This Full House Archive

Category: Raising Teens, Tweens & Killer Dust Bunnies

  • The Writing on the Back Door

    You know when stuff you read, or something someone says, makes you think so hard, that your eyes begin to cross with concentration and then you clench your jaw in absolute frustration, until you finally give up and go all:

    “Look, you trying to tell me something, or what?”

    Me, either.

    Quite frankly, I try not to read into stuff…too much…because, well, with 2 teens and 2 tweens in the house (yeah, I know, right?) my head hurts enough, already.

    Like most of my mom friends — especially, those of us raising a bunch of raging hormones, that walk and talk, but refuse to tell you ANYTHING and dang if a person couldn’t go blind, rolling their eyes like that — I have become somewhat of an expert at dodging emotional grenades.

    Until, one of my kids drops the h-bomb.

    “I hate my life.”

    It doesn’t matter which kid says it, really, because the sad truth of it is, each of them have said it, at least once and did I mention my youngest is 9?

    “Don’t you dare slam that…”

    SLAM!

    She’s got a wicked arm, that one, which reminds me, I should really look into signing her up for softball.

    What? 

    I mean, she is the youngest and, well, empathizing with a mom friend, whose daughter recently turned hormonal, “Welcome to the dark ages.”

    I quickly reassured my friend that the black cloud will indeed lift, around the time our kids turn 12.

    [knocking on wood until knuckles bleed]

    I didn’t bother mentioning the fact that they then become teenagers, because, heck, what do I know and the poor woman looked as if she needed a Tylenol, already.

    SLAM!

    I’m not even sure that their bedroom door is going to hold up (related:  all 3 share 1 bedroom, enough said!) it’s been a loooong week, you know?

    Then, I walked into the den/laundry room (mostly, laundry room) and noticed the writing on the back door (Hope likes to make lists) and, well, I fully expected to find myself at the TOP of her s-list:

    • Live your life your way not how someone tells you how to live
    • There is a whole world everybody can see right in front of our faces
    • Our planets can be very interesting things.  Like love is one of the most important things in life.
    • I have a dream that we will have peace in the world.
    • You can have fun one day.  You don’t need a special electronic.  Just be creative.
    • When the sun sets and rises it goes up and down almost like life.  Sometimes life can get bumpy like a road.

    Okay, I may not be the brightest crayon in the box (more like a dusty gray, really) but, DAYUM, if my kids aren’t trying to tell me something?

    Or, maybe they’re just trying to drive me crazy?

    [crosses eyes, clenches jaw]

    Yeah, right, anybody got any Tylenol?

    © 2003 – 2011

  • She’ll Make the O List, For Sure

    My youngest daughter is a habitual list maker.  This weekend, I found this one taped to the kitchen wall.

    Funny, these lists are almost NEVER for her.

    I’m beginning to think that the kid has figured me out.

    I mean, seriously, after 17 years of raising kids (and killer dust bunnies) not to mention, having yet another anniversary of my 29th birthday creeping around the corner (conspiring with the dust bunnies, not doubt) I sure could use the help.

    Besides, she almost always ends my day with a snuggle and, well, how awesome is that?

    Then, I read Dad’s to do list.

    She thought it best that he switch into his pj’s, before eating dinner (practical, right?) but, on second thought, crossed off the snuggling part.

    Why?

    Because, the kid also knows that it takes Garth (not his real name) less than 60 seconds to, you know, fall asleep.

    That, or the Doofus-Dawg has beat him to the punch and there’s just no more room, dangit.

    Conclusion:  That girl, right there, is going to make a great organizational expert, one day, right?

    Or a few thousand hours on some therapist’s couch.

    Either way, be sure to watch for her on Oprah.

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House

  • Where some kids throw tantrums, mine just buy lottery tickets.

    I have a confession to make.  Ready?  Here it goes:

    I love grocery shopping!

    Weird thing (besides my loving grocery shopping) is I never used to like it and would much rather push an old-fashioned reel lawn mower through a field of sticky balls than have to spend half the day in a supermarket.

    Now that my kids are older, well, I cannot run out of the house, or get to the grocery store, fast enough and not just because they eat stuff, all gone, without even being asked to, either.

    "Where you going?"

    It's nice to have kids old enough to not have to, or necessarily even want, to come with me, even if it's just to the grocery store, really it is.

    "Food shopping."

    Or, at least I thought.

    "I want to come."

    [heavy sigh]

    "Me, too!"

    Aaaand, not because they really, really, like me, either (trust me, I live with me, I know) still, I'm thinking, it's nice outside, the sun is shining, the grass is, uh, really wet, meh, why not, right?

    Later.

    "Here…why don't you guys go and buy a donut, or something!"

    [eyes go wide]

    "Don't worry, I'll find you."

    The shopping trip was taking much longer than I expected — not to mention, more expensive by the minute — and, well, I just needed a moment to regroup and build up enough strength to get through the meat aisle.

    "Can we have tacos, tonight?"

    Another thing about having older kids…eventually, they WILL find you…first…no matter how hard you try to hide.

    "Oh, WOW, not for what they want for their chopped meat!"

    Good thing my kids like pasta, a lot.

    "I'll be right back!"

    My youngest (she's 9) has this habit of not having to explain herself, to me, because, clearly, I am psychic.

    "I'll go with her!"

    Ah, the joys of older kids.

    "Okay, I'm almost done here."

    Much later.

    "I'm sorry, mom, but I couldn't stop her in time."

    Oh, and one more thing about older kids, they sort of just show up, out of nowhere, and love to give me mini-heart attacks.

    "What did you do?"

    I put the last of the bags into our cart, when the child lifts her chin up from off her chest, bites her lower lip and announces in a clear voice, that she used the change from Dunkin' Donuts to buy one of those scratch-off lottery tickets.

    "HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW IT'S ILLEGAL!"

    Honestly, I didn't know whether to laugh, or cry. 

    I mean, the lottery vending machine was right next to Redbox, which was right next to the bubble gum machines and, well, I guess the poor kid just really, really wanted tacos for dinner.

    "She was too short to see the sign about being 18 and nobody was stopping her, either, mom."

    That's because the kid was being real quiet about it and nobody ever notices a quiet kid, right?

    Scratch.  Scratch.  Scratch.

    "Good news is, no one is going to jail."

    [eyes go wide]

    "What's the bad news, mommy?"

    [tosses ticket into trash bin]

    "Looks like we're having pasta tonight!"

    Stupid grocery shopping, dumbass economy!

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House

  • I’m not over the hill — I’m just
    stuck in a sand dune, or something!

    This weekend, we were invited to stay with dear friends in Cape May where the kids and I got to hike through, up and over perhaps some of the biggest sand dunes, here, in Jersey!

    The view from the top was breath-taking and totally worth the burning thighs and near-to-exploding ovaries (stupid midlife!) and, yet, the day was filled with bittersweet moments of regret, too.

    I was sorry that my husband had to work (someone has too, right?) and missed our ode to Ralph Macchio.

    Good thing my 15yo takes awesome photographs (not to mention, gives good glare) and, well, maybe I should just let her keep the frigalicious camera [one beat, two beats] naaaaah, I mean, really, learning how to share stuff is what we do best, here at Casa de Sticky Floors and Crunchy Feet.

    This capture of my youngest daughter, however, made me realize just how GROWN these kids insist on, you know, growing.

    Me, too.  UGH!  Then again, we hiked 4 miles on this day.  Besides, after 17 years of raising kids and killer dust bunnies, well, life has a way of catching up on a person, everywhere. 

    Sort of like this cool light bulb I found; a little grazed on top and all rusty on the bottom (you’re welcome!)

    Yes, alright, I admit it, I’m old(ish) slightly overdone and perhaps a wee bit passed my freshness date, than your average blogging mom…I mean.

    [borrows glare from 15yo]

    I am, however, also very happy (AM SO!) especially, since the kids and I seem to be able to enjoy each others company. 

    Dare I say, even a little more, now, than when they were babies, maybe, because I’m not so worried about counting heads, or chasing after them, at the beach?

    Aaaaand, okay, maybe my baby days ARE over (light bulb, rusted) but, my job, here, is far from done, my friend, and well, I’m just glad I remembered to pack my comfy sneakers.

    And, maybe a snack…also, a cell phone…so, I can google the nearest bathroom…stupid beach, dumbass bladder!

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House

  • WWMSD?

    If you were to ask me to sum up this entire winter, using just one color, I would paint you a less than prettiful picture and describe the feeling as being similar to the consistency of pea soup.

    Seems like we’ve had a sick kid in the house, every weekend, since Christmas break and maybe because, you know…we have…had a sick kid…in the house…since Christmas break.

    This week, it was my youngest’s turn (she’s 9) which, considering she is the youngest (i.e. been there, done that, easily entertained) a case of strep throat doesn’t sound like such a big deal, really.

    Unless, she is the kid who NEVER gets sick.

    Aaaand, then, she’ll spike fevers (always at night) and nearly drown in her own mucus (ditto) thick enough to plaster the walls, twice, to the extent where I am actually afraid of leaving her alone, or even bother with getting dressed.

    “I’m bored!”

    “Why don’t you paint something?”

    “But, I can’t find a paint brush.”

    Then, finally, a glimpse of normality and, well, although our lives are not always perfect (okay, more like never) and I won’t be voted the bestest, most craftiest mom, anytime soon (if, ever) I can at least try and focus on the beauty of simple, little things, again, or today, anyways.

    Like, being thankful that I did NOT throw away that old glass vase…afterall.

    Or, this one.  Even if we still can’t find a dagnab paint brush, to save my gosh-darned life…dagnabit!

    Gee, I wonder what Martha Stewart would do?

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House

  • HALP! I’ve Fallen & Can’t Stop Leaving Stupid Voicemails!

    I have trouble leaving voicemails….psssst, this is the part where you know, that I know, that you know, I'm a total dork, but act surprised, anyway….because, I'm always either losing my place, or start rambling in run-on sentences (shuddup!) insuring that the recipient will most likely never call me back and perhaps even unfriend me on Facebook, or worse, totally ignore me on Twitter.

    [sound of crickets]

    Social media can make some folks seem, I dunno, downright anti-social, sometimes, right?

    Aaaaaaanyway, there I was, day 5 of hanging out on the couch with my 9 year-old, holding her hair back while she hocked up goobers of mass destruction (you're welcome!) when I heard my cell phone ringing, causing yet ANOTHER parenting dilemma.

    Dooooooooooooooooooo I:

    A) Answer my cell phone, because, you know, it could be HGTV calling about my new dream home, or the Queen (woman never fails to call at the WORST possible times) most likely, it's my dear friend Melisa (with one S) for whom I would most definitely drop a call from the Queen (herself!) oh, she makes me laugh so (I mean, Melisa, not the Queen, but you knew that already, right?)

    B) Let it go to voicemail?

    NOBRAINER!  Besides, most every parent knows that hocking goobers of mass destruction is way different than fielding puke of projectile proportions…yes?

    Who knew that sitting on the couch, for 5 days, with a feverish kid, would atrophy one's muscles to the point of total skeletal fail?

    "Going down!"

    Also, consuming unusual amounts of caffeine will cause some folks to flail their working limbs and holler stuff you'd hear in an elevator….or Charlie Sheen's hotel room….whatever….bet you didn't know that either, huh?

    Turns out, it was Melisa (dangit!) so, I called her back and tried my best to leave a voicemail.  Really, I did.

    "[snort] Sorry [snort] but, you had to see me just now [snort] GOING DOWN! [uncontrollable laughter] then, she puked on the couch [snort] made her laugh so hard [choking back tears] gotta go [snort] it's Liz, by the way [deep breath] BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

    As if she couldn't figure out it was me….or, Charlie Sheen's long lost twin sister….twice removed….whatever….Melisa did eventually call me back (silly woman) but, she hadn't listened to my voicemail, yet.

    Soooooo, I repeated it, twice, and then she kindly suggested that perhaps it would be a good idea for me to, you know, lay off the coffee, for the remainder of the week.

    Maybe so, maybe so, still, there's nothing like sharing a little laughter, between friends, aaaaand, yes, oh how we laughed and laughed.

    [damned crickets are EVERYWHERE]

    Sorta reminded me of this:


    (Link) View more Voicemails Sound Clips and Attacking Old Ladies Sound Clips

    [grin]

    My work here is done. Go in pieces.

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House

  • You Say Joisey, I Say What?!?

    Because, I am all about making blogging fun again (shuddup!) my friend NYCPatty posted an Accent Vlog and, well, dang if I can't hear it (her accent, I mean) because we live from across the river (or, the rivuh) from each other, I guess.

    I know, I know, vlogging's not my thing, either.  Still, it's better than another post about mommybloggers going rogue or, the friggin' weather (here, in Jersey) right?

    [cue the crickets]

    Riiiiiight.

    Here's mine:

    Okay, what'dya think; hear anything?

    [someone please shut those crickets up, already]

    Fiiiiiiiiiine.  Fughettaboutit!  Want to play along?

    If you want to follow along or do the Accent Vlog yourself, here are the words/questions:

    Aunt, Route, Wash, Oil, Theater, Iron, Salmon, Caramel, Fire, Water, Sure, Data, Ruin, Crayon, Toilet, New Orleans, Pecan, Both, Again, Probably, Spitting image, Alabama, Lawyer, Coupon, Mayonnaise, Syrup, Pajamas, Caught

    • What is it called when you throw toilet paper on a house?
    • What is the bug that when you touch it, it curls into a ball?
    • What is the bubbly carbonated drink called?
    • What do you call gym shoes?
    • What do you say to address a group of people?
    • What do you call the kind of spider that has an oval-shaped body and extremely long legs?
    • What do you call your grandparents?
    • What do you call the wheeled contraption in which you carry groceries at the supermarket?
    • What do you call it when rain falls while the sun is shining?
    • What is the thing you change the TV channel with?

    Personally, I'd love to hear from my Mid-West friends and, most especially, folks from the South, like, oh, I dunno, Nashville, or maybe even as far as Plano, TX, even…YO!

    In the meantime, have a GREAT weekend and if anybody needs me, I'll be upstairs, caulking holes and mopping floors, baby.

    Friggin' rain!

    2/28 UPDATED TO ADD:  Yay for BusyMom, Dawn, Melisa, Heather and Weasel Momma for playing along, with me, too!

    Now, it's your turn — help a dork (like me) make blogging fun, again — go ahead, you know you want to!

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House

  • Parenting Tip #43,100,688:
    Don’t Have a Helmet, Get One!

    Besides, the fact that we are perhaps the only family, with four kids, and the youngest nearly in double-digits, who has never been to Disney World (meanies that we are) a lot of people seem to be surprised when they learn that my kids can’t ride bikes, either.

    Without training wheels, I mean.

    I don’t know why, really, I guess my kids just never really got into them and then scooters were a big thing, so, there’s that.

    “I want to learn how to ride a bike!”

    My youngest, however, wants to learn how to do everything — especially, if she’s the first kid in our family to, you know, do it.

    “Okay, maybe this summer.”

    [hands on hips]

    “That’s what you ALWAYS say!”

    Unfortunately, she wants everything, like, RIGHT NOW, nevermind that there’s been snow on the ground for the last couple of, uh, what month is it, again?

    “What do you mean?”

    Because, you know, I’m quick like that.

    “Like, about the ladies stuff?”

    PSA:  About to head into female territory and references to lady parts will probably come up, once or twice.

    “Oh, that.”

    Yes, I admit it, I’ve been putting off having “the talk,” and with good reason, too!

    “I mean, I know what the pads are used for, already!”

    She is the youngest.  She also shares a bedroom (and bathroom) with her two oldest sisters.  The girl sees stuff, hears things, even when she’s not supposed to and, well, at this point, I’m kind of worn out and really was hoping that maybe she’d sort of just, you know, figure it out.

    “It’s so you could catch the pee you missed and sort of drips off, right?”

    [sound of crickets]

    Aaaaaand, so, Hope and I had a really nice chat, last night, and, I am happy to report that pee was not even mentioned.

    “Remember when I was little and you used to give me a bath?”

    [heavy sigh]

    “Aaaand, you pulled my pants off and I made you scream?”

    [eyes go wide]

    “Because, I wanted to be like Holly and Heather, so I put a pad on!”

    [bites lower lip]

    “Except, I put it on…sticky side up.”

    Oh, yeah.  I forgot about that.

    “Aaaaand, you laughed so hard, you fell backwards and hit your head!”

    True story (it hurt!) and I’m sure it won’t be the last time she tells it, either.

    “Why aren’t you laughing, mommy?”

    Stupid puberty!

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House

    FRESHLY-BREWED REVIEW: Breaking the Silence of Abuse, Depression and Suicide

  • And You Thought Soccer Moms Where Bad

    My husband, Garth (not his real name) and I were thrilled to learn that our son joined the middle school wrestling team for a couple of reasons:

    • He’s got 3 sisters
    • It gets him out of the house and away from me and his 3 sisters (okay, mostly me!)
    • He’s been a big WWE fan since the 4th grade (I think!)
    • No tryouts (i.e. everyone makes the team!)
    • Refer to first two bullets, above

    Watching some other kid try and kick the living Axe out of my son, not so much.

    “Isn’t that your son?“

    [cringe]

    “I’m not sure.”

    Because, I was too busy covering my eyes and, well, cheese and rice, but I thought soccer was bad.

    Until, the other team gets a point.

    “Yep, that’s him.”

    The boy tries really hard and I tend to wonder if maybe I should be a little more aggressive in cheering him on, like soccer?

    “OUCH, you see how that kid’s head bounced off the mat!”

    Wrestling, however, is much different.

    “Throw him down!”

    I’m not saying that wrestling parents are any better, or worse, than other sports families.

    “Throw him down…HARD!”

    It’s just not the same, you know?

    “OUCH, that must of hurt!”

    So, I unlaced my fingers, pulled my hands away from my face, waited the few seconds for my eyes to adjust and realized…yep…it was indeed my son’s head they were all waiting for to, you know, explode.

    “Get outta there!”

    I had my youngest on my lap and felt her startle a bit at, you know, my finally finding my voice (me, too!)

    “Like a wiggle worm, bud!”

    [eyes go wide]

    And, my friend, sitting next to me, punched me in my arm…HARD…and, you know, it hurt.

    “Are you trying to get your son beat up?”

    Aaaaand, only when my oldest, sitting on the other side of me, started laughing, did I finally realize that, you know, maybe soccer isn’t so bad, after all.

    “….like a bad-assed, rabid, wiggle worm, bud!”

    Or, maybe, next time, I should just stay home and send my husband, instead?

    So, I did.

    “So, how’d it go?”

    Aaaaand, only when my son’s frown, turned upside down (whoops, sorry!) I mean, gave the biggest mofo grin, did I realize that, you know, I was totally being faked out.

    “I WON!”

    [eyes go wide]

    Really?  After all these months of my, giving “That’s okay,” and “Maybe next time,” late night, pep talks, driving home from yet another defeat?!?

    “DAMNIT!”

    [cringe]

    “I mean, I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see it!”

    This is the last week of wrestling season and I can’t say that I’m not a little thrilled to, you know, see it end.

    [cell phone rings]

    Yesterday was their last “home” meet and my friend called to tell me that it ended early (DAMMIT!) and if I wanted her to bring my son home.

    “Did we win?”

    [pause]

    “Uh, no.”

    [one beat, two beats]

    “Yes, please!”

    What?  It’s not like I forgot to pick my son up, on purpose, or anything, right…oh, and I guess soccer and wrestling are more alike…than I thought…huh?

    [sound of crickets, chirping]

    Stupid sports!

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House

  • Parenting Tip #93,018,833:
    Perfect Hindsight is 20-20
    Give or Take a Lifetime

    PhotoCredit: HeatherrMarie

    I have been accused of being an emotional person upon occasion, or twenty (I know, act surprised anyway, okay?) which means that I absolutely suck at Texas Hold ‘Em.

    [eyes go wide, hands begin to shake, sweat beads form on upper lip]

    I’m ALL in, before all the cards are dealt, even.

    “CALL!”

    Which, of course, also means that I cannot fake my way through a situation, even if my insurance rates depended on it.

    “Why no, officer [hands being to shake] I didn’t realize [sweat beads forming on upper lip] that my taillight was [GAH!!!!] yes, yes, I’m sorry, my left headlight is out, too!”

    My husband, Garth (not his real name) on the other hand, well, he has this philosophic calm about him and the way he handles confrontation.

    Which, of course, also means that he says totally nonsensical, idiomatic stuff, like, “It is what it is,” and, “Can’t ask a leopard to change its spots,” or, my favorite “Six to one, half a dozen to another,” NOT!

    Unless, you make me cry.

    [eyes go wide, hands begin to shake, sweat beads form on upper lip]

    Then, my friend, he is not above reading the riot act, to anyone, not even the Queen herself, as quick as you can say Jack Robinson, in the 3rd person, even.

    “All persons, being assembled, shall immediately disperse and peaceably depart to their habitations or to their lawful business on the pain of being guilty of an offense for which, on conviction, they may be sentenced to death by idioms, for life.”

    [blank stare]

    “All-uh-yuhs, just get off her back, will yuhs!?!”

    Morale of the Story:  May you have the hindsight to know where you’ve been, the foresight to know where you are going and the insight to know when you have gone too far.

    Short Version:  Don’t make my husband have to go all Jersey on your sorry ass!

    God Save the King of Idioms, Garth (not his real name) thanks for having my back, yesterday!

    Love always,

    The Queen of Dorks (herself!)

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House