This Full House Archive

Category: Raising Teens, Tweens & Killer Dust Bunnies

  • Who Knew Flashcards Could Be Soooo Funny?!?

    The 50 nifty, funny states.

    With all the technology available at their fingertips (even our school district started going paperless, two years ago) it is sort of refreshing to see my kids revert to using low-tech, old school study tools.

    For example:  making up their own vocabulary flashcards.

    What’s so funny about vocabulary, or flashcards, you ask?!?  Absolutely nothing, I say.  Unless, I am helping my youngest study for a BIG test on naming the capitals of all 50 states, using flashcards she made up with special keywords (in parentheses) to help her remember and then acts all surprised when I start laughing…real hard…which made it EVEN funnier.

    Okay, fine, I’ll show you.  This is some of what comes to the mind, when identifying the capital city of each state, to my 11 year-old:

    • Arkansas: (Arken saw a _______) little rock and it was good.
    • California:  (Sock sack) don’t remember the reasoning behind this one and I sort of don’t want to, either.
    • Georgia:  (Real housewives) SNORT!!!
    • Kansas:  (Peek at toes) clearly, they’re a bunch of toe-peek-ahs, her Jersey is showing.
    • Michigan:  (I like to sing) lan’sakes, so do I 🙂
    • Minnesota:  (Holy) sort of like St. Nicholas, only not.
    • New Mexico:  (Christmas) speaking of Santa, must be his favorite vacation spot.
    • Ohio:  (Found America) still up for debate, but we’ll go with it.
    • New Hampshire:  (Another word for wire) took me a while to figure this one out, shuddup.
    • North Carolina:  (Really?)  yes, raleigh.
    • Virginia:  (Bill Gates) he is rich…mon…duh.

    Aaaaaand, the one that made me laugh-snort:

    • Alaska:  (I know) enough said!

    [sound of crickets, chirping]

    Clearly, I have the sense of humor of an 11 year-old and who knew people in Alaska speak so funny?!?

    © 2003 – 2013 This Full House

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

  • A Clean House Is a Sign of a Cluttered Mind

    Artwork currently displayed in our library (a.k.a. bathroom)

    If I had to describe our house to you, in one word, and focusing on the positive, rather than ALL of the other annoying stuff that accumulates, when blessed, as a homeowner <—– that last part was for my husband, Garth (not his real name) —–> who sometimes needs help looking past all that other annoying stuff, bless his hardworking and very squishy heart.

    Sooooo, what were we talking about?

    [blows bangs out of eyes, stares at yet another big old water stain, on the ceiling above the dryer, don’t ask]

    Oh yeah.  Focusing on the positive.  Right.  So, I would most likely agree with what other folks have described as some sort of super power for creating:  cozy.

    [glances at laundry, closes eyes]

    Clutter, on the other hand, is my kryptonite.

    I was raised in an even smaller house:  6 rooms (including the bathroom) so, we learned to be very creative when hiding stuff; especially, whenever friends and family would come over for a visit.

    Of course, unlike me or my children, my mother was MUCH better at remembering where she put stuff.  So, after 20 years of raising 4 kids and killer dust bunnies, spring cleaning has become quite the adventure.

    Every year, I find stuff like:

    • Family photos dating back to about 20 years — you know, the ones I’ve been meaning to put into that scrapbook I started, 20 years ago.
    • School pictures I meant to mail out to family — so THAT’S where they went!
    • A couple of years worth of report cards — before our schools went paperless (cue choir of angels, singing)!
    • OH LOOK!!!  One of my husband’s Christmas presents — shhhhhh, I put it away for Father’s Day (SCORE!!!) don’t tell him, okay?!?
    • Pairless shoes, socks and a couple of bras — don’t ask!
    • Petrified, sometimes unidentifiable, food — see previous bullet.
    • Stuff that looks like it may or may not have been alive, at one time.
    • What the?!?  Never mind.  I don’t EVEN want to know.

    It’s at this point, I begin to feel weak and imagine myself as an unwilling participant in some sort of twisted scavenger hunt.

    [pausing to allow those with younger kids and/or childless individuals to click away…QUICKLY…while you can]

    WAIT!!!  All is not lost.  There are times when I happen upon a real gem — like a poem, gifted to me by my teenage son:

    No matter what happens you are always there,
    You make us dinner,
    You clean our clothes,
    You help us with homework,
    You are always there,
    No matter what happens we can trust you to help,
    When you try and cover up pain we see it,
    You do not realize how much you mean to us,
    Please know that we will love you forever,
    You are an amazing Mother
    And you will always be there.

    I hung it in our bathroom…I mean, our library…because, I sometimes also need help looking past all that other annoying stuff that accumulates, when blessed, as a parent.

    Aaaaand, it happens to hide the hair dye…I mistakenly splashed ALL over the wall…really, really well…too. 

    Because, I am multi-functional like that.

    © 2003 – 2013 This Full House

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

  • Social Media for Good: Blood, Sweat & Brinner!

    I started blogging back in 2003 and, thinking back on it now, there weren’t many people in my real life who knew or understood why in the heck I would even consider sharing personal stories, “on the internet”.

    Flash-forward 10 years:  nearly everyone I know is “on the internet” (including my own father, hey Apu!) doing pretty much the same thing — connecting with each other and sharing information through social media channels like Facebook, Instagram and Pinterest — not to mention, sharing stuff about their kids.

    My kids have grown accustomed to hearing me go on…and on…and on…really, I could go on…fuh-evuh…about using their social media powers for good.

    Aaaaaand, then my middle girl (she’s 17) tells me her classmates are organizing an evening blood drive at a local community church over spring break and, well, how cool would it be if we help serve the folks donating blood breakfast for dinner (or brinner)?!?

    (more…)

  • Parenting Tip #45,371,381: Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff – Shove a Slushy Snowball Down Someone’s Shirt, Instead!

    My husband, Garth (not his real name) is really good at not panicking, especially dealing with an emergency situation; when, considering I took to Twitter when my middle girl’s butt exploded, clearly I am not.

    On the other hand, I have made it my life’s mission to NOT sweat the small stuff AND have consistently failed said mission (it was more like a guideline, anyway, really) for the last…ummmm, let’s see…how old IS my oldest kid, again?!?

    Aaaaanyway, point being (and I really do have one, promise) Garth (not his real name) and I have taken to handling this whole…parenting teens is hard, YO!…by tag-teaming each other, sort of like professional wrestlers would…during a no holds barred steel cage death match.

    Blindfolded, with one arm tied behind our backs and buck-naked.

    Like, the other night, when my youngest asked for help with an essay and then kept insisting on either disagreeing with or fighting me on ANY and ALL help that was being offered.

    My husband walked in through the front door just in time to hear me holler, “Then, why BOTHER asking ME for help?!?”

    [ding-ding-ding]

    He rolled up his sleeves, loosened his tie and pushed me…every so gently, yet firmly…you know…out of the way.

    “I got this!” 

    Or, whenever Contradictory Boy shows up (a.k.a. our 14 year-old son’s alter ego) and clashes with the gravitational forces on my husband’s forehead, causing a massive facial implosion and one gosh-darned scary-looking unibrow.

    [ding-ding-ding]

    “Sooooooo, how DOES one go about creating a character in World of Warcraft?”

    We ARE the King and Queen of Distraction (a.k.a. SziSzi of Pandaria) and, well, whatever works, right?!? 

    So, this is happening (RIGHT NOW!) and, well, the groundhog lied…the little jerk!

    Long story, short (you’re welcome!) I’ve been driving our oldest to and from work (she’s saving for a car, we live in Jersey, enough said!) sometimes even on the days when I don’t need to use the car (see last parenthesis) unless it snows.

    “You don’t want to transfer your fear onto her, do you?”

    Now that we have a kid driving (and ANOTHER one driving, this spring) the panic that sets in goes way beyond the fact that I don’t do snow and, well, Eastern-European-types aren’t very good at keeping a straight face; we pretty much suck at poker, too.

    “Noooooo, but don’t expect me to stop worrying…DAMMIT…and ANOTHER thing…”

    [ding-ding-ding]

    Aaaaand, that’s when he shoved a slushy snowball down the front of my pajamas.

    “WTF, dude?!?!?!?!?”

    Although, it worked long enough for me to stand there and forget just what in the heck we were talking about, I am STILL a little confused by his tactics.

    © 2003 – 2013 This Full House

  • Girl Scout Cookies Are Evil, We Must Eat Them!

    My husband, Garth (not his real name) and I went food shopping, together (I know, don't be jealous!) and it was a really big one (that's what SHE said)!

    So, after quickly scanning the sales receipt, to make sure we didn't accidentally purchase another child, or something, we were all, like…oh yeah…THAT'S why we haven't been to Disney (yet!) and I suddenly heard someone holler the 3 most scariest words in parenting.

    Girl scout cookies.

    Long story, short (we can only hope, right?!?) I broke up with girl scouts a few years ago and, well, it was a really difficult time for me.  

    Each of my girls enjoyed their run with the girl scouts (my middle girl lasting the longest at 9 years) and I actually looked forward to each of their troop meetings (sort of) as a reason to get together with OTHER moms, at least once every month.

    Selling girl scout cookies, not so much.

    I used to dread cookie time, but not as much as the leaders and I'm pretty sure we STILL have a couple of boxes (or twenty) left, out in the garage, too.  

    So, we walked by…REAL FAST…and then it hit me…the G.U.I.L.T…like walking into a revolving door…the wrong way…aaaaaaand, please tell me I am NOT the only one who's done that!

    Seriously, as an ex-troop mom, I know how hard these ladies work.  

    My husband, Garth (not his real name) must have felt it, too (after 20+ years of marriage, you sort of start sharing the same brain, it's sort of weird, really!) he shoved some money into my hand and told me he'd meet me at the car.

    "So, how much ARE they?"

    All of the girls manning (girling?) the table hollered out "FOUR BUCKS!" at the same time, making me jump and swallow my gum.

    [cough-cough-cough]

    "But, if you buy 5 boxes, you can enter a drawing for a grand prize!!!"

    Dammit.

    "Ohhhhhh, HEY YOU!"

    Yep, I knew the troop leader.  My youngest was supposed to be in her Daisy troop in kindergarten, but she didn't know any of the girls, so I asked Hope be moved into another troop of pre-school friends and, well, moms have a weird way of remembering this sort of stuff.

    Then I remembered:  she also happened to be Hope's class mom, pretty much all through elementary school, I think.

    "I'll take 5 boxes, please!"

    Even longer story, shorter (seriously, I know you're busy and everything!) I am a BIG believer in karma and, well, suffice it to say that my husband and I could really use a little cosmic intervention, right about now.

    "Don't forget to fill out your entry form."

    Fine, so while filling out the entry form, I casually asked about the grand prize…hoping that maybe it would a trip to Disney, or something…it COULD happen.

    [one beat, two beats]

    "5 cases of cookies!!!!"

    Stupid girl scout cookies, dumbass Karma.

    © 2003 – 2013 This Full House

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  • Don’t Have a Speaking Paper, GET ONE!


    The warm-ish, cold-ish, back to warm-ish, make up your mind, already, ding-dang weather has kicked off Hope’s croup (a.k.a. the creeping crud), which usually means:

    • She will cough the entire night
    • She will lose her voice
    • And then she will throw up

    Lovely, yes?  Don’t worry, she’s used to it.  Me?  Not so much.  I don’t do well with throw up.  Never have.  When it comes to the kids getting sick, Garth (not his real name) has been my go to, as the…ummmm…throw up handler?  Puke wrangler?  Chumming buddy?

    [blank stare]

    The Speaking PaperSoooooo, aaaaanyway, poor thing got sick in school.  On the way home, I asked her if she was able to keep her lunch down.

    “Yes, until I coughed up the goober that got stuck in my throat and my lunch decided to play follow the leader.”

    I love this kid.  She just cracks me up.

    “Aaaaaand, I had to write a speaking paper.”

    Long story, short (you’re welcome!) Hope lost her voice in school and decided it would behoove her teachers that she make a list of common phrases she uses throughout the day:

    • Can I go to the bathroom?
    • Can I get a drink?
    • Can I go to the nurse?
    • Can you repeat that?
    • I don’t understand.
    • Thank you!

    I thought it was soooooo funny (especially, the part where she thought “I don’t understand” not as rude as asking people to repeat themselves!) until I wondered (out loud) what would be on MY speaking paper, to which she answered:

    • Where is your ding-dang coat?
    • What part of “pick up your wet towels” do you NOT understand?
    • The dishwasher IS DIRTY, dangit!
    • Did you do your homework?
    • Get up, you’re going to be late! (may or may not be used separately)
    • What do you MEAN you don’t have ANY homework?
    • Throw me a bone, people!

    Aaaaand, she would have gone on and on…if I hadn’t reminded her that…you know…I would be the one taking care of her, for the next few however long it took for her to get over the creeping crud.

    [blink-blink-blinkety-blink-blink]

    She then pointed to the last bullet of her Speaking Paper and, well, now that I think on it some more, I really SHOULD send a thank you note to her teachers, or flowers, maybe even a box of chocolates, a butt load of cough drops, or something, right?!?

    Cheeky kid.

    © 2003 – 2013 This Full House 

  • Gold Digger, Noun, Someone Who Picks Their Nose

    You know the thing, about how kids say the funniest things?  Wait.  Just wait, until around the time they hit middle school and attempt to use really "expensive" vocabulary words, in as many annoying ways, they can possibly think of.

    Especially, whenever you happen to be helping them study for a vocabulary test.

    Exuberance.  Part of speech:  Noun.  Use exuberance in a sentence:  "Your lack of exuberance in doing the laundry is obvious."

    Ha ha.

    Efficiency.  Part of speech:  Noun.  Use efficiency in a sentence:  "Aren't those supposed to be efficiency washers and dryers?"

    Dammit.

    Or, maybe it's just me. I mean, once my kids hit double-digits, they each pretty much believed themselves to be smarter than most grown-ups (and they're probably right) most especially, me.

    On the other hand, my misquoting song lyrics or names of their favorite performers probably doesn't help any, either.

    "It's Evan-esc-ence, mom!"

    [blank stare]

    "That's what I said!"

    [heavy sigh]

    "Noooooooooo, you said Effervescent."

    Same thing.

    "No it isn't!"

    Seriously, it's like I can't even fake my way through stuff anymore.

    "Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiine, WHAT-EVVVVV-VVVVVER!!!!!"

    Aaaaaand, I'm going to take this moment to acknowledge ALL of the parents reading this blog post, with a quick apology:  I am NOT helping our cause any and for this I am very, very sorry!!!

    "That's okay, Mom!"

    Aaaaaand, acknowledge my youngest, as being my favorite child, at the moment.

    "I thought gold digger is someone who picks their nose."

    [eyes goes wide]

    "Beeeeeeecause, whenever you get caught picking your nose, some people WILL ask you if you are digging for gold."

    [blank stare]

    "Where did you hear the term gold digger, anyway?"

    [one beat, two beats]

    "Cee Lo Green."

    Sometimes, these blog posts just write themselves.

    © 2003 – 2013 This Full House

  • No More Wrestling, With Wrestling

    #nofilter, just a really bad picture.

    This picture is a little grainy — sort of like our eleventy-hundred-year-old dining room floor — and kind of cool, too. Looking at it a little closer, it also reminds me a little of my childhood:  watching Lucha Libre on UHF (look it up, youngsters!) and the awful television reception we sometimes had at our house.

    Today?  It very well might be an app on someone’s smartphone.  Weird, right?

    Aaaaanyway, my son’s wrestling team had their last meet, so I snapped off a quick pic of the last time the boy would wrestle for the middle school team.

    I cannot begin to tell you just how very disappointed he was at the thought of not wrestling for the rest of the school year, and how very unhappy I am about his wanting to tryout for the high school wrestling team, without sounding like a total jerk about it. 

    Long story, short (we hope!) my son is over 6 feet tall (that 1 inch really does make a difference, trust me!) and, well, most middle school wrestlers are under 6 feet tall.

    Many high school wrestlers are also a lot smaller than my son.

    He is all arms and legs (see picture, above) so, he is basically re-learning how to control his limbs and is pretty funny about it, flailing his arms and legs around to make me laugh and possibly forgetting about his leaving a trail of wet towels in his room…AGAIN…dammit!!!

    “Do the alien from Independence Day, again!”

    Because, when parenting teenagers, we are ALL about referring to movies and sometimes even misquoting popular 80’s song lyrics — Mama don’t preach, you’re in trouble deep! —  hey, whatever works, right?!?

    Aaaaanyway, he wrestled but one real match (that actually counted) and other two (including the one up in that photo) were exhibition matches.

    Basically, I watched the boy watch the rest of his wrestling team wrestle.

    Still, unless if he was sick (with 4 kids, and the oldest one working in a hospital, chances are YES!) the kid attended every wrestling practice and meet — even though there was no guarantee that he would wrestle or that there would be time for an exhibition match — which makes that grainy-looking picture up there…totally awesome…to me, anyway.

    “I knew you and Hopey were watching.”

    So, when I tell you he happened to actually WIN that wrestling match up there and I’m all, like…YAY!!!…this is how I want to remember wrestling.

    “It was like a battle cry went off, in my head!”

    Also, the part when my husband asked him how it felt to win his last (and first) match.

    “I felt like a Spartan!”

    Spartans, tonight, we dine in hell!!!

    [sound of crickets, chirping]

    300?  Battle of Thermopylae?

    [blank stare]

    Look, over there, isn’t that Gerard Butler?!?

    [cue sound of door, SLAMMING!]

    Stupid historical fantasies, dumbass Spartans.

    © 2003 – 2013 This Full House

  • The Voice (is now most definitely) Male

     

    My 14-year-old son's voice has changed, quite a bit.   He insisted that I allow him (FINALLY!) to change his voicemail, recorded about 4 years ago while he was still in elementary school and I reluctantly agreed.

    NOT before vlogging it, first — with his permission, of course — increasing my "break curfew and I show this to your girlfriend" arsenal by a hefty margin, because I am an expert multi-tasker, like that 🙂

    © 2003 – 2013 This Full House

  • Winter Photo Walk, Pre-Naptime Moments Edition

    Raising older kids, folks sometimes ask me about stuff I miss the most about their being…you know…not so little, anymore.  That’s easy.  Naptime!!!

    Aaaaaand, those precious pre-naptime moments, when I would take them to the park, or drag them out into our backyard (2 out of 4 STILL hate bugs, me too) and just watch, as they race each other from tree to tree (protip for parents of younger kids:  best distraction tactic ever, works EVERY blessed time!) with little or no fear of their running into a sharp corner…or a wall.

    Now, it’s me they have to worry about (or the dog, because he too forgets to slow down and look, before turning too quickly, sometimes)  and dang if I couldn’t use a REAL good nap, right about now.

    Aaaaaanyway, now that they are older (not me, I’m still 19, in my head, anyways) the kids have their own agendas (none of which include me) and, well, snowy weekends were made for pre-naptime activity, yes?

    “No one will go outside and make a snowman with me.”

    [insert sad face, extending lower lip, over upper lip, here]

    My youngest, on the other hand, would insist that no one never, ever…NEVER…wants to do anything, with her…EVER!

    “I will!”

    Judging by the skepticism, written all over her face (protip:  I don’t think pre-teens EVER get rid of “the look” until AFTER they have kids) she probably did NOT mean me.

    See, it’s written all over her face:  seriously, Mom???  YOU???  The woman who would not even be able to bend down (or stand up) without having to take a nap, afterwards?!?

    Fiiiiiiiine, maybe I can’t build a snowman worth a lick (stupid sciatica, dumbass herniated discs) however, we CAN go on an awesome wintertime photo walk and catch a few gosh-darned-mighty-fine-pre-naptime moments of our own.


    Aaaaaaaand, guess what THIS weekend’s project is going to be…g’head, I’ll wait…unless it snows again and then, well, I call naptime!!!  Who’s with me?!?

    [sound of crickets, chirping]

    Dumbass-delinquent drain pipe, stupid-ignorant ice.

    © 2003 – 2013 This Full House