This Full House Archive

Category: Old World Wise

Just Another Idiomatic Friday
(Translates Very Well to Mondays)

We were all sitting at the dinner table (yes, at the same time, must have been a full moon, or something) don't ask me which day (I forget) when my oldest daughter (she's 16) lamented the fact that my youngest daughter (who is 9) isn't much of a girly girl, anymore.

"My friends think it's cool I'm a tomboy!"

This year.

"Who am I going to dress up and put makeup on?"

On the one hand, the thought of Holly playing with her baby sister, without having to be asked or paid…real money…is very cute.

"But, mommy lets YOU wear makeup!?!?"

On the other hand, idioms tend to annoy me and, well, they just don't make a lick of sense.

[one beat, two beats]

D'oh!

However, it never dawned on me, until now, those funny little Hungarian sayings my grandmother would throw out, every now and again (especially, when my twin brother or I got into trouble) translated pretty well in English, too.

For example:

A szomszéd rétje mindig zöldebb: The neighbor's meadow is always greener (and, well, heck, it's hard not to be a little envious, when all you've got is, you know, grass!)

Bagoly mondja verébnek, hogy nagyfejű: The owl tells the sparrow that it is big-headed (sort of like the pot calling the kettle black, stupid owl!)

Csepp a tengerben: A drop in the sea (Especially, when you don't have a bucket, or your neighbor borrowed it and, you know, misplaced it in the frickin' meadow somewhere.)

Egyik tizenkilenc, másik egy híján húsz: One of them is nineteen, the other one is less than twenty (Either way, equally bad when considering marriage or the price of eggs today!)

Feldobja a bakancsot: Throw the boots up (When kicking the bucket seems futile…see above.)

Hideg zuhany: Cold shower (which is pretty much international and doesn't count, unless you are nineteen, or twenty, I think.)

Jobb félni, mint megijedni: Is it better to fear, than to get frightened (Not when you consider discretion is the better part of valor or your kid has a nasty case of the hiccups…for the last hour.)

Könnyebb utolérni a hazugot, mint a sánta kutyát: It is easier to catch a liar than a lame dog (Yes, but it didn't help that my grandmother had very long legs and could run pretty gosh-darned fast…too…DAMMIT.)

Mint elefánt a porcelánüzletben: Like an elephant in a china shop (Which is total bullcrap, considering that stuff seemed to break easily, just by my looking at it. Wait a minute. D'oh! Never mind.)

Aaaand, that's just half of the ones I can think of (because, I'm old) considering there are 36 letters in the Hungarian alphabet (you're welcome!) and I just remembered something else.

I can't believe it's been 6 years, since she passed, this month (Happy Anniversary in Heaven, Nagy Mama!) and I am missing my grandmother, more than words can say, right now!

Stupid idioms.

© 2010 This Full House Blog / TFH Gone Shopping

October 29, 2010
D’oh, There’s a Deer in My Garden, Dear Maria, Dear Maria!

This is my paternal great-grandmother, Maria, in Hungary. My father spent many childhood summers, giving up his "city boy ways," living the "simple country life," with Maria (his mother had him late in life and, apparently, he was a handful!) and, according to my father, it was anything and everything…but, simple!

Still, as tough as Maria's life was, my father insists that she was the sweetest, kindest, most gentlest person on earth.

Unlike, her great-granddaughter (that would be me!) who is about ready to snare her some Bambi!

Exhibit A: Deer tracks (post-sprinkler) this morning.

No, I don't want to hurt Bambi (much) but, gardening is HARD work and, all of a sudden, after 17 years of fighting with aphids, hornworms and garden slugs (oh my!) NOW it seems like we've got deer!

Exhibit B: Hopey's prized-cabbage (she was growing to win a $1000 scholarship) beheaded!

Not just any deer (mind you) but, ravenous-militant-vegetable-swiping-giant-moose-of-an-animal that carries away an entire head of cabbage!?!?

Exhibit C: Tops of tomato plants chewed!

I went out to pick some tomatoes a few weekends ago and…OMG…where have ALL of my tomatoes gone?

Exhibit D: What was my parsley!

I know…so, we've got deer…no BIG deal, right?

Exhibit E: WTH is it?

All I kept thinking was…this is MY garden (DAGNABIT!) and WWMD (what would Maria do?) no question about it — I HAVE TO DEFEND IT! So, Garth (not his real name) installed this sweet little motion detector smack dab in the middle of my Concord grape vine!

Just like Maria's (see picture at top of post) minus the motion detector, I mean.

Exhibit F: New growth!!!

Yes, Maria is probably ROIHGL (rolling over in her grave laughing) bless her squishy little heart!

Exhibit G: Aaaand, we have tomato flowers!

But, when in Jersey…you know…and, combined with my new bontanically-based insecticidal soap (email me and I'll let you know which) it seems to be working.

Exhibit H: The vegetable bed that lived

Oh, and no, we are NOT crucifying anyone – that's just the clothes line that Garth (not his real name) rigged up by the pool, so that the kids can hang up their wet towels, which, unfortunately, they do NOT use…DAGNABIT!

[sound of crickets chirping]

Morale of the Story: Deer do NOT like eggplant.

Stupid urban/suburban sprawl!

© 2010 This Full House Blog – All Rights Reserved.

July 19, 2010
Independence is a Relative Term

I was 12 years-old when we celebrated the Bi-centennial and, sadly, the only thing I remember from the day is getting these really cool pair of socks.

Oh…look…my first crushes…mostly him (on the left) it's like 1976, all over again!

No, these are NOT the socks (can't find a picture, anywhere) nor, do they have anything to do with Independence Day (so what?) but, I thought I'd share another favorite memory from my preteen years (50 extra points for the 1st person who can ADMIT to being able to name that t.v. show!) as, my parents worked (a lot) soooo, my twin brother and I stayed home and watched A LOT of television.

By ourselves.

Today, my kids also enjoy watching television (perhaps a little more than they should, I know) but, summer vacation is waaaay different (sounding really old, now, I know) from when I was their age.

"Why don't you guys go outside?"

Tell me it's like this at your house, too.

"But, it's toooooo hot!"

Because, I swear, my brother and I would have sold each other, to have a swimming pool…in our backyard.

"Will you come with us?"

Then again, there isn't much that my kids do…by themselves.

Or, without my parents.

"You guys coming over on Sunday, right?"

Their dependency on seeing the kids…me…my brother…every week…can be very trying, at times…especially, on Sundays.

"Absolutely, we will be there!"

Still, seeing my brother, watching him play with my kids, listening to his goofy laugh and then his wife yell at him for acting like, well, a 12 year-old [snicker] and getting the chance to spend the whole day…together…is like a breath of fresh air…really.

And then my father WILL start to cry.

"OMG…what's the matter?"

My mother will shake her head, bite her lower lip and then eventually tears would come to her eyes, too.

"No, really…Apu…what's bothering you?"

He will wipe his eyes and slowly look around the room.

"Nothing…seeing you and your brother together…I'm just happy…and that's all I ever wanted!"

My brother will suggest that we watch Independence Day, for the buh-zillion-th time (my son will be the 1st to agree) and then my mom will, once again, bring up the fact that Hope looks SO MUCH like I did, at her age.

And it will take a while for their words to sink in; eventually, the goosebumps will
hit, along with the realization that maybe my parents are NOT as dependent,
as I thought (go figure!) but, in their eyes, merely exercising their right as grandparents.

Or, getting another chance to celebrate deep pride in their adopted country…through their children's eyes…on Independence Day.

"I got an "A" on my report on Hungary…Papa!"

Aaaand, I can't think of any place I'd rather be, or anything else I'd rather be doing, at the moment.

Other than remembering the fun we had, the last time we visited with my brother and he gave the S.W.A.T. helmet to Hopey, on Memorial Day!

"You know, your mother spent a summer in Hungary AND she needed A LOT of band aids…too!"

Aaaaand, it's like 1976, all over again…sort of.

© 2010 This Full House Blog

July 2, 2010
Love Accidentally

Morale of the story: Maybe I shouldn't holler at the kids, for leaving their stuff lying around the house, so much, right?

Feel better soon, Papa!

Happy Love Thursday, everyone!

© 2010 This Full House – All Rights Reserved.

March 4, 2010
Writing Challenge #8: Plot – Let Sleeping Kids AND Their Perceptual Parents, Lie

This is part of a writing challenge at {W}rite-Of-Passage, a community of bloggers who are looking to get back to the writing part of blogging and brainchild of my friend, Mrs. Flinger. Today’s challenge was to write a post with a clear plot – the point in which you are trying to make (I know, good luck with that one, right?)

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It’s Napalooza at Mama’s house (stupid camera!)

Yesterday, my husband Garth [not his real name] and I made plans to take the kids to visit with my parents, who are both dealing with difficult health issues at the moment, for a turkey dinner.

What? I clean. My mother cooks when she’s frustrated and, well, seeing as the kids haven’t had a decent meal since I started working, who am I to argue, right?

“I’ll bring the green bean casserole!”

Seeing as, I am NOT a total shitehead, either, I also offered to cook the turkey, too!

“No…nuh-uh…that’s okay.”

Apparently, the kids have been talking with my mother…about me…too.

“So, how are you guys…”

Aaaand, the flood gates opened.

“Your father probably needs a pacemaker and those 3 knee replacements I had, didn’t work!”

Apparently, my parents had 2 emergency medical visits, last week and, NO, they didn’t call me.

“We didn’t want to worry you!”

So, of course, by Sunday morning, I was VERY worried!

“I don’t care if you ARE still naked!”

Aaaand, annoyed — because, when taking showers, some kids have to be reminded to, you know, actually GET IN THE SHOWER!

“WE ARE LEAVING IN 5 MINUTES!!!”

Long story, short (you’re welcome!) as much as the kids ADORE my parents (me, too) and love visiting with them (sort of) it is never an easy trip.

“Move your seat up…I’m squished…move over…I…can’t…breathe!!!”

In fact, just getting in the car is enough to drive a sane person to, you know, walk the 44 miles.

“ENOUGH!!!”

When it comes to head-spinning, Linda Blair has got nothin’ on me!

“Next person who speaks, gets grounded for a week!”

Long story, short [don’t mention it] you coulda cut the tension with a spoon and, well, at this point, my husband and I weren’t speaking, to each other, either.

“What’s wrong?”

I don’t know what it is.

“C’mon, tell me.”

Ever since I was little, I could NEVER lie to my mother.

“Nothing, really!”

Until, at least, around dessert time.

“I don’t…[sniff]…know…[snort]…what to do!“

What? Some people go to therapy. Hungarians cry. Right into our desserts.

“I know, me either!”

So, we allowed the flood gates to open, once more — we sat, we talked, we cried, we hugged, got over the fact that, you know, sometimes life just has to happen and there was peace in the dining room, once more!

Until.

Napalooza 2

It was time to wake the kids.

“I don’t WANNA go home!”

Really, can you blame them?

“There’s always President’s weekend!”

Aaand, I bet that YOU don’t even have to guess real hard how my mother knew that the kids would be off…and willing to sleep over…that weekend…TOO.

Other folks participating, today:

Write on!

[Click here to view past Writing Challenges]

© 2010 This Full House – All Rights Reserved.

February 1, 2010
Writing Challenge #3: The Gift – Angels Bearing Lopsided Christmas Trees

This is part of a writing challenge at {W}rite-Of-Passage, a community of bloggers who are looking to get back to the writing part of blogging and brainchild of my friend, Mrs. Flinger. Today’s challenge was Write about the Christmas Gift you remember the most.

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Like most of the kids in our neighborhood, my twin brother and I eagerly counted down the days until Christmas, by doing our homework, eating our all of our vegetables and cleaning our rooms, without being asked, in a desperate attempt to earn extra points with Santa Claus.

However, we were perhaps the only family in town without a tree.

"Not until Christmas Eve."

We would sit and sulk in the back of our station wagon, on the way to the laundromat, or coming back home from food shopping, as our folks marveled at other people's houses, every weekend. Still. No tree.

"In Hungary, kids had to wait until after midnight for the Christmas Angel."

Oh, there were plenty of stories. About trees and drunken angels. Like, the year my grandfather decided to celebrate Christmas on the way home from work, tripped on the entrance of their small apartment and dropped their tree…decorations and all.

"It was the Angel, I tell you, I saw it drinking on the trolley!"

I'm sure my grandmother didn't appreciate my grandfather's dry sense of humor, just as much as my brother and I couldn't understand my father's excitement at finding a pair of socks, or a foil wrapped orange under their Christmas tree.

Still. We listened and it made my father miss them both, all the more.

"Daddy's home and he's got our tree!"

My father worked for a landscaper and for years sold Christmas trees, in the parking lot of a garden center, before being laid-off for the winter.

"It's beautiful, Daddy!"

If you were to ask me what Christmas gift I remember the most, thirty-something years ago, I would have answered the Barbie Country Camper.

"Your grandmother would have loved such a tree."

Today, it's stories of drunken Christmas Angels and lopsided tabletop trees that help make Christmastime special for me…and my family.

Just like Dad.

Other folks participating, today:

Write on!

[Click here to view past Writing Challenges]

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

December 21, 2009
The Future Looks Bleak, I Gotta Wear Spades!

Alexey Venetsianov. Cartomancy.
1842. Oil on canvas. The Russian Museum, St. Petersburg, Russia. (image source)

I remember the first time I got "my cards read," I was only 13 (my middle girl's age) and it freaked me out, big time.

Her name was Charlotte and she practiced "cartomancy," which sounds an awful lot like "gastromancy," but has nothing to do with being romantically involved with someone who works for the gas company — although, considering today's economy, it certainly would be a perk — she was, however, no "charlatan."

"You will marry a man, with 5 letters in his name and you will have 4 children."

See?

"Your brother will have a career in the Army and marry the Colonel's daughter."

HAH! Actually, I think her father was a Sargent, or something!

"You and your children will live a long and happy life."

Perhaps it's because of my Hungarian upbringing.

"You will find that you too have a special gift."

Gosh, but my grandmother could tell wickedly scary ghost stories from the old country — but, I personally have seen some really wierd stuff to believe that there are many people who are indeed born with "special gifts."

[shiver]

Like seeing far ahead into the future and helping others find their path(s) in life.

"Use it wisely!"

I am NOT one of those people.

"Hey Mom, have you ever heard of Tarot cards?"

Now, here's the thing. I could say this:

"Why yes, yes I have, in fact, I have a pack upstairs, in my lingerie drawer, right now!"

Besides the fact that, you know, after 4 kids and nearly 20 years of marriage, sadly, there's just not much use for sexy lingerie, anymore.

(shutup, Mominatrix!)

"Wanna see?"

Or, I could say this:

"Why yes, in fact, a bunch of us moms went to a psychic party, but she wasn't as good as the guy I saw a few years ago, who told me that one of my children will inherit my grandmother's gift."

Although, I can totally understand some people's need to feel as if there were some sort of pre-determined road ahead and that, somehow, someone, or something would be able to, you know, give them a heads up, about it, or something.

"Yes, yes, your children WILL live a long and happy life."

[knocks on wood until knuckles bleed]

I'm just not quite sure I want to expose my kids to, for lack of a better term, anything that ends in "mancy."

"Mom, are you listening to me?"

My special gift?

"Um…so, where did YOU hear about Tarot Cards?"

I am an expert, however, in the art of changing "the subject."

"I saw you looking through some books at Barnes & Noble, the other night."

Stealth parenting?

"Um…so, you want to go to the book store tonight?"

Not so much.

"Okay, I get it, something about your childhood and you just don't know how to talk about it, right now, right?"

See?

"Yes, yes, I would LOVE to go to the book store!"

Aaaaand, it seems to run in the family.

"Somehow, I knew that you would!"

(shutup Charlotte!)

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

October 23, 2009
Video Blogging: Old World Cure for the Monday Blues!

Like my grandmother used to say:

"Just shut up and wash your face in the snow, already, you dumb bunny!"

Visit more This Full House Vlogs and/or This Full House on Vimeo and on YouTube – we're open all night!

© 2009 This Full House – All Rights Reserved.

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Also, checking out our latest giveaways coudn't hurt, either 🙂

March 9, 2009
A Christmas Present Only A Mother Could Love, Eventually!

Asbury Park, NJ 1957

In 1911, Nagy Mama was born in Revfalu (pronounced: Rave-fuh-loo) a very small village in Hungary and (as most children at that time) was primarily raised by her mother and maternal grandmother, who passed along the "twin gene" to my mother (my great-grandmother gave birth to 3 sets) and I also inherited a lot of traits from my maternal grandmother. Though, she was much, much braver than me.

Central Park, NY 1957
My mother (15) my aunt (5) and Nagy Mama.

Romantic, a bit stubborn and fiercely independent, even at a young age, Nagy Mama preferred riding horses and climbing trees with her four brothers, to having to clean and cook for them. I don't blame her. Nagy Mama escaped from Hungary in 1956 (she was the same age as I am, today) with two kids in tow, leaving an abusive husband for the promise of a better future for her children.

Bushkill Falls, PA 1963
My father, mother and Nagy Mama, shortly after my parents engagement.

Unfortunately, she couldn't run away from all of her troubles and soon heart ache followed (as it usually does) as the American consulate told her husband exactly where she and her daughters were staying. Eventually, Nagy Mama conceded and allowed her husband to move back in (it was the 50's) she tried to make the best of it and was happy that her oldest daughter was able to snag a husband who was, you know, not like hers.

Easter 1994
Nagy Mama and Thing One share a warm and fuzzy moment.

Though, my twin brother and I didn't have the most idyllic childhood (Nagy Mama's husband made sure of that) we both saw less and less of the "the a-hole" and, after having to bear witness to yet another awful family ordeal (trust me, this one took the cake) my parents and I finally cut all ties with him, for good. Then, I met my husband, Garth (not his real name) and 2 months later we were engaged (I know, weird) and Nagy Mama cried, "You made a much better choice, than I did!

Circa 1996 (after Thing Two was born, I was never very good at keeping up with the baby books) Thing One and Thing Two enjoy another cuddly moment with Nagy Mama.

Nagy Mama loved her great-grandchildren and often times would hold them for hours, even though I insisted that her arms would ache and she'd regret it, later, I'm glad that she didn't.

Me, Nagy Mama and The Boy – Into the 21st Century, we go!

I was 4 months pregnant with The Boy, when Nagy Mama had her first heart attack and, after finding her a lawyer, helping her file for a divorce (yeah, she was in her mid-8o's) and then selling her house, she moved into my parents' house and (though, her health steadily became worse) she often times would insist that, for the first time in her life, she was happy.

June 2001 – I introduce Nagy Mama to Mini-me

Oh, I can just hear her now — cursing me all the way from heaven, in Hungarian — poor Mamama (as my children having loving come to remember her) she suffered a stroke, right before Mini-me was born, and hated having her picture taken.

Still, it's the only way Mini-me remembers her and I, you know, will always see her as the strong-willed farm girl who was born way before her time.

No, she wasn't the best mother in the world (it's okay, my mother knows) but, through her imperfections, I'm learning to forgive her, my mother and myself, a little more, every day.

The best Christmas present, ever.

© 2008 This Full House – All Rights Reserved.

December 19, 2008
Parenting Tip #19,201,733: When it comes to love, there is no language barrier – unless, you are family!

[Edited to Add: I borked-up my blog and accidentally disappeared ALL comments – sorry, if I lost yours – because, I am A DORK!]

This is the sign that welcomes visitors to my parents house, as it sits firmly planted in between the geranium beds, next to the bird feeders and right outside their front door.

On the surface, most people find its salutation agreeable and a few have made their inquiries as to where they, too, might find such an amusing lawn ornament.

Looking a little deeper, and having spent the better part of the summer visiting with my family, one might perhaps understand the truth that lies underneath its whimsical tone.

Especially, since I was the one who bought it for them.

(more…)

August 11, 2008