This Full House Archive

Category: Raising Teens, Tweens & Killer Dust Bunnies

  • So, you’ve got a kid “not” going to college – ME TOO!

    One of the many things I love about blogging, that really hasn't changed in the last eleventy years, is it gives parents (like me) an opportunity to revisit a moment…that may otherwise have drifted off in the ebb and flow of nurturing a family…or a much simpler time…lost among the trials and tribulations that go along with raising teens…because TEENS!

    Now, we have Facebook. So, it's sort of fun to be able to reconnect with childhood friends, seeing our kids all grown up and moving onto college  **sniff-sniff**   and how in the heck did THAT happen, because in my mind, we're ALL still like 17, right?!? RIGHT?!?

    [sound of crickets, chirping]

    Riiiiiiiight. What was I saying? OH YEAH! So, I've consoled quite a few of my Facebook friends, because sending off your kid to college is a really big deal. 

    Unless you have a kid [or kids] who isn't [who aren't] going to college, like me.

    Long story, short: although our two oldest daughters' situations are totally different, my husband and I have stood by their decision to put off college, because…well…suffice it to say, if the tables were turned…and YOU told ME that it is the right decision…I'd trust you to know your kid, better than me.

    "Heather and Holly send their regards!"

    My son had his first visit at the orthodontist, a few weeks ago.

    "Oh, that's nice, send mine back!"

    The girls had their last orthodontist visit a few months ago, which means the length and cost of their treatment was pretty much the equivalent of a bachelor's degree…YO!

    "So, where is Heather going to school?"

    UGH!!! Here we go, again.

    "Actually, she's decided to take a gap year."

    Now, here's my problem. If it were me, I'd be all like…oh, okay, that's good…because, you know, NOT my kid…and I really need to stop thinking about what I would say or do in a particular situation.

    "Oh, well, I hope she learns something really important!"

    Aaaaand, I need to stop taking OTHER folks so literally.

    "Oh yes, she's a personal assistant to a local artist AND a production assistant for our county's teen arts program…it's right up her alley." 

    Because, really, how many of us…love…Love…LOve…LOVe…absolutely LOVE our jobs…okay, I do…but, I mean, straight out of high school?!?

    "Because, we WANT her to go to school…right?!?"

    I literally turned and looked behind me…thinking she was asking someone else…because, I'm real quick, like that…and not really.

    "Actually, it's a REAL good decision…FOR HER."

    Now, I'm not quite sure if the orthodontist has children…or if she's even married…and it doesn't really matter, but it seems to me that…at this point in our conversation…common sense would tell you…STFU!…right?!?

    "Well, I hope so!"

    She shook her head…actually friggin' shook her head…clearly, SHE was disappointed.

    "All kids go to college!"

    Here's the thing, this is my personal opinion as a parent of older kids (20, 18, 15 and 13) and not having a college degree, my ownself.

    "Sort of like, all dogs go to heaven?"

    I'm NOT going to argue the benefits of going to college…there are many, I know…however, pushing MY kids to go to college…for the sake of going to college…well, that's just stupid.

    "You know, the movie, all dogs go to heaven?"

    She'd never heard of it…AH! HAH!…so, she does NOT have kids…aaaand, I'm okay wit-it.

    "Good luck at school, Heather!!!"

    I took Heather to the dermatologist, last week — because we are ALL about supporting folks who've chosen to enter the medical field and are perhaps STILL paying for THEIR education…YO! — and the receptionist was really being nice, I think.

    Heather looked at me for a second, rolled her eyes and then answered her.

    "Hey, thanks!!!"

    Siiiiiiiiiigh. We then walked out and I gave Heather's shoulder a little squeeze.

    "It's just that…well…I didn't think it necessary to explain myself to her."

    Nope, and yep, because this kid is WAY smarter than me…too…and I'm okay wit-it!

    The End.

    ©2003 -2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything!   

  • My kid friended ME on Facebook, now what?!?!

    Raising 3 teens, and a kid who’s turning 21 in a couple of months (no she isn’t, I’m still in denial!), our parenting philosophy has changed quite a bit over the years, because: what worked with 1 kid isn’t necessarily gonna fly with another, all 4 of ours have their own way of ignoring us, dammit.

    There is one rule, however, that has remained tried and true: we made our kids “friend” us on Facebook.

    Why? Because, their world was growing bigger, while our collective parenting street cred has decreased exponentially, it’s the internet.

    Also, we made our oldest kids wait until they turned 13, because we’re really mean and can totally suck wet poodle, like that.

    Long story, short: our youngest turned 13 last June, but — unlike her middle sister, who joined Facebook on practically the hour she turned 13 — this one thought it better to wait, because…in her words…it’s like giving mean girls a microphone.

    Word! And I was okay wit-it, because MEAN GIRLS SUCK WET DONKEY BALLS!

    Even longer story, short (gosh, but vague-blogging is hard!): My two oldest daughters both have part-time jobs (my middle girl has 2, see previous parenthesis) with varying shifts, and I tag-team carpooling duties with my oldest, who often times is running late and forgets her cell phone at home, which means someone is texting me to either “Don’t forget to pick me up at whatever o’clock!” and “Where are you?” or “HURRY UP!” right now, probably.

    “Ummmm, okay, and who is this?!?“

    So, getting to the point of this story (because I really do have one, promise!): My youngest daughter considers herself lucky, whenever I remember her name, half the time.

    “Did you get a friend request from someone, today?”

    I walked through the front door and had just thrown my purse on the faux fireplace.

    “I don’t know, who?”

    [BIG GRIN]

    Ohhhhhh, right. It’s been like, two months. DUH!

    “But don’t worry, I made it private.”

    As private as putting it ALL out on Facebook can get, right?!?

    “Aaaaand, Papa is on Facebook.”

    Yep, my Dad is also my very own personal social media police and he’s pretty quick to call the rest of our family members out on stuff he reads on the internet…until his youngest grand daughter figures out Tumblr…anyways…

    So, yesterday I’m checking Hope’s Facebook, because Papa’s gotta sleep sometime and….OHHHH…EMMMM…GEEEE!!!

    “Bwahahahahahahahaha…[inhales]…SNORT!!!…Bwahahahahahahahaha!!!”

    My 13 year-old’s first post on Facebook:

    I feel like edward scissor hands with a box. Tip: don’t leave empty boxes in our house…you will have to wear it for a couple mins

    This is what Hope did NOT share: we are CONSTANTLY finding empty boxes left in the pantry, my husband made her siblings wear empty boxes too, so they couldn’t text or use the internet for a good 10 minutes, and how she considered herself lucky, because he made our 15yo son wear a family-sized Oreo box…on his head…YO!

    Moral of the Story: If it’s on Facebook, it’s totally blog-able, no more vague-blogging!

    In case you’re wondering, my son did NOT post it on his Facebook, and he reads my blog so…sorry dude and you’re welcome.

    Still, I think this whole kids on Facebook thing is going to work out just fine…shhhhhhhh…don’t tell my kids that, not until NaBloPoMo is over, m’kay?!?

    ©2003 -2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything!   

    I’m attempting to NaBloPoMo it this month, feel free to check out what I’ve NaBloPoMo-ed, so far. And I may have missed a day, or twenty. Oh and just so you know, I’m unplugging on weekends and going blog free, because family time is also very…SQUIRREL!!!

  • I expect they’ll be fighting over who gets to change “my” diaper, too!

    making parenting look like a piece of cake since, never mind when!

    A long time ago (i.e. about two kids in diapers, one in pull-ups and one losing her first tooth, ago) and way before I worked up enough nerve to go ahead and push “publish” on this old blog, a bunch of my mom friends and I would make a little extra diaper money by working with local marketing research companies and participate in consumer focus groups.

    We were sort of like bloggers, but without blogs. Yeah. That’s right. Bloggers without blogs. You heard it here, first.

    Aaaaanyway, because we had a houseful of kids under the age of I don’t remember anymore, we were real popular with the toy companies. And the toy companies were real popular with our houseful of kids, too.

    Flash-forward I don’t remember how many years: the phone rings and all four of my now teens and adult children will NOT do anything about it, until a robotic voice tells them to.

    Call from…Focus…R…Us…

    These guys haven’t called us since forever ago, so I holler to let the machine get it which, if you have teenagers in the house then you probably already know, is totally unnecessary.

    Call from…Focus…R…Us…

    Parenting pro-tip: kids under the age of 10 will usually put themselves in charge of answering the phone, with or without your permission.

    Beeeeeeeep…click.

    They didn’t leave a message, so now my teen and adult children are all like, who the heck is Focus-R-Us? Halfway into my explanation, they lost interest. Until.

    “Remember the time when Papa came over to babysit and didn’t know how to change Hopey’s diaper?“

    True story. My mom and dad used cloth diapers. My mom was in charge of changing the babies. My dad would take the diapers down to the laundromat and, considering I also have a twin brother, that’s a lot of dirty diapers. Can you blame him?

    “Seriously, Papa didn’t know how to change a diaper?”

     Cloth diapers, yes. These new-fangled disposable diapers, no. But, considering our youngest daughter waited until I left the house to surprise her Papa with a big load of stinky, he was willing to try.

    Only, my 2 year-old son REFUSED to show him where the disposable diapers were kept.

    “Yep, you made Papa look for them!”

    A few hours later, I came home from Focus-R-Us with my two oldest (they were asked to give their opinions on the latest Christmas line, and oh boy did they, but that’s another blog post, you’re welcome!) to find my son pouting in the corner (come to find out later that he put himself there, not my dad) and my father was very, very proud of himself for having changed his very first diaper, EVER!

    So, I then pulled my son aside, knelt down next to him and whispered into his ear.

    “Why wouldn’t you show your Papa where the diapers were?”

    My blonde-haired, blue-eyed, precious little baby boy pulled the pacifier from his mouth, put his hands on his hips AND explained EXACTLY why.

    “Beeeeeee-caws, dat’s Mommy’s job!”

    Aaaaaand oh how my now teenage son and I laughed…and laughed…his sisters, though…ummmmm…not so much.

    “In case you’re wondering, it isn’t!”

    Although, my now 13 year-old is taking great delight in claiming, “Papa changed my poopy diaper, NOT yours!!!” from now on. You’re welcome, Hope.

    ©2003 -2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything! 

  • Have you seen this scary man/woman?

    this full house, forever ago

    It’s been 2 years since we’ve had kids roaming the halls of the elementary school; wondering how they can get out of going to gym class (mostly the girls) or losing track of time on their way back from the bathroom (probably my son) and just where in the heck DID they put down their lunch bags (ALL of them) or coats (my son, again) seriously?!?

    Hint: claim cramps, it’s on the kitchen table, and there’s a bit of comfort that goes along with my believing there are warm and toasty kids out there, who are probably still wearing my son’s coats.

    Aaaaanyway, although my husband and I do NOT miss the daily grind of school drop-offs and pick-ups, there’s a calm sort of “Yeah, we’ve got teens and haven’t burned-out all of our gray cells, YET” sort of feeling that goes along with raising older kids.

    Somethings I do miss:

    Then there would be this guy. His pants were always too short, his shoes sometimes didn’t match and he always seemed to be arguing with someone, who wasn’t actually really there, and it used to scare the kids to hear him holler at…well…no one.

    Quite frankly, me too.

    Not because I was afraid he was going to hurt us (okay, with four kids hanging onto every one of my body parts within their reach, maybe a little), but because he always seemed to be so…you know…angry.

    Years passed, our kids started taking the bus to their schools, but we still sometimes saw “the scary man” walk by the front of our house — same too short pants and mismatched shoes.

    Fast forward to this morning: we ran out of milk. Okay, so in the large scope of things, not a really big deal. Unless, you’ve only had one cup of coffee and cannot…and I mean NOT…function properly without at least one more cup of coffee, like me.

    I asked my oldest daughter if she’d mind driving down to the corner to grab a gallon, but she was running late for work….GASP!!!!….not so much because she was running late for work (honestly, I’d be checking for pods in the crawl space, if she wasn’t), but it meant that I would have to go down to the corner and get my own danged milk….GASP!!!!

    Long story, short: my car isn’t feeling very well, at the moment (because the washing machine is broken and the car has sympathy pains, OF COURSE!) so I decided to walk and, as it often times happens when I am alone, I started talking to myself:

    Aaaaaand, then it hit me, like a dried-up boob upside the head: all those poor people driving by, as I’m literally arguing with myself, I must look like a fright. Then I glanced down at my feet.

    enough said

    You know, I haven’t seen the scary man in a while. Gosh, but I hope he’s okay.

     ©2003 -2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything! 

  • Tips and Tricks To Make Life Easier For You and Your Teen: a guest post by my almost-13yo.

    I’ve been  busily training for a couple of new jobs (a much needed and very appreciated couple of new jobs!) so my youngest daughter was kind enough to offer her services and guest blog for me, this week.  

    Aaaaand, since I’ve already failed (miserably!) at posting every day for #NaBloPoMo, I took the kid up on her offer and told her to have at it 🙂

    So, she came up with this, unedited and totally in her words:

    Hey hi hey…most of you know me as the youngest person in the thisfullhouse family. If you don’t know me then I’m Hope.  I’m turning 13 in two months. If you’re a parent and you have a teen or many teens like the mom of thisfullhouse here are some tips and tricks to make you and your teen’s life a lot easier. 

    Remember these are all totally true facts coming from a teen sooooo yeah.

    1. Make sure they have a book to read or get into…I went a couple years thinking I hated books and here I am having 82 books/series I want to read.  This is NOT an exaggeration.

    2. Make sure you have lots of tea and coffee in your house.  If your teen is upset about something tea is the best thing.  One of the best things my sister makes me is chai hot chocolate.  You make chai tea and mix in a little hot chocolate for a new world to be open in front of your very own eyes.

    3. Let them listen to what ever music they want and let them dress how they want.  It doesn’t matter what they dress like or listen to, but if they start to dress a little too badinkadinky let them face the consequences.

    4. Let them learn from their mistakes.  It’s the best way for them to figure out what they’re doing wrong, and fix it themselves.  It will also show you just how responsible we teens can be.  So it’s practically a win-win situation going on.

    5.  On those nights where you just want to be alone with that special someone 😉 schedule a sleepover at your teen’s friend’s house.  The two friends can have fun together and you can be with that special person of yours 😉  Remember at the friend’s house.  If your house you will be bothered for tis and that here and there and be bombarded with millions of questions.  And remember I am a professional.

    6.  Have a certain day to hang out with them just you and your teen.  Make a movie night at your house, or go out for coffee, or go on a walk, a jog, a run, whatever you want.

    7.  Whenever your teen says ‘whatever’ or ‘I don’t care’ just know that they really do care and they are just trying to cover it up or hide it from you to act “cooler”.  This especially happens around friends; don’t worry it happens to every parent you’re not doing anything wrong.

    8. Lastly, GIVE THEM SPACE.  If they are having a problem or trouble with something, no matter what it be, GIVE THEM SPACE.

    Try these tips and see for yourself.  Good luck!

    Yep, the kid is WAY smarter than me. The only thing I would add: yes, you should also totally consider yourselves lucky…if and whenever your teen allows you to take a picture of the back of their head…YO!!!

    ©2003 -2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything!   

  • When a teen slams a door, somewhere a local home center has just made another sale.

    The funny thing about raising teens (by funny I mean less ha-ha-ha and more what-the-huh?!?) is all the stuff you thought you knew about parenting…just stop it, right now…because kids have this really innate ability of having you question almost every move you make, to be totally wrong, probably.

    Personally, my inner-12-year-old would LOVE to have me forget that I am the parent, take over the situation and let’s play a little verbal dodge ball, while where at it. 

    This morning, it’s the door slamming.

    SLAM!!!!

    Sets my nerves on edge and don’t worry, both my husband and I will give the door slammer a second chance to try again or the door goes away. It works for us. The front door, however, is a different story.

    4th grade: one of the last times when they remember how to close the door, quietly.

    Our youngest child lost her cell phone privileges, this morning. Doesn’t really matter why. She probably doesn’t even remember, okay neither do I. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make, here, because I really do have one.

    [blows bangs out of eyes, stares out the window]

    Oh yeah, right. So, my husband and I were watching the weather channel (it’s how we bond in the mornings, don’t judge!) when we hear our youngest coming into the room…from three rooms away…for being as small as she is…she’s got a VERY HEAVY FOOT.

    [stomp-stomp-stomp]

    And then leave.

    Garth (not his real name): Have a nice day!

    [STOMP-STOMP-STOMP!]

    Me: Love you!

    This is the part where you would probably hear the door…SLAM!!!…if we hadn’t invested in that thingie that keeps the storm door from bashing into the door jam…hang on, let me ask Mr. Google, okay it’s called…a door check, years ago.

    [the whooshing sound of a door…closing…very…very…slowly]

    Me (to my husband): I think we handled that pretty well, you?

    Long story, short: raising teens is hard, but being an emotional and moral compass is even harder… YO!

    Got teens? Don’t have a door check? Get one!!!

    ©2003 -2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything!   

  • Better late than never, admitting you have a problem, being late.

    Like any other 15 year-old boy (at least, the teenagers I’ve had the pleasure of ignoring me) my son likes to sleep (a lot!) and can fall asleep, at a drop of a hat, standing up, with one arm tied behind his back and holding up a “Do not disturb!” sign with the other, if need be. He gets it from his father.

    Glen and Holly hiking together in the marshlands of NJ, sort of.

    The boy is probably lagging behind or running perpetually late, for almost everything, too. Guess who he gets THAT from?!? G’head, I’ll wait!!! Although his is more of a laid-back, slow and steady sort of late, while I’m frantically trying to finish up all the things…at the same time…and probably doing it wrong, too…not to mention…SQUIRREL!!!! 

    Aaaaanyway, I was going through some paperwork at my desk (alright, so I was filing stuff from last year, let’s just pretend it was today’s mail, okay?) and my son…slooooooooowly…pops his head in to let me know that he’s home from school.

    Although my neighbors could probably hear him barrel through our front door, anyway. This is also the kid who feels the need to identify himself when texting me…or calling me…on my phone.

    “Hi mom, it’s Glen, I’m home!”

    See what I mean? 

    “I have late dentention on Wednesday.”

    To be fair, my oldest ran late nearly every day when she was a freshman (and pretty much right through graduation), but go figure this would be the year the high school decides to crack down on lateness.

    “But, before you say anything, I get it!”

    [one beat, two beats]

    “In my defense, it’s dentention I owe from a while ago!”

    I didn’t ask if it was because he forgot that he owed detention from a while ago, because TEEN BOYS ARE ALSO SUPER-FORGETFUL and, well, I just happened to ask myself that same question…right now…because SQUIRREL!!!

    ©2003 -2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything!   

    I’m NaBloPoMo-ing it, 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!

  • Ohhhhh, Gwyneth…

    Disclosure: I am not a big fan of Gwyneth Paltrow. Still, I totally get that people (specifically, parents) do and say some very silly things sometimes, expensive words like "conscious uncoupling" and "co-parenting" make my brain itch.

    On the other hand, I use made-up phrases all the time (much to the chagrin of my grammarly-gifted friends) so I can certainly relate to the assumption that there may have been a little snark sprinkled in, because…HELLO WORLD!!!….Paltrow's got a personal lifestyle website to maintain.

    So, it's no surprise that news organizations and the internets were more than ready, willing and able to start dissecting her marriage…her relationships…both business and personal, past and present…the way she eats, talks, dresses…her very character…as a person and a mom…as we speak.

    I mean, wow! I can't imagine living in THAT sort of bubble or say that I would want to, especially when being called out for saying something silly or debating which mom's job is harder.

    Pssst, my best guess: ALL OF THEM.

    Still, I can't help but think to myself…meh, Gwyneth is living her reality…not mine…and I feel a little sad for her, even.

    Her marriage is breaking up and the ENTIRE world is watching AND has an opinion.

    So, since we're getting all opinionatey and stuff (and by we're, I mean me're), I'm pretty sure that Gwyneth would have a real hard time relating to me, too (either?) or the THRILL of:

    • Coming across loose change in the dryer AND the washer still works
    • Pulling on a warm pair of jeans AND finding a five dollar bill in your back pocket
    • Looking for that grocery list you threw into your purse AND pulling out a DOUBLE coupon
    • Successfully maneuvering your way out of the carpool lane…with both bumpers…still intact
    • Pouring gas treatment into your car AND then having the check engine light go out
    • Crying your way home/work/or both, wondering how you will EVER make it through the rest of the day AND then everyone at the four-way stop lets YOU go first

    Long story, short: we don't know, what we don't know, but I'm pretty sure uncoupling is NOT a real word.

    Oh, hang on, but according to Webster:

    un-cou-ple, transitive verb \-ˈkə-pəl\ :to separate or disconnect (something) from something else.

    Oh, but wait, not according to Urban Dictionary:

    uncoupling isn't defined. Can you define it?

    Ohhhhhh, Gwyneth. I'm so sorry. Clearly, we can't be friends. /snark

    ©2003 -2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything!   

  • No longer THAT mom, but about THAT crazy lady, at the grocery store.

    If given the choice ten years ago: I would rather push an old-fashioned reel lawn mower through a field of sticky balls…barefoot…than spend half the day dodging other shopping carts at the supermarket, while simultaneously attempting to put ALL the stuff my kids threw into OUR cart…accidentally on purpose…back on the shelf.

    Now that my kids are older? I still hate…Hate…HAte…HATe…HATE food shopping. Unless I am with my husband (date night at the supermarket, FTW!) and most especially if I happen to be shopping with one of my teenagers.

    “Are you Facebooking, again?!?”

    “Maaaaaaaaaybeeeeeeeee?”

    The kids were off on Friday (the winter daze have sort of melded together, I forget why) so I asked my son to go food shopping with me (he lives with 3 sisters, enough said!) and, now that he’s getting older (me too, DAMMIT!) I’m beginning to realize that not ONLY is my son the spitting image of GarthNHRN, the kid rolls his eyes at me….just like his dad…too.

    “Put your phone away, Mom!”

    Long story, short: raising teenagers can be sort of fun, sometimes.

    “Can you load the conveyor belt, while I go ahead and bag?”

    Aaaaaand, very rarely…like in, almost never…do we experience any drama at the check-out line, unless I’m shopping with my youngest (who NEVER seems to have ANY gum in her pocket, because I am the meanest mom EVER) and especially if:

    • The store you normally shop in is wicked-busy
    • So you head to the one across the street
    • Where there are only two cash registers open EVER (don’tcha HATE that?!?)
    • And you happen to pick the teenage cashier with an attitude
    • (see previous parenthesis)
    • Who clearly heard “I’ll go ahead and bag”
    • As “You just go ahead and scan ALL that stuff, REAL FAST” dammit!

    Because, of course!

    “Gah…the bread…the eggs…GAH!!!”

    I don’t do ANYTHING, real fast…but I do tend to drop stuff, OFTEN…especially when I’m expected to do stuff…REAL FAST!!!

    Oh, and shopping bags that tend to tear…REAL FAST…do NOT help.

    KABOOM!!! WHOOSH!!!

    And hollering at your 15yo son, after YOU were the one who just dropped AND spilled an entire bottle of juice…most definitely does NOT help…NOT ONE BIT.

    “Don’t just stand there, PICK IT UP!!!”

    In my defense, it was an expensive bottle of juice that happened to be on sale…dammit…but my poor son was clearly too embarrassed to acknowledge that…you know…he was actually shopping with me…and NO!!!…I do NOT blame him…but would you believe that the cashier just stood there and watched it GLUG-GLUG-GLUG all over the floor.

    Okay, I lied. She crossed her arms and then started popping her gum.

    “Clean up at register 2!!!”

    Good thing this was NOT my first rodeo…or juice spilling, for that matter…oh, and I was wearing my glasses, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to holler out which aisle was now drowning in juice…REAL FAST.

    “DAMMIT!!!”

    Now, to keep the rest of this blog post short and sweet, here’s the bulleted version of what happened next:

    • I picked up the almost-empty juice bottle
    • And then dropped it again
    • Because, wet juice bottle
    • And then kicked the now even-more-empty bottle of juice
    • Creating two rivers of juice
    • So I asked my son to move the shopping cart closer
    • Okay…fine…some SCREAMING may have been involved
    • While he calmly continued to load the belt
    • And tried NOT to slip on the river of juice
    • That had now formed between us
    • But he forgot about the second river of juice
    • And did a real crazy side-step
    • Because he is almost 7 feet tall
    • Or something
    • And kicked over the even-more-empty bottle of juice
    • Which then spilled, again
    • Creating a friggin’ ocean of juice
    • With the juice bottle cap floating right in the middle
    • So I bent over to pick it up, because that is a law suit just waiting to happen
    • But I kicked the cap
    • Which then ricocheted off the now empty bottle of juice
    • And slid across the floor
    • Right into the bank kiosk
    • Which caused the woman
    • Who was woman-ing the bank kiosk
    • To laugh, hysterically
    • And then start to look for a camera
    • Insisting that my son and I were punking the store
    • Or something
    • Because NOTHING like this EVER happens
    • Not in real life, anyways
    • And this is when the cashier started bagging stuff
    • Because she wanted us to get out of there, REAL FAST, too! 

    Aaaaaaand then we left, end scene. The real kicker to this story?!? One of the reasons why I even bothered to stop at this particular store, in the first place?!? Was because…

    …wait…

    …for…

    …it…

    …their juice was on sale.

    [rolling eyes, like a GarthNHRN]

    Thinking on it some more, we never DID get out replacement bottle of juice, which also means we paid double the price, for one bottle of juice, dammit.

    [sound of crickets, chirping]

    Stupid food shopping, dumbass easy-tearing plastic bags.

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