This Full House Archive

Category: Raising Teens, Tweens & Killer Dust Bunnies

So, What’s the WORST That Can Happen?

I have a hard time believing that my husband, Garth (not his real name) and I have been together for 24 years: we met on a blind date in July of…[reaches for calculator]…1989 and were engaged by November.

Because any man who hands his date a handkerchief…in the middle of blowing snot during one of the most saddest movie endings in history…and then takes that same handkerchief back from her…all snotted up and everything…is worth hanging onto, verdad?

Long story, short (you're welcome!): what makes our relationship work (most of the time) is that Garth (NHRN) is very good at dealing with an emergency.

My husband has this awesome ability of assessing almost any situation in a very calm and rational Jedi-type manner, while my approach is much more apocalyptic in nature.

Which makes me LOTS OF FUN at the end of the world-type disaster movies — World War Z, Walking Dead, I live there, every single day!

Because, raising teens and a 12-year old who knows MORE stuff than I do, jumping to the worst possible conclusions is about the only exercise I get, these days.

On the other hand, I am an expert at not sweating small stuff: because I've already imagined the worst that can happen.

For example: hypothetically speaking, say one of our girls were to be asked out on a date, for the first time…like in, EVER!!!…my husband and I would both handle it very, very differently.

Garth (NHRN): if I am not home from work, make sure he comes in to meet your mother.

End of story.

Me? Totally different scenario: okay, so I'm going to visit with your aunt and you're going for sushi and the sushi place happens to be a couple of blocks from your aunt's house, so if you find yourself feeling uncomfortable or the date goes all weird on you, text me and I will call you back with some sort of emergency that requires you to come home right away and…WHAT?!?…why are you looking at me all funny like that?!?

This is NOT your child and you know we're talking totally hypothetical, right?!?

[one beat, two beats]

Fiiiiiiiiiiiine, at least I don't have to worry about what we're having for dinner tonight, the other 3 kids LOVE sushi.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Aaaaaaand, thank goodness we live right on the water, don't even get me started on the subject of seafood sustainability in landlocked states (you're welcome)!

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything!

July 5, 2013
Male Bonding, in a Houseful of Females, is Sticky!

father & son, discussing manly things ~ june 2007

I love this picture for so many reasons, but mostly because my son and husband weren't aware of my taking it (which is a great feat in and of itself, especially for a clumsy dork like myself, trust me on this!) and, in my stealthiness, I was able to capture an intimate moment between father and son.

Don't EVEN get me started on how I just realized that my son still had his baby face in the 2nd grade or how blonde his hair would get by the end of the summer.

Aaaaand, how the kid was (and still is) an absolute magnet for bug bites — look at his poor leg all bitten up and everything.

My husband, on the other hand, could stay out for hours and not have to swat at a single bug — except for gnats, because those little suckers are relentless – I swear, the man is a walking, talking insect repellent.

Aaaaand, he would have you believe it's because of his sour disposition, to which I will gladly call bullsh&t, each and every time AND most of you guys already know, I am married to a saint.

Lately, however, I can't say living with the both of them…under the same roof…has been a slice of heaven.

so close, yet so far

Don't get me wrong, they are wonderful human beings and both have very soft and squishy hearts (which is good, when you live with a bunch of females); it's just that together, well, they butt heads…a lot…like a couple of enraged mountain goats.

As if tensions weren't high enough, with a pre-menopausal mother in a houseful of teenage daughters, right?!?

However, when my daughters and I do battle, it's mostly about their borrowing my clothes without asking or having any intentions of giving them back…cough, cough…HOLLY…cough, cough…or consuming the LAST pod of coffee…cough, cough…HEATHER…cough, cough…and don't EVEN get me started on my youngest daughter's habit of having the last word…WORD, INFINITY!

glen all duded up for the 8th grade dance ~ june 2013

I mean, I get it: it's like an alpha male sort of thing, right?!? RIGHT?!?

[cue pack of hyenas, laughing]

Riiiiiiiiiight.

I can't help it — growing up in a house with someone yelling at someone else, all the time — the butting head thing is making me a little crazy. Okay, crazier than usual. So does the inevitable radio silence, afterwards.

This week?!? Totally nutty — like in, holy crap on a cracker, can we PLEASE have a do-over?!? — the sort of crazy that will keep even a non-pre-menopausal woman up at night…worrying about every little thing she canNOT control…btw, she is also very well aware of that fact…DAMMIT!!!

Aaaaand, then it hit her…I mean me…like a brick upside the head: it's NOT them, it's me!

Or, my stupidly high expectations of wanting to recapture that same intimate moment between the top two on my list of the most important men in my life.

Rather than just enjoy small, fleeting moments of simply being.

"Did you have a good time at the dance?"

Content with understanding that perhaps now they just are NOT meant to include me.

"Yeah, and Dad is a ninja at drop-offs and pick-ups!"

Aaaaand, well, I'm okay with that, too.

"He doesn't curse near as much as YOU do."

Then again, this male bonding thing…highly overrated…don'tcha think?!?

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything!

June 21, 2013
My Ability to Confuse People, In Two Languages

Growing up in my parent's house we spoke Hunglish and, even now, my kids have very little trouble following along, as their maternal side of the family tree continues to hold entire conversations, in half Hungarian and half English.

now, my mom and I both spend our sundays trying to remember just when (and how) in the heck our kids got so grown…

The downside being: my inability to complete a single reprimand, without referring to some Hungarian proverb my parents or grandmother would bust out in similar parenting situations.

Problem being: my kids have no clue what the heck I am hollering about, in two languages, unless I bust out with a slew of curse words and, well, then they know to duck and cover.

Just the sound of "a fene egye meg", when spat in between "hulye", "pofatlan" and "balfasz" is enough to guarantee, at the very least, an awkward silence from the "stupid" "faceless" "sucker", "damn it" (true translation, makes no sense, I know) especially, if you happen to be on the receiving end.

Still, Hungarian expressions like "lofasz a budosh kurva anyad seggebe" are quite offensive and much worse than its English counterpart: which I cannot even bring myself to type, this early in the day.

Suffice it to say it is quite stinky and most likely very, very painful.

[shiver]

So, what's my point…and EWWWW!!!…right?!?

I received a call from the nurse at the high school that my middle girl attends: she got in between a boyfriend and a girlfriend being all…[giggle-giggle]…oh, stop it…[giggle-giggle]…and their supposed playful pushing and shoving, which then suddenly turned all…no, YOU stop it…BAM!!!

The girlfriend fell into her locker door (which was wide open) and slammed it into my daughter's head.

I know, ouch!

Unfortunately, it didn't end there. Heather then slammed the OTHER side of her head into her own locker and, well, OUCH!!!

Long story, short: she went to the nurse's office, politely asked for an ibuprofen and then proceeded to vomit.

A LOT!!!

Aaaaand she was still vomiting, by the time I got to her school, almost an hour later, earning us an impromptu ride in an ambulance.

It's how we roll.

Heather is the only one out of all four of my kids…[knocking on wood until knuckles bleed]…who has ever gone through surgery…twice…followed by two more emergency room visits for complications from a very invasive procedure on her backside.

In teaching hospitals that happened to be staffed with medical students, each and every time.

Seriously, even I was all like, OH MAN, 20-something year-olds are staring at my 13 year-old's butt, really?!?

She is also my migraine kid.

"There seems to be no cranial damage."

Only, this time, the pediatric physician on staff had a wicked accent and I heard it as her saying: no anal damage, because I am 12.

"We're going to treat her for migraine with i.v. fluids and meds."

Having been there way too many times, my ownself, I got absolutely nothing whimsical to say about migraines or i.v. fluids.

[shiver]

Aaaaaand, that's when my daughter proceeded to lose her cranium.

"Why DOES IT ALWAYS have to be me DAMMIT?!?"

Not for nothing, but the kid DOES seem to be a magnet for this sort of stuff and I am seriously considering investing in lots of bubble wrap, over the summer.

"Well, you know what your great-grandmother always said?"

Heather closed her eyes and pretended to be sleeping; didn't stop THIS dork any, though.

"The dog will always choose to pee where there is pee, already."

[blink-blink-blink]

"Like, you know, when we walk Doofus-Dawg?"

She finally opened her eyes, probably way past bored at this point, wondering where in the heck this was going.

"How he sniffs and then pees on every pole, mailbox or whatever."

[blink-blink-blink]

"Soooooo, you're saying I'm a pole, that makes total sense…to no one."

Ah, a little nugget of sarcasm, it was at this point when I knew that she was beginning to feel a little better and that we (mostly me!) would be okay…SHEW!!!

"Nooooo, I'm saying we're both more like pee magnets."

Aaaaaand, then I heard someone else quietly clear their throat.

"The bathroom is just around the corner, if you need, Mrs. Thompson."

Moral of the Story: Better to be laughed at than puked on, I always say.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

"Hulye" head injuries, "seggfej" proverbs.

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything!

June 18, 2013
Got Teens? You’re Gonna Need a BIGGER Puke Bucket!

Yes, we have a puke bucket. Actually, it's a very large mixing bowl (HUGE!) and, well, I'm going to stop RIGHT THERE, as the imagery may be way too much for some folks to consider…right now…if ever.

Unless you have teens: where it isn't a family meal, until someone belts out a fart joke (or twenty) and then my youngest (who is turning twelve, this month, EEEEP!!!) begins a rather graphic discussion on the EXACT origin, destination and natural biography of every bodily function known to man/womankind.

Oh, hey! Hiya! Want to come to dinner?!? BYOPB!!!

Soooooo, aaaaaanyway, I feel it safe to say that there isn't very much left we parent-type folks can't handle…on a physical level, I mean.

On the other hand, emotionally and mentally, I am an absolute train wreck.

I'm talking full-frontal face-wipe, over here: which starts out as a face-palm, and then you just sort of try to drag your eyebrows…to your chin.

G'head, I'll wait.

Aaaaaand, there isn't a font BIG ENOUGH to accurately convey the "WTF?!?" feeling of helplessness…whenever you decide to stand back and NOT do anything…other than allow your kids to just…you know…grow up.

This weekend was one of those days.

Long story, short: contrary to what some parenting experts will tell you (I am SO NOT one of them, btw) there is a very, very, very and I mean very fine line (infinitesimal, even) of being able to tell the difference between typical growing pains AND something much more sinister.

Growing pains stink like wet poodle: sinister sucks wet, hairy donkey balls.

[passes puke bucket]

Even longer story, shorter (seriously, this vague-blogging is hard…YO!): it was a looooooooooong weekend of "WTF(s)?!?" up in here, my friends.

So, last night: I sat down at my desk in an effort to get a jumpstart on the week, when my oldest daughter walked in from work and all hell broke loose AGAIN!

"Alright, what happened?!?"

Except, this time they were ALL snort-laughing with each other and…YES!!!…along with their penchant for cracking off a joke at the most inopportune moments AND making the mistake of not taking into consideration that maybe NOT everyone they meet is a hugger…they get that from me, too.

"Holly got asked out at work!"

Okay, but how is that funny?!?

"She said NO!"

Okay, still NOT seeing the funny.

"Aaaaaand, when the guy turned to leave the shop, she hollered after him: but, THANK YOU!!!!"

The really funny part: her voice goes up a couple of octaves and she then starts to smile this big toothy sort of grin when she's nervous (or angry) which is EVEN funnier…because it totally sounds like you're getting a smackdown from Snow White.

"I was caught off guard, QUIT LAUGHING!!!"

The part where I really lost it: my son tried to mimick her; his voice is changing.

[throws arms up in the air, closes eyes and SCREAMS]

It's a roller coaster ride up in here, my friends…BYOPB!!!

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything!

June 3, 2013
I Don’t Always Talk To My Teen, But When I Do, We Text
Some parenting-type experts will agree: most teens have no idea how to have real conversations, because they are too busy texting on their cell phones.

I am NOT one of these parenting-type experts: in fact, I really do wonder if any of them…you know…actually live with teens and I'm just going to embrace this moment (sorry, I'm a hugger) and share a little parenting-type secret with you, okay?

Wait. For. It.

Teens do NOT talk: sometimes, even when they are spoken to, and I most humbly suggest that you just go ahead and not expect any serious eye contact, anytime soon, either — it'll be easier that way, trust me.

However, most parents also own cell phones and, well, messing with your teens just got better.

For example-type purposes: my oldest daughter went out with a bunch of girlfriends to celebrate one of their birthdays, after work.

No biggie, right?

I'm going to add some key pieces of information missing from that sentence:
- My oldest daughter is 19
- As are her girlfriends
- It was teen night, at a dance club
- My daughter's shift ended at 8 p.m.
- She got home at 9 p.m.
- It took her until sometime around 10:00 p.m. to figure out just which shoes goes best with which top
All "yeah, but she's an adult now" and "she's got a good head on her shoulders" arguments aside (because, seriously, with a houseful of teenagers, the line for questioning my parenting abilities forms to the right) I suspect any attention she does get will most probably NOT be kept, above the shoulders.
- Text me, no maybes!
Long story, short (I know, too late, but we're already too deep into brain vomit, you're welcome) I pretty much did the same thing at her age (YES, I still remember and never mind just HOW long ago it was) and, well, only really important people walked around with briefcase phones.

Aaaaaand, my parents never slept.

Today, my husband and I insist that our kids remember to, at the very least, text us: but STILL we are NOT sleeping.
- 10:03 p.m. — at Snooki's house (not her real name and don't EVEN!) I'll text when we leave
- 1:29 a.m. — Heading to get food now then back to Snooki's (seriously, JUST STOP IT!) house! All safe and sound
- 2:19 a.m. — change of plans, I am sleeping over Annie's (not her real name, either and this would be funnier, if she had red, curly hair, which she doesn't, whatev!) I'm there now
She did stop home long enough to tell me some quick and amazingly funny stories from last night (seems guys have NOT changed, AT ALL!) and then I got this text after she got into work:

What?!? Alright, fine, I don't expect everyone will get the 80's movie reference, but my kids are pretty used to my busting out into Broadway show tunes, too…aaaaaaand, YES!!!…this IS the part where you should start feeling a little bit better about yourself 🙂

You know, thinking on it some more, I never DID hear back from her. Maybe she's just too busy Googling "fly dance moves" right?!? RIGHT?!?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Stupid parenting-type experts; dumbass 80's catchphrases.

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything!
May 17, 2013
Another Vlog Tutorial: How NOT to Talk to Teenagers
Working in social media, I get to watch a lot of "how to" videos (YES, it's a job!) and I have learned some really interesting stuff along the way: like, how some parenting sites can make raising teens (and tweens) sound sooooooo…I don't know…wash, rinse and repeat.

So, I was undermining my teens' privacy the other day and started thinking to myself; you know, maybe it would be a whole lot easier if someone showed me what NOT to do…and…HEY!!!!…wait a minute…I can do that!!!

So, I present to you, the second in a series of "how NOT to" vlogs.

A few post-production notes:
- I am, and have NEVER even claimed to be, in no way, shape or form a parenting expert…clearly.
- If, however, by posting these silly little videos, I can make you feel even just a little better about your parenting skills, then my job here is done.
- That being said, do NOT try this at home, I am a professional dork.
- My husband, kids and even the dog know and they seem to be okay wit-it.
- I also realize that the audio does not match the video.
- You've just witnessed a professional dork "workin-it".
- With SUPER heavy duty and totally teen-induced eye baggage, even.
- Wil Wheaton is awesome.
© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

New and improved with a fan page on Facebook and everything!
May 15, 2013
Sinceriously Yours, I.M. Deluded

Our youngest daughter is turning 12, next month — pausing to allow for the "OH, BUT HOW?!?" and the "MY BAYBEEEEEE?!?" to come through, okay, I'm good now, thanks!!! — and, as fourth in line, MY BAYBEEEEEE (whoops, that one slipped right through, sorry!) she's learned to sit back and observe, as her older siblings get grounded for one reason (or twenty), so that she knows EXACTLY what she can or cannot get away with.

Aaaaaand, she will test us…in theory…just in case.

I'm just beginning to get used to her turning eleventeen

Long story, short: not only have we deluded ourselves into believing that this kid would most likely be the easiest one to raise, we NEVER had a chance.

Oh, but she's soooooooo cute, right?!? YES!!! Also, to her advantage, she's smart and presents a list of reasons why she should be allowed to [enter whatever it is her siblings were NOT allowed, here] which, more often than not, leaves me snort-laughing and, well, when I say we NEVER had a chance, I mostly mean…me.

For example: my insisting that she does NOT in fact need to get one of those $$ binders, this late into the school year and then finding an email (sent to my business account, btw) outlining the reasons why she does so need to get one of those $$ binders:

REASONS WHY I DO SO NEED TO GET A $$ BINDER

1.) I would be way more organized throughout the year.

2.) We would save more money with just buying one big binder rather than two smaller ones.

3.) They have more space and it will allow me to have easy access to everything in my binder.

4.) As you can see my binders right now are falling apart.

5.) It would allow me to have more space for every subject, have space for my writing materials, and it would be 1 binder.

6.) With this binder I won't have to use a book bag.

7.) This binder would take a lot of weight off of my shoulders, I would carry the binder and my lunch, that’s it!

8.) You would not have to worry about it breaking because they are really good, and it may even last until 7th grade that saves even more money!

9.) And did I mention that it saves money???????!!!!!

10.) All of these reasons make up the binder of my dreams.

Aaaaaaand, then she included "here are some pictures" with her closing statement:

I hope you choose to buy this binder with me and as you can see I'm leaning towards the purple color.

Sinceriously,

How could I say no, right?!? RIGHT?!?

Riiiiiiight, but what if I told you that she ALSO copied her list of reasons why she does so need to get one of those $$ binders and then shared it with me in a Google doc?!?

You see what I mean?!? We…okay, fine…I NEVER HAD A FRIGGIN' CHANCE, with this kid.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Aaaaaaand, you are NOT helping.

[blows bangs out of eyes, drains coffee mug]

She had me at number 8 (don't judge!) and, now that she has one of those $$ binders (yes, it's purple, dammit), it IS one less thing I can √ off of my list for next year, right?!?

[what IS it with ALL these crickets, anyways]

Stupid school supplies, dumbass Google docs.

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

New and improved with a fan page on Facebook and everything!

May 9, 2013
Do You Know This (or That) Mom?
Not unlike most days, her morning does not start out very well: in fact, she cannot remember the last time she did not have to holler at someone:
- GET UP!!!
- GET READY!!!
- HURRY UP!!!
- ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY SURE YOU HAVE EVERYTHING?!?
- DON'T FORGET YOUR LUNCH!!!
- YOU'RE GOING TO MISS THE BUS (AGAIN!)
- WAIT, SO WHOSE BACKPACK IS THIS?!?
Then her phone will ring; she immediately recognizes the number and begins to feel the first pangs of regret when wondering, "What now?!?"

Another migraine; she will listen and then she will silently nod her head, as the nurse asks for a verbal approval, knowing very well that she did so send in the paperwork, twice before, because all she ever wants is for the pain to stop.

She hangs up the phone and mentally begins to plot out her day, which may or may not include a 90 minute drive to pick up a sick teen.

She hollers (once more) to her kids, to make sure they wear comfortable shoes, because she will NOT be driving them to school.

Then her phone will ring (again) and now she begins to wonder, "Could this day get ANY worse?"

Yes, yes it could and if she had a dollar for each time she's hollered, "AREN'T THOSE SHORTS A LITTLE TOO SHORT?!?" she'd be able to afford to keep up with her children's growth spurt(s).

At this point, she begins to wonder if her kids are trying to kill her, and she may or may not have said it, out loud.

She will then sit in the cold metal chair, where thousands of others (very much smaller than her, btw) have waited for disciplinary actions, mentally willing herself to sit straight-backed and sure, when she swears she feels as if she is beginning to melt from all the disapproving glances, feeling as if she were 12 years-old, all over again.

Her almost 12 year-old daughter will walk into the office, her head down in a futile attempt to hide the streaks of dried tears (seems she did in fact, say it out loud) and she will feel as if yet another small piece of her has died.

She will then hand her youngest child a pair of pants, along with her science book, stroke the back of her head, look straight into her chocolate-colored eyes and say, "See you later, sweetie."

She drives home in silence, wiping away the tears at every stop light, hoping that she does not pass anyone she knows.

A car blows its horn; she waves and smiles.

Then her phone will ring (for the third time, this morning), but this time she tells the nurse that she will be there in about an hour.

She will then take a few minutes, to herself, and write it ALL down.

She grabs her purse, puts on a pair of sunglasses and, for the first time today, will begin to forgive herself for being that mom.

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

New and improved with a fan page on Facebook and everything!
May 3, 2013
Tell Them About My Name

My kids love hearing the stories behind their namesakes and each still pretty much like their given names, except for our youngest: while playing a name game at a friend's baby shower, Hope insisted she wanted to be called Robin.

"How come my name doesn't start with a H, like the girls?"

For two reasons: naming your children with the same letter sounds harmless enough, until you try hollering for one of them, and can't seem to remember their names, without sounding like an idiot…each and every blessed time…because, I'm smart like that.

There is also a pretty neat and totally goosebump-worthy story behind the reason why we chose to name our son, Glen.

One of my husband Garth's (not his real name) earliest childhood memories was from the summer when he was about 4 years-old: he fell into a rose bush, ten times his size (as he remembers it) when a really big boy from the neighborhood ran over and, without hesitation reached in through the thorns, lifted him out, brushed him off and then walked him home.

The really big boy was a 19-year old, his name was Glen Bates — a few months later, he was killed in Vietnam.

But wait, my story is about to get a whole lot goosebump-ier.

(more…)

April 29, 2013
Our Mother/Daughter Weekend, Gone Ugly Cry

I feel extremely lucky to have experienced (what I consider to be) once-in-a-lifetime type moments, via my little corner of the internets and feel very blessed to have a strong online network of friends and peers (yes, they know about it!) most especially, when dissing them during the Type-A Advanced blogging conference in Philadelphia to spend the rest of the weekend, with my oldest daughter.

it's our first mother/daughter weekend away, can you tell?!?

While my friends Amy Clark and Jo-Lynne Shane fed my inner-squirrel…I mean, what I meant to say was…encouraged my love of Pinterest (heh) and Maria Bailey had me pretty much convinced that I really do need to improve my vlogging skills (or lack thereof), my oldest spent the day taking herself on a walking tour of Philadelphia.

We've been to Philadelphia as a family, but it's been a while since our last visit and this time I did not have to worry about maneuvering through the crowds…with a stroller…yeah, it's been a looooong while.

Later, Holly confessed that she was also much more relaxed, not having to worry about keeping an eye on her siblings and, well, she is (and always has been) more like a mother to them…than I am…apparently, I don't have a very good inside voice OR follow cross-at-the-crosswalk-type rules, very well, either.

Kid is a tyrant, I tell ya!

Even later, while I was checking in at work during a break in between sessions, Holly limped back into our hotel room, and, well, The Franklin Institute is about a 50 minute walk from Independence Hall…one way…just so you know.

I know what you're thinking (maybe), but she didn't want to spend money on a taxi, even though she was wearing the wrong shoes, especially for such a looooooooong walk, and, well, I wonder where she gets THAT from?!?

[face palm]

Even later still, I got a text from Holly: poolside 😀

I texted her back, asking if the water was warm: no 🙁

It was an indoor pool, but the hotel had just opened it up the day before, so 🙁 indeed.

Then, the conference came to a close, I headed out to spend the rest of the afternoon exploring Philadelphia with my kid.

We are both BIG fans of early-American history — not to mention historical romance novels – and had LOTS of fun pretending to walk in Poppy Hathaway's unconventional shoes…along the grounds belonging to the roguishly-handsome entrepreneur, Harry Rutledge…an American-born enigmatic hotel owner in London and inventor with wealth, power, and a dangerous hidden life…aaaaaaand…ummmmmmm…what, not a big fan of Lisa Kleypas, eh?

Right. Soooooo, then we got hungry.

left: limoncello and prosecco w/strawberries and mint; upper right: cured meat and cheese platter; lower right: warm pear, cranberry, walnut and gorgonzola salad.

Aaaaaaand, boy did we eat! EVER!!! The great thing about visiting Philadelphia (or any metro-area city, really) is, of course, the food and we found a little hidden treasure in Pizzicato located in Olde City.

mother/daughter weekends: this is how we do it.

Then came the moment we'd BOTH been waiting for: getting back to the hotel, ordering dessert and a movie in, where we cried the ugly cry and blew through an entire box of tissues.

"I love…[snort-snort]…the relationship we have…[choke-choke]…and that we could…[gasp-gasp]…do this, together…[choke-choke]…Mom."

Aaaaaand, considering the fact that she knows, that I know, that she knows, I am a total dork (we're BOTH okay wit-it) that right there, my friends, is my MOST favorite part of this ENTIRE weekend and totally worth the over-inflated price of an in-room movie…YO!!!

[lump, meet throat]

On the way home, I asked Holly what she enjoyed most about our weekend away?

[one beat, two beats]

"Taking a nice, long, hot bath WITHOUT having to worry about someone knocking on the door OR the hot water running out."

Yep, she's my kid a'ight 🙂 She's gonna be a really great mom, one day, don'tcha think?!?

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

New and improved with a fan page on Facebook and everything!

April 23, 2013