This Full House Archive

Category: Raising Teens, Tweens & Killer Dust Bunnies

  • 16 Candles

    Heather is 16 (SOB!)

    Happy 16th Birthday to my sweet, beautiful, bright-eyed baby girl, Heather Marie. I am in constant awe of everything you achieve and the absolutely gorgeous woman you have become, inside AND out. 

    I admire your quick wit and strong will (yes, THAT too!) and the way you meet life's challenges all in and head-on.

    You are brave, strong, loyal and unafraid to be loved for who you are, period (please don't ever change that!)

    You are also very protective of those you love (see last parenthesis!)

    Although you would never admit it (out loud) you have this sixth sense of knowing when and how to diffuse a sticky situation, by making a funny little face, cracking off a smarmy one-liner or throwing out a big-armed hug, just because, bless your squishy little heart.

    For ALL these things (and so much, much more) I love you, Ree-Ree!

    You will always be my most favorite Christmas present ever.

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House

  • Wordless Wednesday: The Reflection Board

     

    The Reflection Board 2011
    Seeing as my eyes can get a little schmutzy (stupid allergies) and vision boards are so 2011 (SNORT!) I love this idea of reflecting on the past year through images.

    Inspired by my friend, Diana — she's wicked smaht like that 🙂

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House

  • Wordless Wednesday: When Killer Dust Bunnies Attack!

    Killer Dust Bunnies are Shedding!
    See, we are so raising killer dust bunnies AND oh man how they shed (the nasty little buggers) no worries, we've sort of grown used to living with each other and you can't even really notice they're around, once the sun goes down.

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House

    Freshly-brewed elsewhere:  I'm donning wings, playing an AT&T phone fairy and giving away a Samsung Focus Flash, this week!

  • Eloquence, Thy True Name is Silence

    You know what's funny?  Not in a, "What do you call a fake noodle?" an impasta (hahahahahaha!) sort of way, either.

    The fact that I have a kid graduating high school (still not the funny part and kind of sad, really, but don't get me started, m'kay?) and everyone is all, like, has she picked a college yet?

    No matter how many times I get asked.  I feel funny answering them.

    "Um…well…she's not sure…that is…uh…not right now, maybe later…er…what?"

    YES!  I am the anti-eloquent.  Articulate people fear me.

    Most recently, standing in line at Dunkin' Donuts in the supermarket (the peppermint hot chocolate was mocking me and deserved a good tongue-lashing, okay?) 

    "How are you, Liz?"

    GAH!

    The thing about having 4 kids, going to 4 separate schools, I pretty much can't go anywhere in town without running into someone who has/had a kid going to school with one of my kids.

    [eyes go wide]

    This time, however, I actually managed to scare the buh-jeez-us out of her with a single word.  And, not a real one at that = I.M. Talented.

    "Sorry, perhaps you should consider cutting back…eh?"

    Thinking back on it now, I should have played along by telling her I was there for the hot chocolate.  But, we're talking me = Queen of the Afterthought.

    "How are the kids?"

    Here we go.

    "Oh, they're fine, thanks!"

    Well, that was easy.

    "Your oldest is graduating, right?"

    Damn.

    "Yes, yes she is."

    Phew.  Too easy.

    "Has she picked a college, yet?"

    Damn.  Also, as if it were THAT easy.

    "No, no she hasn't."

    C'mon hot chocolate.

    "But, my middle girl is going to BU."

    [eyes go wide]

    "What grade is she in, again?"

    [grin]

    "She's a sophomore in high school."

    She politely nodded her head, I paid for my hot chocolate, we exchanged pleasantries about the upcoming holidays and then each went on our merry way.

    Morale of the Story:  When in doubt, don't say anything.  Bring up one of your OTHER kids, instead…or something like that.

    Seeing as my middle girl really does have her mind set on going to Boston University, ever since the 5th grade and, well, it's like I told my oldest.

    "There is NO SHAME in working your way through college."

    Besides, that way, I get to keep them around for a little while longer…but, shhhhh…don't say anything, okay?!?

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House

  • Day 30: I #NaBloPoMo’d This Here Blog Aaaaand, I Liked It (Sort of!)

    Today is the LAST DAY of NaBloPoMo and this marks my 30th blog post, this month.

    Deep breath, exhale, repeat.

    I realize that there is way more news-worthy stuff going on in the world at the moment and, honestly, can think of at least several other note-worthy achievements I’d rather claim, like:

    • Inventing a dust repellent (totally safe, unless you are dust, of course!)
    • While I’m at it, making lint, split ends, blogging over the age of 40 and wearing pajamas to work totally fashionable and uber-trendy (also, bringing back the word uber!)
    • Creating a sarcasm font (balanced by an equally efficient auto politically correcter, of course!)
    • Also, self-washing AND self-folding clothes.

    You know, stuff like that.  Because, seeing as I am entering my 9th year of blogging (i.e. will be moving to my toes, in order to keep track, real soon) I feel it safe to say that life has a way of squashing one’s motivation…period.

    Especially, when under the influence of teenagers (just wait, you’ll see!) also, it’s sort of hard to argue with an algorithm.

    Which is probably why, around halfway through the month, I was pushing myself at 10:30 p.m. to sit down, relax and just write.

    So, yes, my committing to AND actually following through NaBloPoMo is indeed a BIG FRIGGIN’ DEAL!

    Aaaaand, not so much for the notoriety or page hits (actually, judging by this month’s blog stats, not at all) you know, that I know, that you know AND even if you don’t, NaBloPoMo’ing does NOT make me a better blogger, than you, or anyone else.

    On the other hand (or foot) I hope you do forgive me, for my feeling like less of a dork…for just one day…to be able to say…I DID IT…NaBloPoMo’d the h-e-double-hockey sticks out of this here blog!

    Aaaaand, while I’m at it, I hereby proclaim myself as the “Queen of Awesome!”

    [ducks to avoid falling sky]

    On this here blog, anyway.

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House

    Aaaand, so this ENDS my NaBloPoMo-ing it, this month (first time NaBloPoMo-er) feel free to check out what I’ve NaBloPoMo-ed (PHEW!) when you have time, of course!

      Feed me, see more!

  • Whoa, man, she’s 18!

    It's official, as of 4:30 this morning, I am the mother of an 18 year-old, as in, you know, a fully grown adult female.

    Lump, meet throat.

    Although, my husband Garth (NHRN) and I knew this day would come way, way too fast (we were right, dammit) aaaaaand, now that is here, well, DAMMIT!

    Whoa, man, she's 18!
    I'm still getting used to the idea of Holly as a teenager (sort of) but, you know what?  I don't mind it so much.  Not that I have a choice, or anything. 

    Beeeecause, no matter how hard I try and will my baby girl back (to about hip level) there is no use denying it, my oldest HAS grown into a beautiful woh, woh, woh, D'OH!!!

    Whoa, man, I swear, I got this.

    [clears throat]

    18 years to prepare for this VERY moment and, still, I've managed to muck it all up with silly, overly-cliché sentiments, like, MAH BAY-BEE GIRL IS ALL GROWED-UP AND EVERYTHING!

    Then again, now that she IS an adult (SOB!) being an embarrassment to a grown up child just isn't as much fun, anymore.

    HowEVER, seeing as I am ALSO celebrating my 18th Motherversary, I feel it safe to say that it's just too gosh-darned late to worry about propriety, at this point, really.

    Happy Momiversary to Me!

    Because, I seemed to have raised myself a new best friend, for life and, you know what else, I'm okay with that, too, you know?!?

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House

    I'm NaBloPoMo-ing it, this month (first time NaBloPoMo-er) feel free to check out what I've NaBloPoMo-ed, thus far (PHEW!) and let me know how I'm doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!

      Feed me, see more!!

  • A Different Kind of “Dear John” Letter

    I received a very lovely email from a long, lost high school buddy (Hi John!) and if you appreciate my avoiding using the word "old," then you are probably a border-line baby boomer, like me, right?!?

    Aaaaanyway, it's been fun catching up (via Facebook) and learning a little about our respective family life, like, oh, I don't know, how difficult it can be, raising teenage girls.

    STILL IS: most especially, if you live in my house and happen to be the dad, which brings to mind the discussion, early this morning.

    Heads up, John, you're gonna LOVE this one:

    (more…)

  • She Ain’t Heavy, She’s Like a Little Brother

    Glen and Hope

    My son was a little over 2 years-old when Hope was born.  So, needless to say, Glen's toddlerhood is a bit of blur.

    However, I do remember diapers (lots and lots of diapers) also, projectile vomitting played a pivotal role in my believing that I had lost my mind, along with the senses of smell and taste, FOREVER.

    Long story short (you're welcome!) as far as my husband Garth (NHRN) and I were concerned, 4 was and still is our magic number:  everyone has a riding buddy on the roller coaster.

    Still, every year, my son would ask for a baby brother for Christmas or his birthday and most especially whenever Hope managed to get on his last nerve.

    Which is when I would point out that Hope was very much like a little brother, already, really.

    Today, she has NO trouble keeping up with her brother AND his friends, as evidenced by their conversation at the dinner table, Friday night.

    (more…)

  • Fester, Fester, Fester, Rot, Rot, Rot

    My 17yo is studying Forensics.  Don't ask me why.  She's majoring in art education, I think.

    Also, the girl can't even squash a bug, let alone, bag a stinky old body part.

    Aaaaanyway, she's a huge Bones and NCIS fan (me, too!) helllloooo David Boreanaz and Mark Harmon.

    [heavy sigh]

    Um, what was I saying, something about body parts?  Oh yeah, so I wasn't surprised that Forensics is one of her favorite classes, this year.

    "We tested each others' lips, today."

    [eyes go wide]

    (more…)

  • The #1 Reason Why This Jersey Girl Does NOT Pump Her Own Gas

    My friend, Melisa (with one S) had a really bad run in with a runaway gas pump, yesterday.

    Really, go and give her some love (when you find the time, of course!) because, personally, I can totally relate to her angst.

    I mean, honestly, as a self-professed magnet for attracting really, really embarrassing situations AND considering my talent for breaking things HARD!

    There really is a REAL good reason why this Jersey girls does NOT pump her own gas.

    Reason #1 Why This Jersey girl does NOT pump gas
    Yeah, besides the fact that it's illegal to pump your own gas, here in New Jersey (and Oregon, I think) THIS IS a law suit just waiting to happen.

    "Oh and be sure to stop at the gas station on your way home."

    Now that my oldest daughter is driving?

    "I think it's time you learned how to get gas."

    I think it's real important to know how to pump your own gas and she does (her father showed her how to do it on our last road trip to Cape Cod) just NOT in Jersey.

    "How did you do?"

    [one beat, two beats]

    "Fine, after I let the gas station dude show me how to pop open the gas tank."

    [blank stare]

    Ummmm, yeah, we may or may not have forgotten to show her where to find THAT particular button.

    [sound of crickets]

    WHAT?!?  It's in a really weird spot, way down on the floor (I think!) aaaand, I even forgot, my ownself, the gas station dude had to show me where it was, once or maybe twice, I forget.

    Morale of the Story:  My oldest has decided to pursue a career in art education, as well as attending a college closer to home (YAY!) clearly, she did NOT get her artistic talent from me.

    Stupid gas stations, dumbass cars!

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House