My son came home from school the other day, threw his backpack into the dining room, I asked him how his day went (fine) if he had any homework (no) and if he was sure he did not have any homework (uh, wait a minute, I dunno, maybe) he's 13, enough said.
"Oh, and hugging is now against the rules in the middle school."
Seriously, I thought he was kidding.
"No, seriously mom, they made an announcement and everything."
Aaaand, two questions immediately came to mind:
I promised my oldest that we would go prom dress hunting this weekend (SOB!) and just so there was no question on whether or not she would keep me to that promise, see pic above.
So, when my husband Garth (not his real name) and I got back from taking Doofus-Dawg to the dog park yesterday afternoon (whole other blog post, will save it for another time, you're welcome!) the girls and I headed out to the mall.
Actually, it was Holly's idea to invite her sisters along (NOT MINE!) and, well, if you have EVER had the pleasure of shopping with teenagers (bonus points if they happened to be girls) then, you know.
Even my youngest was all, like, "You mean you WANT me to go prom dress shopping with you, on purpose?!?"
At 10 years-old she knows: going to senior prom is a REALLY BIG DEAL. She's a girl. They figure this sort of stuff out REAL FAST. Trust me. I've got 3 of them (girls, I mean) and they talk, you know?
Still, shopping in the junior's department can be a little scary. Plus, I've heard stories.
Photo of Doofus-Dawg (not his real name) courtesy of HeatherrMarie (a.k.a. the middle girl.)
Each of my kids has a special talent. WAIT!!! Where you going?!? Please, COME BACK!!!
I don't mean like in a "Look how brilliantly shine-y they are!" sort of way. Although, considering I gave birth to each and every one of them and my being SUCH A BIG DORK, that in and of itself is an amazing thing, really.
Aaaaanyway, my point is — because, I really do have one and will try to get to it as quickly as dorkishly possible — we're technically raising our kids pretty much the same way (since kid one, really) and still they end up, growing up, with very different personalities.
Which simply means my husband Garth (not his real name) and I STILL don't know what the heck we're doing half the time and I swear it comes down to a matter of paybacks from when we were kids.
iDigress.
Aaaaanyhow, so yeah, I get all like, "Holy Hannah Montana look-y what my kid can do!" whenever one of them does something I feel is brilliantly brilliant and, considering the last 4 and 1/16th paragraphs, can you really blame me?
For example: my youngest plays the clarinet AND is the only one in our family to even play a musical instrument.
Her name has been submitted for consideration into the Central Jersey Music Educators Elementary Honors Band.
[takes deep breath]
Aaaaand, well, forgive me when I say THAT is just all sorts of awesome.
Bonus points: for figuring out that Doofus-Dawg (NHRN) does NOT like the clarinet.
"Hey, you know how you hate it when he follows you around the house?"
In the worst possible way, really, considering I am also the clumsiest mom on the planet.
"I can always practice while you're making dinner!"
[eyes go wide]
See, what I mean?!? BRILLIANT!!!
© 2003 – 2012 This Full House
I don't scare easily. I have 4 kids, 3 of whom are teenagers, which simply means, not unlike Wolverine, I have evolved (somewhat) and grown nerves of steel, my friends: Wolvermom, if you will.
Wait, I lied.
No, not about the having 4 kids part (I have weak stomach muscles and very poor bladder control to prove it, you're welcome) and my toe nails can get freakishly long. Especially this time of….[blank stare]….uh, never mind.
Aaaaaanyway, what was I saying?
[stares at toenails]
Oh yeah, so my youngest woke up feeling sick the other day (shocking, I know!) announcing that her "stomach feels weird" and these words, my friends, frighten me even more than trying to wake my teens.
[shiver]
So, I called her out of school explaining "her stomach feels weird." Considering the stomach bug is currently running rampant at (and through) this particular school, enough said, right?
An hour or so later, the house phone rings.
"Your daughter Hope was marked absent, today. Please send a note explaining the reason for her absence."
Fine. Okay. Then, my cell phone rings.
"Your daughter Hope was marked absent, today…."
Fiiiiiiiiiiine, okaaaaaaay. Then, I get a text.
"Your daughter…."
Really? Because, I would NEVER have known and feeling a little cranky my ownself I decided this would be a good time to get some work done, opened my email and…
"Your…."
A'IGHT!!! They asked for it!!!
This is my son's second year wrestling for the middle school and even his sisters have pretty much grown accustomed to all the hollering and cris-crossing of bendy parts, hoping their baby brother does NOT break a limb, or something.
Not on their watch, anyway.
"THROW HIM DOWN!!!!"
I, however, have become much better at watching some other kid beat the living Axe out of my almost 13-year-old son.
Because, he hasn't wrestled anyone yet.
His team had a lot of kids move onto the high school and — taking into consideration that he's nearly as tall as I am — it seems there just aren't as many kids wrestling in my son's weight class, this year.
On the one hand, GREAT! There will be NO bloody noses or broken body parts, tonight!
"Maybe next week, bud."
Still, it must be just as frustrating for him to sit and stare at some other guy's backside — wearing a singlet, no less.
[cue mental etch-a-sketch]
Until, last night.
"THOMPSON!"
Here we go. I laced my fingers in front of my eyes. No, wait, that was so last year.
"C'MON!"
The kid was a lot shorter. However, in width, he was twice the size of my son.
"GET UP OFF THE MAT, GLEN!"
Try as he might, the boy spent the next 3 minutes breathing through one nostril and his face was purple by the time the match was blessedly called to an end.
"He was a real tough one…eh?"
[frowning]
"No! He stunk!"
I was trying to come up with something else that would help reassure my son that, you know, maybe…
"Literally, I took one whiff of him and I was DONE!"
…next time, he should spray himself with a little Axe before each match or, better yet, wipe a little Vicks under his nose like some medical examinders do, or something.
Then again, perhaps his opponent was just using body odor as diversionary tactic, no?
Don't even get me started on cauliflower ear, ring worm and the bazillion other skin infections floating around out there…ICK!
© 2003 – 2012 This Full House
You know what's funny? Not in a, "What do you call a fake noodle?" an impasta (hahahahahaha!) sort of way, either.
The fact that I have a kid graduating high school (still not the funny part and kind of sad, really, but don't get me started, m'kay?) and everyone is all, like, has she picked a college yet?
No matter how many times I get asked. I feel funny answering them.
"Um…well…she's not sure…that is…uh…not right now, maybe later…er…what?"
YES! I am the anti-eloquent. Articulate people fear me.
Most recently, standing in line at Dunkin' Donuts in the supermarket (the peppermint hot chocolate was mocking me and deserved a good tongue-lashing, okay?)
"How are you, Liz?"
GAH!
The thing about having 4 kids, going to 4 separate schools, I pretty much can't go anywhere in town without running into someone who has/had a kid going to school with one of my kids.
[eyes go wide]
This time, however, I actually managed to scare the buh-jeez-us out of her with a single word. And, not a real one at that = I.M. Talented.
"Sorry, perhaps you should consider cutting back…eh?"
Thinking back on it now, I should have played along by telling her I was there for the hot chocolate. But, we're talking me = Queen of the Afterthought.
"How are the kids?"
Here we go.
"Oh, they're fine, thanks!"
Well, that was easy.
"Your oldest is graduating, right?"
Damn.
"Yes, yes she is."
Phew. Too easy.
"Has she picked a college, yet?"
Damn. Also, as if it were THAT easy.
"No, no she hasn't."
C'mon hot chocolate.
"But, my middle girl is going to BU."
[eyes go wide]
"What grade is she in, again?"
[grin]
"She's a sophomore in high school."
She politely nodded her head, I paid for my hot chocolate, we exchanged pleasantries about the upcoming holidays and then each went on our merry way.
Morale of the Story: When in doubt, don't say anything. Bring up one of your OTHER kids, instead…or something like that.
Seeing as my middle girl really does have her mind set on going to Boston University, ever since the 5th grade and, well, it's like I told my oldest.
"There is NO SHAME in working your way through college."
Besides, that way, I get to keep them around for a little while longer…but, shhhhh…don't say anything, okay?!?
© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
We took our 18 year-old to an open house at one of the local colleges here in Jersey, this afternoon.
Key words, rocking my world at the moment, in that last sentence being: 18 year-old and college.
Yesterday, I became a mother of an 18 year-old woh…woh…WHOA!…man, sorry, but I cannot seem to wrap my head around the fact that my oldest baby girl is 18.
Today, we visited with college representatives = fuel to the fire for an especially emotionally-gifted person, like me.
Thankfully, I had other things on my mind like:
Okay, that last one? Too much coffee. Not enough sleep. Enough said.
"What course of study would you recommend we follow?"
Aaaaand, by we, of course I meant, our kid (fyi: when talking about your kid, as long as we have, it's sort of hard NOT to speak in the first person) however, long story, short (you're welcome) that bridge, you know, the one we said we would cross when we came to it?
Not only is RIGHT HERE in front of us.
"Well, taking into consideration the present economy, I recommend all students keep their options open."
That sucker just got way BIGGER.
"Oh, look, let's check out the student center!"
All things considered, we are way excited for her.
"Oh, look, THIS would be the perfect place to sit, have coffee, talk and, you know, maybe even save the world!"
[blank stare]
"Or, maybe that's just me?"
[grin]
"Hey, maybe we could take some classes, together?"
Would you believe: her words, not mine?
"Trust me, you wouldn't want me hanging around for long."
Because, in a less than perfect world, we ARE…that is to say…I am a force to be reckoned with.
Or, maybe she was just humoring me.
"Well, obviously, NOT together, in the same room, or anything, Mom."
Aaaaand, I figured that out without a college degree AND everything.
Stupid economy, dumbass bridge.
© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
I'm NaBloPoMo-ing it, this month (first time NaBloPoMo-er) feel free to check out what I've NaBloPoMo-ed, thus far (PHEW!) and let me know how I'm doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!
Feed me, see more!!
It's the same thing, every summer, about this time, the kids shake down our mail carrier, desperately awaiting news of their teachers and classes for the new school year.
So, when I heard the SLAM! of our mailbox (our new carrier seems to be a wee bit crankier than usual, I don't blame him) and then Hope's feet running for the front door (she walks/runs like her muh-thuh!) I was hoping that the wait would be over…FINALLY!
[SLAM!…SQUEEEEE!]
I felt it safe to assume that…yep…they got their back-to-school letters.
"It's from….Hogwarts?!?"
They each received a personalized letter, addressed to The Brown House With the Star, sealed with wax and, well, really?!?
Yes, they looked really, really, um, real and, honestly, as self-proclaimed Potterheads, we ALL experienced a little pang of regret…okay, mostly me.
My youngest is graduating from elementary school, this year (SOB!) and has spent nearly her whole life, growing up, right here, on this little blog.
"Wow, I'm as old as the first Harry Potter movie?!?"
Aaaand, well, it's nice to be able to at least pretend like it was September, 2003, when being a mom, who happenend to have this thing, called a weblog, seemed a whole lot easier.
D'oh, alright, fiiiiiiine.
I'll even take 2006 (around the time I blew up my blog and lost 2 years worth of stuff…UGH!) just to be able to blog about all the things I should have (or, maybe shouldn't have) all over again.
"Wonder who sent it?!?"
Me, too!
"Hey, you think maybe J.K. Rowling reads your blog?!?"
So, I can send them the bill…you know…for all the therapy this poor kid is gonna need, you know?!?
© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
Hope's 1st Band Concert 2011 from Liz Thompson on Vimeo.
FYI: Hope is my youngest and only one of all four of my kids to play in the school band. So, this is a FIRST…for the both of us…enjoy!!!
© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
Our oldest is a junior (I know, still not sure how THAT happened) so, my husband, Garth (not his real name) and I attended a financial aid workshop at the high school, last night.
Because, you know, she's a junior, in high school and, well, this whole, "Holy Hannah Montana, I got a junior in high school," thing really didn't seem like such a big deal…when she was in kindergarten.
Long story, short (as of now, anyway) and 6 hand-written pages worth of notes, later (old school, I know) our best takeaway from the night?
We can now continue to talk about our kids, continuing their education, without throwing up.
Good thing, too, seeing as we'll be very, very busy, filling out paperwork, for the next 16 years.
Yes, I know, we have 4 kids and, yeah, this is EXACTLY the sort of stuff expert-types tell us we should have…you know…talked about…sooner.
Aaaand, it's totally what I expected the very expert-looking dude to tell us, last night, too.
Although, we kind of sort of, you know, already knew.
Still, the workshop was free and I was thankful to get any advice, coming from people, who get paid good money, to tell other people, you know, they don't have any money.
So, I sat there, kept my mouth shut (which, anyone who knows me, knows, quiet makes me itch) watched the expert-like dude fire up his power point, "Helping Students Pursue Their Educational & Career Goals," and cringed in anticipation
"It's never too late to start planning for college."
[heavy sigh]
I should have known, better. He wasn't wearing a tie!
Morale of the Story: "Remember, an expert is a person who tells you a simple thing in a confused way to make you think the confusion is your own fault" ~ William Castle (producer of Rosemary's Baby, so, yeah, he should know!)
Thanks, I.O.U. one, expert-like dude, along with everyone else, for the next 16 years.
© 2003 – 2011 This Full House