole different story!

    "Beer?"

    So, he’s a morning person and I’m…well, let me just tell you…I’m like a night owl.  All bug-eyed and barrel-chested, with nerves jumping and ready for bear.

    "Himumpfuh"

    Seriously, at the end of the day, the man is an absolute grump!

    "Oh, no…look out!"

    Especially, when I do something totally unexpected and scare the bees-juice out of him!

    "WHAT!?!?!"

    [eyes go wide]

    "The…the…smiley fries!"

    I grabbed his tie, pulled him closer and pointed toward the kitchen counter.

    "They…are…ATTACKING!"

    Friescomingtogetyou2

    "They’re coming to get you, Daddy!"

    [rolls eyes]

    "Stop it, you’re being STUPID!"

    Friescomingtogetyou3

    "They’re coming for you, Daddy!"

    [cracks a smile]

    "Okay, now you’re JUST weird."

    Friescomingtogetyou4

    "They’re coming for YOU!"

    [bites lower lip]

    "Shhhh, the kids are watching!"

    Friescomingtogetyou5

    "Look, there comes one of them now!"

    [frowning]

    "Stop it, they’ll hear you!"

    Friescomingtogetyou6

    "Here he comes now…GAH…I’m getting OUTTA OF HERE!"

    I was able to crack through that tough-Daddy shell of his and I ask you, how could he NOT smile!?!

    "I…LOVE…yooooou!"

    Honestly, with fries like these, what’s NOT to love?

    "Now, where’s my beer?"

    So, I guess what I’m saying is, contrary to popular opinion, opposites really DO attract – it’s what helps keep the spice in our marriage, anyways – unfortunately, I must have commanded a little too much of The Boy’s attention, for once.

    "Daaaaaaady!"

    Garth (not his real name) got up with him, last night – bless his squishy heart – because, The Boy very rarely calls out for, you know, me.

    "Coming, Buddy!"

    Go figure.

    "Coffee?"

    But, this time, it was ME who got up with the pets, made the lunches, etc…

    "Himumpfuh."

    So, you see, it all works out in the end.

    "What’s for dinner, tonight?"

    [giggle]

    "Swedish meatballs!"

    [eyes go wide]

    "Oooooh, I can’t wait!"

    What?

    [shrugs shoulders]

    Yes, there’s only 6 more sleeps until Christmas and it’s a stressful time for everyone.

    "Momma, I don’t feel so…[gulp]…BLAAAAAH!"

    Especially, when yet other one of your kids wakes up sick and pukes all over the breakfast table…AGAIN!

    "Herumpfuh!"

    What; you want fries with that?

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    [Edited to add:  Please remember to leave a comment on Bloggers Unite – if you haven’t already, won’t you consider visiting my post and Delurking for a cause, or for even a DORK, like me!?!?]

    Submitted to:

    Blog Carnival archive - carnival of family life

    Carnival of Family Life

  • Bloggers Unite – When a simple act of kindness means delurking for even a dork, like me!

    Bloggersunitebadge

    Bloggers from around the world are performing acts of kindness and today, December 17th – with only 8 more sleeps until Christmas – I am honored to dedicate today’s blog post to telling you about Carol for A Cause and, hopefully, share a little of the spirit of giving, with you.

    Yes, even YOU – yep, CAN so see you – way in the back, looking all shopped out and blogging in your pajamas!

    This is the 3rd year that Marie from Mommy Community is hosting the fundraiser – it started on December 13th and ends on Christmas Day – as we listen to moms and their kids carol for this wonderful cause.

    To listen to carols – click here.

    You’ll be given an opportunity to leave a donation – all proceeds will be given to the Susan Komen Breast Cancer Foundation – and any amount you can donate will be greatly appreciated, I’m sure.

     

    It’s easy to do good so please join me – won’t you? – because, nice really DOES matter and it IS a small act of kindness, after all!

    As an added incentive – not to mention, perhaps saving you from yet another to-do, or two – I’m calling you out (yes, YOU) and ask that you consider leaving your name (or, NOT) and This Full House will donate $1.00 for each comment received on this post, to Carol for a Cause!

    There, consider your good deed done for the day!

    Because I am a major DORK and my name is NOT Dooce – seriously, the woman would be looking at LEAST a triple-digit donation – I’m leaving comments open until the end of the week and thank you, in advance, for your kindness.

    Feel free to pass this along, share it with a blogging friend, or two and consider this OUR chance to show the
    world that bloggers have heart online and off!

    [wipes chocolate from mouth and puckers lips]

    BRING IT!



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  • Parenting Tip# 30,910,007: For every action, there is an equal and positive reaction, followed by total hesitation and a little bit of Charlie Daniels, too!

    My children are in love with my SIL – you know, the one who DARED Garth (not his real name) to ask me out on a date – and I can’t say as I blame them.  Wayne (not her real name, either) is a fun-loving and engaging adult that kids can totally relate to and…well…all the things I used to be, before children.

    Seriously, I’ve got pictures to prove it – all decked out in gold lame, wickedly high hair and shoulder pads that would make even a line backer look, you know, pretty – and my 23-year-old niece (Wayne’s daughter) thought I was cool when she was…um…smaller.

    "Yeah, but Aunt Wayne is really awesome and she DOES have a tattoo!"

    Three of them, actually, and my favorite being the two lips on her rearend that reads kiss my…uh…well, just ask anyone in the family and they’ll tell you, my SIL is…um…well, there IS only one Wayne and it’s hard NOT to love her.

    Even when she makes your 8-year-old son cry.

    "What’s the matter, Buddy?"

    Last weekend, The Boy asked to go home with Aunt Wayne – because, he likes her way more than me, remember? – and kept my SIL company on the way to a family Christmas party, way up in North Jersey.

    "I have [sniff-sniff] something [snort-snort] to tell you."

    My husband’s cousin lives about a little over an hours drive away – way up in Sopranos Land – and The Boy had a great time spending some private time with Aunt Wayne and rocking out to Charlie Daniels.

    At least, that’s what my SIL told me.

    "I did [sniff] something [snort] really, really bad in Aunt Wayne’s car!"

    Uh-oh, judging that we ARE talking about my SIL and seeing as I’ve, you know, driven with her before, The Boy’s latest admission of bad behavior could range anywhere from flipping off an inconsiderate driver, to being allowed to say a word on the no-no list.

    "I said a curse!"

    See, I know.

    "I’M SOOOOO SORRY!"

    To tell you the truth, I was shocked and NOT by his actually saying a curse word – Holy Hannah Montana, I am his mother – but, The Boy buried his face into the crook of his arm and started to…um…well, let’s see.  Okay, if I were to try to string together a couple of words and describe an accurate account of exactly how badly the kid must have felt, a full blown  snot blowing brain numbing bawl, comes to mind.

    "Come on, Buddy, it’s NOT that bad."

    Seriously, I could think of worse things (shuddup, Wayne!) and we ARE talking about a woman, with a picture of an angel, fighting the devil, and the words, "The devil won!" tattooed on her shoulder.

    "It’s not like you’re going around saying it in school, or anything, RIGHT?"

    Judging by the vigorous way The Boy nearly shook his head right off his shoulders, h-e-double-hockey sticks, NO!

    "So, why don’t you just tell me what you said."

    It took him a couple of seconds and – only after he blew his nose, twice – I braced myself for the worst, as The Boy finally shouted out.

    "Son of a Bitch!"

    [eyes go wide]

    "Oh, is THAT all…I mean…really?"

    Honestly – if you have kids, then you know – The Boy hears filthier stuff walking around in the grocery store and it COULD have been worse.

    "Well, now you told me and…"

     

    He started BAWLING, again.

    "What?"

    Sniff-sniff.

    "Aunt Wayne said that you wouldn’t be mad."

    More bawling.

    "Well, I’m still glad that you told me."

    Cheese and rice, I couldn’t believe that The Boy was so upset – I mean, really, it’s NOT that bad – but, I was secretly taking pleasure in the idea that he seemed really worried what, you know, I thought about the whole thing.

    "But, she told me that, she would NOT tell you, and she did NOT want you, to make me, NOT go with, you know, Aunt Wayne, anymore, unless, I wanted to."

    Now, I ask you, how am I supposed to react and, seriously, does he really think that I would ever do that?

    "That’s when I said, HELL NO!"

    Needless to say, he’s NOT in trouble and neither is my SIL.

    [eyes go wide]

    Because, Wayne mom-napped me to Starbucks, last night, and we laughed a week’s worth of suckage off when I told her.

    "No more Charlie Daniels, evuh!"

    The Hubs, however, not so much.

    "So, what’s the matter with you?"

    Seriously, Garth (not his real name) WAS mad as a dog.

    "I tried to get on the [censored] Internet, and you’re right, it’s STILL not {censored] working right, so I told [censored] Verizon that they can [censored] KISS MY ASS!"

    Mini-me started with the croup and was STILL awake.

    "Son-of-a-Bitch, now how am I supposed to get my letter to Santa?"

    And, apparently, little ears really ARE listening.

    [sound of crickets]

    Well, never mind, she’s STILL young, there’s time and a whole shopping list of mad parenting skillz to rely on.

    [shrugs shoulders]

    Besides – judging by my total DISDAIN I feel for Verizon, at the moment – I’m STILL working on an answer for that one.

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  • Parenting Tip# 29,593,020 – Don’t pet the sweaty stuff.

    My mother called me during the witching hour, last night – you know, it starts around the time you tell your kids to get ready for bed and suddenly realize that you have somehow become incapable of speaking in complete sentences, or without sounding like a raving shrew – and I think I even manage to end THAT conversation, badly.

    "Honestly, I don’t know WHAT to tell you, just give them each a pair of matching socks and call it a day!"

    Poor thing.

    "Ooooookay, then….give everybody a hug for us….and….um…."

    [click]

    I don’t blame her for hanging up on me – I would, if I could, trust me – but, every gosh-darned holiday, it’s the same thing.

    What do THEY want?

    What do THEY need?

    "GAH…I swear…I just don’t know, anymore!"

    Yes, of course I think it’s a blessing that my children have such wonderfully thoughtful grandparents and both sets have been MORE than generous to Garth (not his real name) and me, baling us out helping to keep the Christmas spirit, over the years.

    "You already got them….[censored in case one of them accidentally finds their way to reading my blog]….and they’ll love it, I’m sure."

    But, they’re all growing up so fast.

    "It is Christmas, you know?"

    [blank stare]

    Oooookay, then.

    CLICK.

    So, I let the Doofus-dog in out of the rain, turned off the television and threatened suggested that the kids, you know, go….now….to bed….RIGHT NOW….which, the dog apparently mistook for the command to…um…come on over here and give your momma a big old French kiss….you know she wants it….yes?

    "YOU PINHEAD!"

    Like a siren, I blasted out my last warning and the kids scattered every which way, leaving my husband, Garth (not his real name) alone to deal with….well….I can only imagine the creative way in which they were using their words to best describe what I must have sounded (and looked) like, at that moment.

    "Um….I’m going to….I mean….uh….I’d better go check on the kids."

    What do they NEED, indeed.

    "Fumumbleshigrumble!"

    No, I was NOT in a festive mood and, as I….[carefully]….climbed over several piles of laundry (they were folded) I noticed that Doofus-dog managed to muddy the front of my sweater.

    "PINHEAD!"

    So, I tore it off – no, I did NOT care that I was standing in front of the living room window and that the drapes were WIDE open – and reached for the nearest "clean" thing I could find and put it on.

    "Hey, that’s my favorite shirt!"

    Yes, Thing Two HAS always been very brave!

    "Actually, it’s Daddy’s."

    I mean, was.

    "Yes, but that’s the sweatshirt, where I remember you best."

    Okay, she lost me.

    "Don’t you remember?"

    I looked down and suddenly felt a rush of warm.

    "When I was little, I remember how we used to do a lot of fun things and that’s the sweatshirt you would always wear."

    Funny, what kids remember.

    "Where did you find it?"

    It’s sad, what we parents sometimes forget.

    "Right here, with you."

    I hugged Thing Two, allowed the warmth to spread over me and giggled, thinking how I must have been quite fright – think I even surprised myself, a little – but, she held on and sort of just, you know, patted me on the head.

    "Um….I’m going to….I mean….uh….well, G’NIGHT!"

    So, I called my mother back….told her that I finally remembered….and how Garth (not his real name) NEEDED a new sweatshirt, probably!

    Good luck and g’night.

    [Next week:  Merry mommy musings on the creative use of mistletoe.]

  • Saying “I love you,” means never having to drive in Jersey.

    I love my car – a Kia Sedona in a lovely shade of suburban sprawl – and spend a whole lot of my time, sitting in it.

    Seriously.

    Especially, this week, driving back-and-forth, while visiting my aunt in the hospital – thank you for your prayers and good wishes, they worked! – while she recuperates from diabetic shock, kidney failure, something some other hospital screwed up in her stomach, last time, oh…and…A HEART ATTACK!?!?

    Man, the woman can fight!

    Needless to say, the family has a long road ahead of them – the doctors have given Theresa about a year – and traveling down the shore (or, up the parkway) got me thinking.  A dangerous habit to get into, I know, for someone so, you know, dorky.

    What is up with all the rudeness?

    I mean, thank goodness Garth (not his real name) was driving, the other night – man, it was foggy – I had BOTH my hands free to let people know just how I felt.

    Especially, you – WOMAN, driving the white SUV close enough for me to read your lips – kiss my rear fender!

    [sits on hands for fear of poking an eye out]

    Let me tell you, it’s a battle and I’m seriously reconsidering my position on the alarming rash of Hummers I’ve seen riding around our quiet little county, lately, and perhaps painting Bertha (she’s my car) a lovely shade of suburban assault!

    What?

    Why, yes, I’ve always named my cars – it empowers me to have another female on my side and I also believe it improves my driving skills exponentially, okay – and, honestly, would you mess with a woman named Bertha?

    [shrugs shoulders]

    Needless to say, keeping up with our crazy schedule, AND one of the kids getting sick, AND the dog eating the last of the cinnamon buns – also taking into consideration, the ridiculous amount of time I’ve spent, driving and/or sitting on my hands, this week – my nerves are shot.

    So, Garth (not his real name) sent me an email, this morning – one of the ONLY times we get to, you know, talk to each other, sort of – and I thought I’d share it with my online friends, and perhaps offer a better understanding of why I have a problem using the moniker "stay-at-home" mom – an oxymoron, at best – when I spend most of my time, on the road, with Bertha.

    [blows bangs out of eyes and backs it down a notch]

    Anyway, I guess you have to live in New Jersey – especially, the central, or northern sections  closer to NYC – to know.

    But, this is funny, even if you don’t.

    How To Survive a Day in New Jersey

    1. First, you must learn how to pronounce Newark….It is New-erk, not New-ark.

    (Actually, it’s pronounced ‘NORK’.)

    2. The morning rush hour is from 5:00 a.m. to noon. The evening rush
    hour is from noon to 7:00 p.m. Friday’s rush hour starts on Thursday
    morning.

    3. The minimum acceptable speed on the turnpike is 85 mph. On the
    Garden State Parkway it’s 105 or 110. Anything less is considered
    ‘Wussy.’

    4. Forget the traffic rules you learned elsewhere. Jersey has its own
    version of traffic rules. For example, cars/trucks with the loudest
    muffler go first at a four-way stop; the trucks with the biggest tires
    go second. However, in Monmouth County , SUV-driving, cell
    phone-talking moms ALWAYS have the right of way.

    5. If you actually stop at a yellow light, you will be rear ended,
    cussed out, and possibly shot.

    6. Never honk at anyone. EVER. It’s another offense that can get you shot.

    7. Road construction is permanent and continuous in all of Jersey .
    Detour barrels are moved around for your entertainment during the
    middle of the night to make the next day’s driving a bit "more
    exciting".

    8. Watch carefully for road hazards such as drunks, skunks, dogs,
    cats, barrels, cones, celebs, rubber-neckers, shredded tires,
    cell-phoners, deer and other road kill and other drivers trying to, you know, hit ’em.

    9. Mapquest does not work here — none of the roads are where they say
    they are or go where they say they do. And all the Turnpike EZ pass
    lanes are moved each night once again to make your ride more exciting.

    10. If someone actually has their turn signal on, wave them to the
    shoulder immediately to let them know it has been ‘accidentally
    activated.’

    11. If you are in the left lane and only driving 70 in a 55-65mph
    zone, you are considered a road hazard and will be ‘flipped off’
    accordingly. If you return the flip, you’ll be shot.

    12. Do not try to estimate travel time — just leave Monday afternoon
    for Tuesday appointments, by noon Thursday for Friday, and right after
    church on Sunday for anything on Monday morning.

    There, I feel MUCH better – now that YOU know, I love you – don’t you?

    Have a great weekend!

    If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the high school volunteering in the kitchen for the kids’ soccer banquet.

    [shudder]

    I’m scheduled in to be there at 7:30 a.m. SHARP – yes, I am one of THOSE moms, too – but, it’s close enough to walk and I do NOT have to drive!

    Stay-at-home mom, my rear bumper!

  • TGIBF: Stop, look and listen to how I really DO sound like Julie McCoy!

    Well, another Thanksgiving has come and gone and it’s funny, you know – not like ha-ha funny, but a weird sort of aha – it just hit me that, even though I’m glad that the week is finally over, it’s been really, really quiet.

    Shhh, just listen for a minute.

    Thanksgiving2007theboyandme

    This is The Boy – after finding the courage to "volunteer" to dance in front of a whole bunch of, you know, people – this is what a sigh of relief, looks like.

    Thanksgiving2007minime

    This is Mini-me – after admitting that I was indeed her mom, REALLY – this is what accepting independence, looks like.

    Thanksgiving2007girls

    These are my girls – each very different from the other – this is what feeling a genuine sense of pride, looks like.

    But, I was thinking.

    [shudder]

    A dangerous habit for someone with a limited amount of usable cerebral space available, already, I know.

    [shrugs shoulders]

    It’s about time I admitted to myself (as well as the rest of the Internets) that, even though I may grumble at the calendar and growl about how crazy-busy our lives can, you know, get.

    [bites lower lip]

    I really do enjoy playing the role of…um…well, there’s so many to choose from, really, but I guess the best way to describe my current position with the family, at the moment, is…uh…wait…okay, I got it…a plucky cruise director.

    Especially, when it seems that there isn’t a day that something does NOT go
    wrong and I’m just trying to make believe that it’s, you know, all right.

    A motherly version of Love Boat’s Julie McCoy, if you will, except – instead of regaling romantic and funny adventures – we’re dealing with episodes and story lines that…well, if you’re a parent…then, you know.

    [shudder]

    One minute, life is sweet and then…BOOM…the pipes break and a person can’t even flush a toilet without having a backup plan, literally.

    [cue:  Julie McCoy]

    "Your table is ready, captain and there will be 13 joining you for dinner, tomorrow."

    I was filling my husband in about our Thanksgiving plans and – after 17 years of marriage – he IS very well aware of the fact that, you know, I’m the one in charge.

    "Okay, just remember to tell me what to do, what to wear and what NOT to say."

    I know how it sounds – though, both my father and father-in-law happily admit having freely given up their manhood a long time ago – honestly, I don’t believe that these men have ever really learned how to deal with all the noise.

    I am so done with running back and forth – between this house, and that house – that I’ve decided to have Thanksgiving here.

    All the time.

    [collective sigh of…UGH!]

    It’s just easier, you know?

    "Don’t worry, nothing new to report at the moment, just sit back and listen."

    As most families (I hope!) we all have our little issues and interacting during the holidays can get a little, you know, sticky.

    "Well, I’m sorry to hear you feel that way…but…um…HEY!…did I mention that my water broke and that The Boy got up and danced?"

    Well, that got the room quiet.

    "Yes, I even kept the two oldest girls home from school to watch!"

    Funny – yes, like in haha – how FAR people’s mind can wonder.

    "Yes…hahahah…really and they even took pictures."

    Suffice it to say, my family has grown accustomed to my…um…funny ways and everyone pretty much forgot about…well…everything else.

    Minimedecorates

    Mini-me and The Boy got a chance to decorate the tree.

    Theboydecorates

    Putting on all the pretties they collected, or made in school, over the years.

    Garthandminime

    Sharing a quiet moment with the captain and then, they were invited over to my parent’s house for a sleep-over for a couple of days….SWEET!

    Of course, I never DID get a chance to show the relatives the other pictures – you know, sharing in those quiet little moments – and I guess they figure we could probably use some downtime and that pretty much explains why the older girls and I don’t have any plans…at the moment.

    [phone rings]

    Until now.

    "Attention everyone, there’s been a slight change of plans…since, the captain has left for work early this morning and is no longer on board…all remaining passengers are invited to prepare for lunch on the Lido Deck!"

    Time to put it in neutral – on the ONE day I really didn’t plan on getting dressed, in the first place – ’cause I told my family that we will be home for the holidays and now EVERYBODY knows it!

    Black Friday, indeed – you guys ain’t got nothing on me – so, if you’re not doing anything constructive, want to come over and help hide the laundry?

  • Soccer/mom bloggers with helicopter parent tendencies, UNITE.

    As defined by Wikipedia:

    A helicopter parent is a term for a person who pays extremely
    close attention to his or her child or children, particularly at
    educational institutions.

    Oh, the humanity…I mean, the nerve of some people…expecting to know and control everything their child eats, drinks, learns and watches…hovering over their children, so.

    That’s what I thought, too – until I had children – and then everything I ever thought I knew about being a good mother sort of, you know, was ripped to shreds on Oprah Winfrey and Dr. Phil.

    Having at least one parent home and available for your kids is good…staying home with them is bad…supporting your children and teaching them to be self-sufficient is good…working outside the home is bad…alpha moms suck…beta moms suck poodle…being a good mom is bad…being a bad mom is good…I mean, wait.

    Spring forward, jump back two spaces…which is it?…I forget.

    So, I was thinking – a dangerous concept for a professional Dork, I know – how about if we (moms AND dads) STOP with all the name calling and goofy monikers (momikers, they call it) and just accept the fact that  – when it comes to raising children – we are ALL a bunch of Dorks!

    In my experience, there’s always someone ready to prove YOU wrong – and then make up a name for your sorry butt – so, why fight it.

    Most likely, it’ll probably be one of YOUR…I mean, MY…d’oh…OUR kids are going to think we sucked at it, anyway!

    [stepping off of soapbox]

    Okay, I admit it.

    [pours another cup of coffee]

    I am a soccer/mom blogger with helicopter parent tendencies – I drive a 7-passenger car and want to know exactly where my kids are and what they are doing, most of the time – but, the whole reason I started this here blog…in the first place…was to be able to hear myself think…since my kids don’t listen to a word I say, anyway!

    I’m not perfect and my kids seem to be okay, anyway.

    "Um…do you know that Mini-Me’s wearing two different cleats?"

    [eyes go wide]

    Fullhousemismatch

    "Well, at least THIS TIME she’s wearing the right shirt."

    Like, a few Saturdays ago, when I mistakenly pulled a green shirt out of the laundry basket (after successfully completing the smell test, of course) and learned that it was actually…um…The Boy’s shirt from two years ago!?!?

    "Her team’s color is green this year, right?"

    Her coach nodded his head and thought it was sort of, you know, funny – he’s GOT kids, after all – but, ask me a few years ago and I would have probably totally wigged-out!

    "Mini-me, stand still so Mommy can take a picture!"

    And died of total embarrassment!

    "You’re going to blog about this, arent’ you?!?"

    You betcha!

    [shrugs shoulders]

    Don’t worry, she knows – mommy bwogs ’cause it makes her feel better – but, to some people I will always be just another DORK!

  • Picture Perfect Thursday: Growing up sucks, it’s all MY fault and how I know!

    Thingonemomwatermarked_2

    I was going through my Flickr photos, yesterday, and adding watermarks (stupid photo stealing trolls)  when I came upon one of my favorite pictures of Thing One and me.  It was taken in the park towards the end of last summer and I think it says a lot about our relationship, at the moment.

    Being elegant, gentle, soft-spoken and a bit shy, by nature (no, not ME!) Thing One was born with a wonderful sense of being able to recognize, understand and empathize with what other people are feeling.  She would make a terrific teacher – not to mention, mother – some day.

    Me?

    Not unlike the picture, my judgment of character pales in comparison and I constantly find myself conflicted on whether or not I’m being accepting, fair, and open-minded enough with my children, or just Jonesing for someone’s approval.

    Growing up in a houseful of crazy Hungarians – I swear, we are an emotionally gifted lot – it was just easier to agree to be a good girl, rather than risk the thought of provoking disapproval and, quite possibly, some sort of physical shame.

    But, this post is NOT about me – or, is it?

    "Where’s Thing One?"

    I’ve already expressed my concern over how I’m having trouble with keeping up on all the changes my kids are going through – more specifically, how they’re growing up so fast and holidays just don’t seem the same anymore – but, decided to split-up and allow the older girls to go trick-or-treating with their friends, this year.

    My friend is a teacher in the high school and seemed to understand.

    "She’s decided to stay home and give out the candy, this year."

    Although, Thing One told her 8th grade friends different.

    "Daddy told me, that once you turn 13, I’m too old to dress up and go out trick-or-treating."

    doG, I was tired, in more ways than I want to go into (you’re welcome) but, we were on our way to pick-up Thing Two, still hadn’t eaten dinner – unless, you count a bag of chips, some pretzels and couple of candy bars raided from the haul brought in by Mini-me and The Boy – and already way late to their grandparents’ house, of course.

    "NO, that’s NOT what he said!"

    Cheese and rice, if anything, we have gone out of our way (read:  said yes, when we really meant "NO freakin’ way would I have been allowed to go to the movies, with a boy!) and I was sick (and tired) of being labeled the "bad parent" who always says "NO!"

    Still, we ARE talking about Thing One – remembering that each kid IS different – so, I tried to soften my tone.

    "Besides, you told me that you didn’t feel like it."

    Knowing, that it quite possibly meant that…you know…no one had asked her, yet.

    "I didn’t want to go."

    Okay, she lost me.

    "I just didn’t want to hurt their feelings and blaming you guys was…um…well…I’m sorry, but… it just seemed…uh…"

    I know.

    "Easier."

    She smiled and nodded her head.

    "I understand."

    My husband, however, has no freakin’ clue what’s going on with what’s going on, or how to handle Thing One, or Thing Two and their raging hormones – yes, there are days when growing up sucks and being a girl…well…sucks wet poodle – so, Garth (not his real name) has been sort of…you know…letting me deal with it…them…whatever.

    "But, do me a favor…your father’s been going through a rough time, too…so, next time…to make it easier on ME…just blame your mother….I mean, me…d’oh…WHATEVER?"

    Fullhousegrandparentswatermarked

    Finally, we got to my in-laws and Garth (not his real name) took probably one of the ONLY pictures I have of them, together.

    "I thought you’d be here, earlier and I sort of gave up on you guys."

    If she only knew.

    "It was all mom’s fault!"

    Oh, wait – my MIL had 5 kids – she knows!

    [FYI:  I tried a cool new tool at MacroPhotos.NET because it automatically replaces the original photos with the watermarked copy – also, don’t forget about my Bloggy Giveaway.  I have decided to include comments on all posts, this week.  Giving more of my blog friends a chance.  Because, you’re busy.  I know.]

    [11/5:  Comments are closed – a winner has been picked and will be announced, soon!]

  • This Mom Speaks Up: Or, is it better to just walk away?

    Work It, Mom – one of my favorite blogging communities – linked to a New York Times article about suppressing your emotions when arguing with your husband and how this may NOT be a good idea:

    “In men, keeping quiet during a fight didn’t have
    any measurable effect on health. But women who didn’t speak their minds
    in those fights were four times as likely to die during the 10-year
    study period as women who always told their husbands how they felt.”

    Talk about timing – I just blogged about this same thing
    – a quick synopsis: stupid argument over money and rather than talk-out
    our anger, we didn’t speak and even slept in separate rooms, Thursday
    night.

    Color me another disappointing statistic – let’s see, how many rules
    of engagement…er…work-out your marital spats did I break on that one,
    huh?!?
    Unfortunately, my post had nothing to do with research.

    It happened to me. In real time. In front of the kids. In contrary
    to everything that I’ve ever taught my children and, at the cost of
    sounding like an absolute simpleton, I left my comments here and still stick to my decision.

    “Where’s Daddy?”

    The kids were ready to celebrate the weekend, it was nearly 8:00
    o’clock in the evening – Friday night pizza and movie night, you know –
    and Garth (not his real name) usually gets home about now.

    “I dunno…but, we can’t wait any longer…EVERYONE IN THE CAR!”

    My oldest daughter invited a friend to sleepover – yes, she asked
    first and I thought…feh…WHY NOT, what’s one more!?!? – and I was
    waiting for Garth (not his real name) to get home, so I could, you
    know, leave.

    “Do we all get to pick a movie?”

    Suuuuure!

    “Wow, good thing we got room in the car!”

    Riiiiight!

    “Are you sleeping with Daddy, or us, tonight?”

    WHY NOT!?!?

    “Now, what would make you think that?”

    Duh.

    “Well…Daddy slept in the living room, last night…and he said it was because he was more comfortable on the couch.”

    Oh.

    “Nope, you guys get the couch!”

    Oh, the things I could have said…or, at least can think to say…but,
    don’t…NOT out loud…or, in front of the kids, anyway…because, I am
    supposed to be, you know, the grown-up!

    “Daddy can sleep in the shed!”

    In theory, anyway.

    “Look, Daddy’s home!”

    Swell.

    “Let’s surprise him and tell him that he gets to feed FIVE kids, tonight!”

    Yes, kids can say the funniest things – don’t look at me, they get
    their sarcasm from their mother – and I have no illusions about hiding
    our emotions from children…they see…hear…and do, in fact, know exactly
    what’s going on.

    I, however, had no idea about Garth (not his real name) or, what he
    was thinking, coming home so late – it was nearly 9:00 p.m., I think –
    and leaving me with the children. Having to explain myself, again. One
    of them wasn’t even his, for goodness sake! I was soooo tired of
    talking, already.

    “Mommy rented us a bunch of stuff!”

    We’ve punished each other enough, yes – I mean, he couldn’t even
    look at me – so, I just walked into the kitchen and felt…well, I really
    don’t know how to explain it…just sort of numb, I guess.

    Makeupflowrs

    I asked him what the flowers were for and when he explained that they were, indeed, for me, I couldn’t help, but wonder…HUH?

    “I read your blog, today.”

    Suddenly, I wasn’t so angry…anymore – not that I agree with makeup
    presents, much – and we’ve managed to get passed another rough patch
    and, yet again, perhaps leave a whole new group of self-proclaimed
    experts, dumbfounded – or, not!

    .
    This time, it was better to just walk away….and blog it.

  • Summer Vacation: As nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs – Day 28

    Thing Two had her 11-year-well-visit, today – okay, so we’re 6
    months late, again – and I guess the main reason we’ve been putting it
    off so long is…

    [shivers]

    I absolutely HATE needles.

    [burps in mouth, a little]

    .
    Always have, always will.

    Taking my kids for their shots is never easy and I think most
    parents would tend to agree with me on this point (no pun intended)
    but, insisting that they go through something as traumatic and
    unpleasant as, GULP, getting a shot in the arm with a very sharp
    object…well, it’s painful!

    Taking care of sick parents…sucks wet poodle.

    Last week, I called my folks and offered to take my father for the
    second round of his pain management shots and I swear, you could hear a
    pin drop.

    Hello?

    "Uh…no…um…nuh-uh…that’s okay, you don’t have to come…really…we’ll be fine."

    It’s not that they didn’t want me to be there, or anything.

    "Besides, you have your hands full, already!"

    After all, I did live with them for 25 years – they know.

    "We can handle it, this time, without you and don’t want you to worry."

    Too late – they had me at "handle it" and "without you" – basically, my nerves are shot.

    "How are your parents?"

    GAH!

    The pediatrician was swabbing one of Thing Two’s arms and – after my
    daughter asked that we try and distract her from the shots and talk
    about, you know, something else – she spoke and I nearly fell out of my
    chair and peed my pants, a little.

    What – appliances are exploding all around me and even the smallest things are setting my world on fire – I’m a little tense, okay!?!

    "Oh…well, they’re…um…they’re haaaaaaang…ing…in…HOLY CATS!"

    I grabbed Thing Two’s hand in both of mine, put my forehead against hers and closed my eyes.

    "Don’t look, baby!"

    One alligator, two alligators, three alligators…

    "Done!"

    …four alligators…five alligators…

    "Mrs. Thompson?"

    I motioned with my hand for her to give me a second, or two.

    "There…that wasn’t too bad…good job, sweetie!"

    [eyes go wide]

    "No, but now my hand hurts like crazy!"

    I’m telling you, it’s amazing – what a good few seconds of
    absolutely nothing, will do for a person like, you know, me – and I
    felt really, you know, good.

    "Okay, one down and three more to go!"

    [burp]

    Actually, Thing Two decided to get two of her shots now and the other two, later.

    "No problem, I can always bring her back during Mini-me’s well-visit, next week."

    [eyes go wide]

    "NO…uh, I mean…that won’t be necessary…they can
    wait a month or, at this point, even two, perhaps it would be better,
    Mrs. Thompson."

    My sister-in-law is coming home from Arizona — YAY! — and moving
    in with us, for a while; my parents are planning one last trip to
    Hungary, last minute (of course) and I’ve got the BlogHer conference to get ready for in…um…HOLY CATS…less than two weeks!

    Let me think.

    "OKAY!"

    To think, I’ve only been passing out in her chair for 6 years, or so, give or take a hypodermic.

    "You and your kids are so funny…I still remember
    how the three of you first came to me…before Mini-me was born, I
    mean…and how you all cried after Little Man got his shots!"

    Still – most people would probably be surprised to learn just how
    nervous I can get, especially about traveling and having to meet new
    people, ALONE – it’s always nice when people remind me to, you know,
    chill out and get over myself.

    "We ARE still babysitting for you, right?"

    [eyes go wide]

    "NO…uh…thanks guys…but, um…I mean, your calendar’s full of doctor appointments…and there’s your trip to get ready for…and everything."

    One alligator…two alligators…three alligators…
    .
    Morale of the story:   Don’t let the awkward silence worry you too much, it’s those nasty mommy glares – you know, the kind that says, "Die, you over-breeding little twit," and then sets your hair on fire – are the ones we all should learn to watch out for!

    [shiver]

    Don’t worry, I’ll be fine – it’s bound to grow back, sometime – in
    the meantime, please feel free to stay a while, clean off a chair and
    mind the killer dust bunnies.

    If anyone needs me, I’ll be upstairs….cleaning out the closets and cursing my wardrobe!