This Full House Archive

Category: Sick Days and Mondays Always Get Me Down

Flaunt It Friday: Dreams, lies and super improved parenting – Now, with MORE scotch tape!

I have no problem remembering my dreams and — not only do I dream in color — often times, I wake up
and can still recall tastes, smells, and even feel residual effects of embarrassing myself in front of a crowd of strangers.

But, let’s not talk about that post…m’kay.

In my dreams, I visit people, places and do things that perhaps
would be out of the ordinary or, at the very least, uncharacteristic.

This, I believe, is absolutely normal.

There are some dreams I have often and these are called "reoccurring dreams," which, interestingly enough, these ARE the dreams that tend
to be a little freaky…even for me.

There’s one in particular from my childhood that comes to mind.

[shiver]

Ugh, after all these years.

[crosses arms]

It’s hard to believe how the sucker STILL haunts me; wakes me in the middle of the night, shaking
and shivering in a cold sweat, and makes me feel as if I were going to
vomit all over my poor, unsuspecting, and terribly snoring husband.

[shoving elbow into his side]

Only, my dream is about a man who WAS real and a person that, I’m happy to say, is no longer in my life.

Still.

Whenever my children wake from a nightmare, I try to get them to
tell me (with as much detail as possible) about the dream.

"Once you talk about a bad dream, it loses its power and can’t
come back!"

Liar.

"Trust me, I know."

Here’s the thing, as a mother, I understand that it’s completely natural for children to expect that we, as parents, are automatically blessed with some sort of special powers, enabling us to protect them and make them feel better.

My parents didn’t know, or have the time to stop and think that perhaps they were the ones putting me in harms way. If only they were a little more honest with themselves.

[shrugs]

It’s okay, though.

Lord knows, I know, that parenting is not a skill; it’s an art — one that is never quite perfected, even by the best of people — and I believe that my parents’ mistakes have made me better mom and my children are pretty lucky, for it.

Heck, give me a roll of scotch tape, a couple of thumb tacks and some Crazy Glue — QUICKLY! — and I know how to fix almost anything.

"I’m sorry, but you’ll have to take her for some more tests."

So, when someone with a doctorate degree in, you know, making people feel better tells my 14-year-old daughter that she (the doctor) has no idea why she (my daughter) has been sick for the last two months and HAS to go and get poked, AGAIN, after I swore no more blood tests, evuh!

"You lied to me!"

QUICK…where’s my super suit?

"I hate you!"

Certainly didn’t see that one coming, either.

"I know."

Thing One buried her head in her hands and started to cry.

"I’m so sorry, baby, but it won’t be bad, I promise."

It was a real looooong drive to the lab and I think I may have spent the entire 20 minutes — seemed like an eternity, really — talking myself raw.

"Bullshit."

[eyes go wide]

"That’s right, you heard what I said, it is total BULLSHIT!"

She snapped her head around so fast, I swear, her neck cracked.

"Those blood sucking bastards are probably going to make you feel even shittier!"

And, for the first time, a hint of a smile.

"Probably won’t be the last time someone’s going to hurt you, or lie to you, either."

[blank stare]

"But, I am your mother and it’s my job to take care of you…even if it means hurting you..and well…it’s hard…especially, when it’s killing me a little, too."

Yes, it was only a blood test — like Garth (not his real name) pointed out and at perhaps one of the most inappropriate of moments…dammit — but, yesterday was perhaps one of the toughest days of my life, as a mother.

But, I lived through it and perhaps yet another exhausting example of what is to come.

"Yeah, it hurt."

The kids gathered around Thing One, and carefully examined her, like some sort of lab experiment from an alien abduction.

"Mommy was right."

[eyes go wide]

"But, it really wasn’t THAT bad."

Well, what do ya’ know.

"Even though they had to stick me, TWICE!"

[all eyes on mom]

Um…has anyone seen my super suit?

[Blogtip To: Taken With a Grain of Salt]

© 2008 This Full House – All Rights Reserved.

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January 4, 2008
It’s your birthday, make a mess; it’s your birthday, wear a dress!

Excuse my children, please – yes, they LIVE in a barn – but, it’s been a whirlwind of celebrations, here at This Full House of horribly wrapped gifts and mis-matched socks, and they’ve been singing that stupid song for…um…how many days HAVE they been home, now?

Doesn’t matter.

All I know is, it’s like summer vacation…all over again…except, only a bit colder…not to mention, way wetter.

Oh, and DAYUM.

What’s up with all the cruddy weather? We DO live in Jersey, you know? Where’s all the flipping snow?

"CRAP!"

My husband, Garth (not his real name) was off from work ALL WEEK and – since, it is the first time that he’s been home for Christmas vacation in, like, WOW, 10 years – just a little winter-like romping would have been, you know, nice.

"You won’t believe this one?"

But, we did get a chance to visit with family – yes, AND managed to live through it, thank you very much – and FINALLY got up to Pittsgrove Farms.

"Would you mind watching the kids for a little while?"

Which happens to be home to two of my and Garth’s (not his real name) most favorite people in the world – Mr. and Mrs. Dirtdigger – who also happen to be Mini-me’s Godparents.

"You see, tomorrow’s Thing Two’s birthday."

So, we’re more than happy to take whatever time we happen to have open on our very busy calendars and drove up to "the farm" on the day before Thing Two’s birthday.

"And…um…well…I sort of…you know…FORGOT!"

[blank stare]

"I never got her a birthday present."

I mean – with all the shopping, wrapping, gifting, and then, you know, more shopping – you think I’d remember to get my daughter’s birthday present.

[bites lower lip]

"How can I forget my OWN daughter’s birthday?"

She’s had one for the last 12 years, for goodness sake.

"What kind of mother am I?"

Honestly, I felt even more sorry for Mrs. Dirtdigger.

"You poor thing."

She grabbed me and hugged me…hard…as I really tried my best NOT to cry.

"Man, I suck!"

Yep, cried like a baby.

"Don’t worry, I know just what to get her, and we’ll only be an hour…I swear!"

Nope, that didn’t work out very well either.

"I’m sorry, Ma’am, but, we don’t have any left and they seem to be all out of stock, everywhere."

Of course – seeing as it was, like, two days after Christmas, and all – and it’s NOT like she’s the ONLY 12 year-old who does NOT have an mp3, or anything.

"Well, how much is that one?"

[eyes go wide]

"HOW MUCH?"

I’m sure the hubs didn’t mean to holler so loud – I would have, after regaining my powers of speech, eventually – and it was way more than what Garth (not his real name) and I usually spend on, you know, one gift.

"I know, it’s a lot."

Did I mention, we just finished Christmas?

"But, she’s a good kid and NEVER asks for anything."

And she’s got me, you know, as a mother.

Having to celebrate your birthday, 3 days after Christmas – not to mention, taking a back seat to 3 other kids – even though she seemed to like her gift.

"No, I don’t like it…I love…love…love…LOVE IT!"

I couldn’t really blame her, if she wished for just a little more.

"Wow, it’s even way better than an iPod!"

Wouldn’t you?

But, Thing Two has always been resilient – even as a baby, suffering with a severe case of colic and having to spend the first 8 months of her life, awake – and I can’t think of another person who deserves, well, whatever the heck she wants, really.

I mean, who else would settle for an ice cream cake…in the winter?

[blank stare]

Did I mention, I forgot it was her birthday?

But, Mini-me was gracious enough to make me a "special" Christmas cookie and remind me that her birthday isn’t until June.

"Don’t worry, Momma, you have pwenty of time…to forget my birfday, too!"

It’s your birthday…make a mess…it’s your birthday…

Lord, love a duck – 2 kids born in November and December, I’m really beginning to HATE that song – but, I am SO glad that The Boy’s birthday isn’t until the end of January!

Happy birthday, baby – I love, that you STILL love me, too – and I can’t believe another year has gone by…oh, and just think…NEXT YEAR…you’re a teenager!

Just like Thing One.

[shudder]

No sweat.

With a big sister, like her – I mean, the girl is 14 and STILL, you know, likes me, sort of – I’m not worried…too much…I think.

[shrugs shoulders]

Just be happy that you look like your grandmother, m’kay!?!?

December 31, 2007
Picture Perfect Thursday: Attack of the Smiley Fries

I am NOT a morning person and my husband is…well, let me just tell you…he’s like a fluffy little bird happily twittering about in the early morning sunshine – scary, I know – needless to say, we go to great lengths to stay out of each other’s way and try not to, you know, talk…too much.

"Coffee?"

He hands me a hot steaming mug filled with the sweet elixir of life, as I stumble off to the shower.

"Herumpfuh."

Then, feeds the animals. I mean, the pets. The kids are old enough to fend for themselves, thank you.

"Turkey, roast beef or peanut butter?"

Also, makes their lunches.

"Nope, uh-huh, I don’t think so and NO, because you just bought yesterday!"

And fields any (and all) of their questions – although, the children have not yet appreciated the fact that, in doing so, their father HAS saved them from encounters with the beast, that is their mother – bless his squishy heart.

By dinnertime, it’s a whole different story!

"Beer?"

So, he’s a morning person and I’m…well, let me just tell you…I’m like a night owl. All bug-eyed and barrel-chested, with nerves jumping and ready for bear.

"Himumpfuh"

Seriously, at the end of the day, the man is an absolute grump!

"Oh, no…look out!"

Especially, when I do something totally unexpected and scare the bees-juice out of him!

"WHAT!?!?!"

[eyes go wide]

"The…the…smiley fries!"

I grabbed his tie, pulled him closer and pointed toward the kitchen counter.

"They…are…ATTACKING!"

"They’re coming to get you, Daddy!"

[rolls eyes]

"Stop it, you’re being STUPID!"

"They’re coming for you, Daddy!"

[cracks a smile]

"Okay, now you’re JUST weird."

"They’re coming for YOU!"

[bites lower lip]

"Shhhh, the kids are watching!"

"Look, there comes one of them now!"

[frowning]

"Stop it, they’ll hear you!"

"Here he comes now…GAH…I’m getting OUTTA OF HERE!"

I was able to crack through that tough-Daddy shell of his and I ask you, how could he NOT smile!?!

"I…LOVE…yooooou!"

Honestly, with fries like these, what’s NOT to love?

"Now, where’s my beer?"

So, I guess what I’m saying is, contrary to popular opinion, opposites really DO attract – it’s what helps keep the spice in our marriage, anyways – unfortunately, I must have commanded a little too much of The Boy’s attention, for once.

"Daaaaaaady!"

Garth (not his real name) got up with him, last night – bless his squishy heart – because, The Boy very rarely calls out for, you know, me.

"Coming, Buddy!"

Go figure.

"Coffee?"

But, this time, it was ME who got up with the pets, made the lunches, etc…

"Himumpfuh."

So, you see, it all works out in the end.

"What’s for dinner, tonight?"

[giggle]

"Swedish meatballs!"

[eyes go wide]

"Oooooh, I can’t wait!"

What?

[shrugs shoulders]

Yes, there’s only 6 more sleeps until Christmas and it’s a stressful time for everyone.

"Momma, I don’t feel so…[gulp]…BLAAAAAH!"

Especially, when yet other one of your kids wakes up sick and pukes all over the breakfast table…AGAIN!

"Herumpfuh!"

What; you want fries with that?

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Submitted to:

Carnival of Family Life

December 20, 2007
She gets her looks, and some pretty bad advice, from me!

It’s unsettling, really. Like looking into a mirror. Mini-me has my eyes, my hair (poor thing) and my parents often times tell me that my youngest daughter (she’s 6) is a mini-version of her mother (hence, her blog name) and yet (judging by the look on her face, pictured above) I believe that she HAS to be the saddest looking kid in the blogosphere, right now.

Unlike her mother, the girl absolutely HATES to take a shower – although, walking in the cold wet rain, WITHOUT wearing her hood, IS apparently pure nirvana – and, sadly, Mini-me has also inherited her father’s penchant for…um…foot funk.

Phew.

Combined with a healthy dose of the creeping crud – an oxymoron, I know – her end of the day "funkiness," surpassed that of her brother, even.

Double-phew.

"Um…when was the last time you took a shower?"

The words were no sooner out of my mouth, when I realized…DUH…like, she’s really going to tell me, you know, the truth.

"Yesterday!"

Which would have made it – at the time of this conversation – Saturday night, once my parents left, after a pretty lousy dinner, one that I had prepared, while sick, and having scolded me for it.

"You look terrible and should have just stayed in bed!"

After, my SIL took The Boy over to my in-laws for a last-minute sleepover.

"Yes, I’m sure I want to go to Grandma’s and I do NOT want to sleep here, tonight!"

Before, Thing One called me from her overnight camping trip to tell me that I was wrong and she was right.

"See, it’s only 15 minutes away from our house and I am STILL alive."

Right before Thing Two and I got into it, over her insisting that she get some private time, with me.

"But, I haven’t even sat down, from cleaning up, yet!"

Still.

"Okey-dokey, if you say so."

I was too tired to argue and…well, there WAS a lot going on and it seemed reasonable at the time.

"Just remember to put on clean underwear!"

‘Cause, you never know.

"Oh, and don’t forget to wear your new pretty shoes, too."

[sniff]

Hang on.

"Come here, a minute."

[sniff-sniff]

"Ah, man…Sweetie, you stink!"

I know (I suck) but, there was no way I was going to take her to my cousin-in-law’s open house, yesterday – I mean, we don’t see them but once a year – smelling, you know, like a bad mother, or anything!

"Do you remember when Mini-me showered, last?"

[sound of crickets chirping]

"I don’t know; whenever YOU showered her, last, I guess?"

I know – with parents like us, it’s a wonder the child’s not running around, naked – but, she IS our 4th child, you know.

"Well, let’s see…it wasn’t yesterday…and we were BOTH sick Thursday and Friday…so, that means Wednesday…[shiver}…GO TAKE A SHOWER!"

Done.

"Well, that was quick."

[sniff]

"You do smell a whole lot better…hey…wait a minute."

I mean, who does this kid think she’s trying to kid – you won’t BELIEVE it – take a closer look and YOU tell me what I’m supposed to think?

Paying a little more attention to the dusting of white – and less on the mad cowlicks, going on – it was plain to see that Mini-me was trying to pull a fast one and, parenting gods forgive me, it was when her eyes went real WIDE, I started to laugh!

"But, Thing Two told me to just go into duh baf-room, use a lot of baby powder and that you pro-luh-bee would NOT even notice duh diff-wince!"

[wincing]

Niiiiiiice.

"Well I most definitely DID notice and she was wrong, then; wasn’t she!?!?"

That’s when she gave me the face (see picture at beginning of post) and her bad mother folded like a cheap tent.

"Oh, don’t worry…it’s okay and PLEASE, don’t cry!"

I mean, it’s NOT her fault, that I feel so burned out, that I can’t even remember the last time the poor kid was introduced to a bar of soap and that Thing Two gave her some really bad advice.

"I’ll come in and help you take a shower, ‘kay?"

You know where this going; don’t you?

"Okay, Momma and good thing…"

Wait for it.

"…’cause Thing Two thinks you STINK…"

Just, wait.

"…but, I don’t bee-weave her."

Wait…for…it.

"You don’t?"

Here it comes.

"Nope, ’cause you STILL smell good."

BAM!

"Even when you ARE all mean and nasty!"

Of course, I didn’t see it coming – I mean, my parents always DID say they were, you know, a lot smarter – and if I can’t be a good example, at least, let this be a terrible warning, to all.

[sniff-sniff]

Apparently, she’s right.

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December 10, 2007
If the shoe fits, then you’re right, I’m mean and it’s probably NOT my shoe, anyway.

Yesterday, was Mikulas Day – December 6th is when the Hungarian Santa, or St. Nicholas visits children and leaves his gifts – and the kids were excited to wake up and find their shoes filled with chocolates, candy and a new Christmas mug.

"Whoa, you guys ARE sooooo lucky!"

Even through the very nasal tone, I recognized it to be my son’s voice and waited, along with everyone else, for The Boy to explain, except Mini-me.

"Nuh-uh; I got the same stuff, YOU did!"

My two oldest girls are 14 and nearly 12 – they have done this before and understand how it works – and having dealt with "the creeping crud" this week, I still wasn’t feeling very well, so, I was happy to hear Thing One and Thing Two intervene on Mikulas’ behalf and just sort of, you know, listened from upstairs.

"Mini-me is right, nobody got anymore than anyone else."

Then, I heard someone stomp their foot.

"Noooo, I know THAT!"

Judging from the tone, I assumed it was The Boy.

"I mean, she hasn’t been very good, pretty bad, actually and she’s just lucky she didn’t get any coal!"

D’oh, and there went any thoughts of my sleeping in.

"Hey, KNOCK IT OFF down there!"

I know – yelling at the kids first thing in the morning on Mikulas Day, and all – but at least it shut them up and long enough, you know, for me to kick the dog off the bed, get some feeling back into my legs and crawl downstairs.

"That wasn’t a very nice thing to say, Sweetie."

Even though it’s, you know, true. Being 4th in line – not to mention, cute as she is – my youngest daughter, unfortunately, has learned a lot watching her older sisters and brother, which means she knows just how to get her way, by getting on everyone’s nerve, quicker and is way smarter than I am.

"Yah, kind of wude, too and you should take away his choc-wits and teach him a wesson!"

Mini-me has been a pill, lately.

"No, I don’t think what The Boy said was THAT bad, really!"

He stomped his foot – yep, I was right! – but, this time, The Boy’s voice was way louder, than mine.

"I WASN’T TALKING ABOUT THE GIRLS!"

Huh?

"I was talking about you, Mom!"

HUH, wait a minute…and…WHAT!?!?

"You haven’t been a very nice Mommy."

Yeah, well, are we ever? Besides, I didn’t fight Garth (not his real name) when he gave them ALL a mental day off, yesterday – a perk for bringing home very good report cards – but, I was sick and then he went to work…oh, and…SO!?!?

"But, Mikulas only cares about YOU kids!"

[eyes go wide]

"Yeah, but Thing One used one of YOUR shoes!"

[sound of crickets]

"I don’t think Mikulas know-dit!"

Oh, how the kids laughed and I just sort of, you know, went back to bed, but not before speaking up for all us, mean Moms.

"See, I guess even Mikulas knows that Mommy’s need a break and that even HE can make mistakes, sometimes!"

Besides, Thing One and I DO wear the same size and clearly, if he’d known the shoe fit, Mikulas would have left Vodka!

[blank stare]

TGIF, everyone – if anyone needs me, I’ll be upstairs, coughing up a lung and tending to a very sick little Mini-me.

Stupid shoes!

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December 7, 2007
A Perfect Post – November ’07

One of the reasons I enjoy blogging – besides, the flexible hours and the fringe benefits of hanging out in my pajamas and having unlimited access to the delete button – is the extreme sense of community and random acts of kindness I’ve seen across the blogosphere, lately.

Especially, if you’ve EVER given me a blogging award – see right sidebar – then, I think some of you bloggers are perhaps the coolest people on earth (albeit, a little crazy in the keyboards) but, I love you anyway!

[snicker]

So, I’d like to take a moment and share in a little linky love with my nomination of the Perfect Post Award for November, 2007.

I’d like to present to you, my friend Amber (a.k.a. Crazy Blogging Canuck) and her post over at Mile High Mamas entitled, "Get Found, Kid."

Amber shares her mother’s heart-wrenching battle with Multiple Sclerosis (having been diagnosed with the disease 25 years ago) and this post really resonated with me.

I agree with Amber; watching a loved one suffer is is like living with "…a monster hiding under the covers."

My aunt is dying – having faced smackdowns with death, nearly all my life – but, her monster just refuses to give in.

Then, Amber wrote this about her mom:

"There were times she just wanted to die. And I wanted her to die. Not
because I could bear the thought of losing her but because when you see
someone you love suffer so much you want the ultimate healing – even if
that means death."

Oh, I perfectly understood what she meant – having felt the same for my aunt – but, sharing in her pain just sort of made mine seem a little less, you know, ugly.

Thank you Amber, for sharing one monster of a perfect post!

[Oh, and just so you know: You can visit the rest of the Perfect Posts for November hosted by Petroville and Suburban Turmoil, or feel free to stop by The Imperfect Parent and check out my article for December, "The Sanity Clause."]

December 3, 2007