This Full House Archive

Category: So, You From Joisey?

Twas The Night Before #Snor’eastercane

Having lived in Jersey all of my life, I feel it safe to say that we East Coasters are used to freakish weather, experiencing all 4 seasons, sometimes ALL in the same day.

This week, however, I am pretty convinced that surviving the Zombie Apocalypse has got nuh'thin' on the monster that is Hurricane Sandy.

Thanks to the Weather Channel, I now have apocalyptic catch phrases running around in my head like: #Frankenstorm, #Blizzicane and my personal favorite: #Snor'eastercane.

Sounds like a friggin' hybrid holiday, yes?

So, in an effort to get Jim Cantore out of my head (dude, it's way too crowded up there already) I present to you, Twas The Night Before #Snor'eastercane:

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October 27, 2012
It’s Official, Mom’s a Dorkfish!
I took my kids to the beach for the first time the other day (yes, I know, it's the next to the last week in August) in a last ditch effort to have them be able to write something other than, "We hung out in our backyard," on their summer reports and I couldn't help but feel a little like a tourist (in my own backyard) saying stuff like:
- Ouch, that sand is HOT!
- How far is it to the water, anyways?
- Oh, damn, we didn't bring an umbrella.
- Is it low tide or high tide?
- Damn, that sun is HOT!
- What's up with all the red flags and why isn't anyone in the water?
- Oh, look at ALL the pretty seagulls.
"Nooooooooooooooo, don't feed them!"

I did, however, remember NOT to feed the seagulls — a cardinal rule, which once broken may or may not cause one to be severely beaten with a beach umbrella, here in Jersey anyways.

Hopey digs the beach, sort of.

On the one hand, it's SO MUCH easier taking older kids to the beach — grab a few towels, beach chairs, a couple of water bottles, a little spending money for french fries, maybe even a corn dog (or twenty) then sit back and remind them NOT to feed the seagulls.

On the other hand, I pine for the days when my kids were easily entertained with a shovel, a bucket or watching tourists get beat with beach umbrellas.

This is the quietest these two have been ALL summer!

Then again, I have been their main source of entertainment (especially, during the summertime) for the last 18 years and, well, I'm perfectly fine with just hanging out and NOT feel the need to actually have to do anything — other than remind them to, you know, turn over and go get mom a corn dog.

Aaaand, these two actually LET me take their picture!

Now that my oldest has graduated high school, is working and pretty much learning to support herself by contributing to the household for stuff like groceries and car insurance (reminder: we live in Jersey, the land of HOLY HELL, HOW MUCH?!?) not to mention, with my middle girl entering her junior year and having to start the college search all over again (see also: HHHM?!?) I realize that our days of spending quiet afternoons at the beach…together…are numbered.

"The waves look AWESOME mom, c'mon!!!"

Not to mention, my being able to jump, up and down, and expecting to successfully land, on the ground, on both feet, on purpose.

"Mom, behind you, LOOKOUT!!!"

I totally forgot about the OTHER cardinal rule: Never, EVER, turn your back on the ocean, which once broken may or may not cause one to be bitch-slapped into next week by an incoming wave, here in Jersey anyways.

SLAP!!!! Aaaaaaand, I could NOT for the life of me get up AND not because of the wicked undertow or anything, either.

SLAP!!!! I would reach up and grab onto my son's swim trunks.

SLAP!!! Aaaaaaand, he would slap my hand away (each and EVERY time) so I would, you know, fall back into the water.

SLAP!!! Then reach up again, grab onto my son's swim trunks, not thinking that the poor guy was trying to keep me from pulling his swim trunks off. So he claims.

"OMG, that was the FUNNIEST thing we have EVER seen!"

Note to self: next time, try to stand [up] further away from the lifeguard stand.

Moral of the Story: As I strive for continued excellence in being a source of entertainment for my teens and tween, as well as the entire Jersey coastline, dammit.

Stupid undertow. Dumbass corn dogs.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House
August 24, 2012
The Descent, Jersey Style

My brother-in-law is visiting with us for a couple of days this week (yes, on purpose!) but, I wasn't surprised to learn that he really didn't have any plans to go to the beach (or down the shore, if you're from Jersey) and, considering he's lived in Southern California for the last 20+ years, can you really blame him?

So, yeah, our rocks actually do glow, you got a problem wit-dat?

Besides, there are plenty of OTHER really cool places to visit here in Jersey (ARE SO!) especially, for BIG TIME history buffs like my brother-in-law (and me) so, when he suggested we take our kids to The Sterling Hill Mining Museum I was all, like, YAY!…oh, wait:

I mean, considering our run of bad luck lately, can you really blame me?

A geologist's freakin' playground.

Seriously, I couldn't help but think of ALL the dangerous possibilities: one of us getting beaned on the head with a random piece of falling rock (okay, mostly me!) learning that the misplaced stick of dynamite was in fact SO NOT a dud, finding that one and only hole they forgot to plug up and/or re-living The Descent (be careful, link has sound and dang but that movie scared the bee's juice out of me) for real.

2,550 feet, 35 miles in length, that's a WHOLE lot of descending, you's guys!

Add being a tad claustrophobic (okay, more like DUUUUUUDE, I HATE FREAKIN' TIGHT SPACES, GETTOUTTAMYWAY!) not to mention, I am not very comfortable with the dark (seriously, have you seen The Descent?) so, actually getting out of the car and buying the tickets to tour one of the oldest mines in the United States (first worked c. 1739) was a HUGE leap of faith on my part.

Heather's reflection looks almost other-wordly.

I mean, just take a look at some of the stuff they've pulled out of this place for the last 250+ years — totally creepy, right?

So, how YOU doin'?

The museum was packed from floor to ceiling and, quite frankly, as interesting as these artifacts were, walking around displays of rocks embedded with ancient creepy-crawlies didn't help to quell my fears any (NUH-UH!) not one freakin' bit.

So pretty, right?

"Hey, look, this one looks like a heart!"

Then one of my kids would point out something really pretty and I think to myself (SELF!) fuhghettaboutit AND really, you've ridden the subway and survived, how bad could it be?!?

I'm PROUD to be able to tell you that I did INDEED survive going into the mines. Aaaaand, you'll have to take my word for it, because I was too busy holding onto the railing(s), I don't have ANY pictures to really prove it.

Of course, my kid was the ONLY one who knew and shouted out the warning, "FIRE IN THE HOLE!" She shares a bathroom with her 13 year-old brother, enough said.

Learning about the past is cool AND helps to remind us to NOT take our more modern conveniences (like electricity, YO!) for granted.

Guess what this is? G'head, I'll wait.

Oh and indoor plumbing. More specifically, toilets (see picture above) seriously, just let me hear one of my kids complain about having to share a bathroom…one more time…FIRE IN THE HOLE!!!

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

July 31, 2012
Call Me Craaaaaaaazy, Talk With Yous Laaaaaaaay-tuh, Maybe

Source: etsy.com via Liz on Pinterest

My parents had a telephone similar to this one — we were living in a 4 room apartment upstairs in my grandmother's house at the time — it hung on our kitchen wall and had a ridiculously long extension cord that would require untangling, by dangling the hand set and allowing it to spin, at least a couple times a day.

Which is really funny, because going into another room for a little privacy doesn't really matter much if you come from a family of LOUD TALKERS.

Somewhat related: I was working at the kitchen table yesterday (because it's summer break and we only have one computer, enough said) when my cell phone rang.

Me: Oh, it's Jenn!

Because, I have a terrible habit of thinking OUT LOUD as well.

13yo Son: So, I guess you'll be talking REAL LOUD then?!?

True story. Just ask Jenn. She's from Texas. I'm from Jersey. We sometimes have trouble understanding each other and, well, every little bit helps.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Okay so what was I saying, oh yeah: cell phones allow us the freedom of continuing our conversations while running errands, dropping/picking up kids at school, waiting on ridiculously long check-out lines, even while taking much needed bathroom breaks (stupid ridiculously long check-out lines, dumbass bladder) and, well, I'd like to dangle some of THOSE people at least a couple times a day, too.

At the risk of shaking my cane and causing a massive load shift in body mass (you're welcome!) as my friend Jenn would say: if you choose to have a full-blown conversation out in public, or maybe even in the bathroom stall next to me, I'mma gonna contribute, bless your heart.

"So, she said….blah, blah, blah….and I said….yada, yada, yada….and she called me a so-and-so….you believe that or what?"

[clears throat]

"That's just craaaaaaaaazy!"

[dead silence]

"Here's my number….la, la, la….so, call me maybe."

[one beat, two beats]

"There's this crazy b*tch, ovuh-heh, I'll have-tuh call yuhs back!"

A little passive aggressive? Maybe. However, I live in Jersey and well they cut people here for less.

MOST ESPECIALLY in bathroom stalls…YO!

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

July 13, 2012
She Bangs, He Bangs, We All Bang A Uey!

I drove my SIL into Massachusetts (my husband's aunt has been very ill and recovering in a nursing home) for what turned out to be a last-minute, don't-worry-we'll-just-go-ahead-and-cash-in-those-reward-points, road trip and clocked in nearly 700 miles this weekend.

Boston: Old and New

The thing with last-minute, don't-worry-etc-etc-type, road trips is that there is NEVER enough time to do ALL the things I really would like to do, whenever we do get up there.

Boston: This Way and That

Or whenevah yah up thah (if you're from Massachusetts) considering most of my husband's family lives in and around the Boston area and, well, turns out Massachusetts is a pretty big state.

Boston: Water Feature

Still, my friend Sue and her family live about 90 minutes away from where we were staying (which is about 5 hours closer than usual, btw) and, well, it took ALL my strength to keep my husband's car from veering off and following signs to Cape Cod.

I was also too busy banging u-turns (to make a change in direction when driving, in Jersey) dang, but Massachusetts signs are so gosh-dahned confusing!

Not to mention, they most likely don't teach the "keep one car-length between you and the car in front of you" rule when switching lanes, or maybe people just "saht of fahghat that paht" of the driver's test.

Boston: Church (one of many!)

Aaaaanyway, it was difficult enough leaving the kids (and my husband) home this time, considering they just about divorced me when visiting with Sue…on my bloggy little road trip, last March.

The kids, I mean, not my husband.

Garth (not his real name) MADE me go (don't believe me, ask Sue, she'll tell you) still, I couldn't help but feel a little guilty.

Not this time, tho.

Long story, short (you're welcome) I don't know of any travel site(s) that lists "Consider visiting nursing homes" as a vacation destination: i.e. one of the saddest places on earth.

Boston: My kind of place.

Still, it was nice to be able to help my SIL show her aunt's family a little support, considering I was adopted as an honorary cousin (during a girl's weekend away on Cape Cod, btw) years before my husband and I hooked up, even.

Boston: The Old Court House

We decided to drive into Boston and do a little site-seeing with my niece.

Which, of course, meant I was too busy looking up, most of the time, rather than watch where I was walking (it's drivers AND walkers to the right, right?) and it was soon after I took a picture of Ben Franklin (a tribute to our founding fathers, right next to Starbucks, yo!) when I tripped over someone's bicycle.

"Have a nice trip?"

Gosh, but I love my SIL's sense of humor (sort of!) and what IS IT with these Massachusetts people, anyways?!?

The bicyclist was trying to help an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair from off of the curb and cross to the other side of the street and, well, good thing I was NOT thinking out loud (for once) right?!?

"Can we help?"

My SIL and I each extended an arm, he grabbed both.

"Hang on a minute!"

The wheelchair was mechanical, very heavy and three more pedestrians ran over, along with the doorman from the hotel a few doors down, to help.

"On three…"

We gently sat the man back down into his wheelchair, while the doorman stopped traffic and the bicyclist followed alongside, making sure he made it safely across the street to the adjacent more wheelchair accessible sidewalk.

"Thank you guys…"

We were all shaking hands.

"…some of these streets can be real annoying."

I empathized with the doorman and admitted to banging more than a couple of U-ies already.

"Yah from Bahston then?"

Heh, must have been the Uey (a.k.a. U-turn) that brought out the Bahston.

"No, we're from New Jersey."

[one beat, two beats]

"Sahm diff-rahns."

Clearly, we're not the only ones who can't seem to make a left turn to save our lives.

Moral of the Story: Deep down inside, people are good, even if they do drive like crap, or something like that.

It was a good trip.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

July 10, 2012
Before Social Media, Some of Us Would Use Our Pregnancies, As Timelines
Never being one to tempt fate…[pausing to knock on wood]…I am absolutely sure of very few things in life, like:
- We are all out of milk, eggs, cereal or bread (probably, all four).
- If there is a mosquito in the house, I will find it.
- I will have to either thank or apologize to my husband, at least once, every day.
- Not before the cat uses my stomach as a springboard and pounces on my husband's head sometime around 4 a.m.
- Someone will have forgotten to switch the laundry (most probably, me).
- I will snort at least once, at any given time, in a conversation.
Ohhhhhh…and that the water main in front of our house will break AND at the most inopportune time too!

Then something will happen to exacerbate the situation: like one of the three police officers, unlucky enough to pull duty on a Sunday afternoon at the beginning of a holiday week, drives through the river that is running through our street, which inadvertently buckles the pavement and creates a mini-geyser.

Finally, we will begin to see the humor (most probably, on Facebook):

Garth (NHRN) making lemonade (sort of ) by taking advantage of situation while adhering to state of water emergency.

I will blog, or share it on Instagram and misspell at least one word (stupid man-fingers!):

What 1:20 a.m. looks like when they ate ripping your front walk a new one. http://instagr.am/p/MkQUT0G4mg/

But, the one thing I am REAL positive about (mostly) is that there will be plenty of family and friends who are more than willing to help me remember it as…you know…not ALL that bad…really.

Not when there are folks out there STILL without power (did you hear, Momo's gone all Little House on the Prairie?) because, as one Twitter friend was kind enough to remind me: water is less important than power.

Having lost BOTH and turning Amish for 5 days last summer, I totally agree.

Aaaaaand then, if I'm REAL lucky, I will find at least one online friend (maybe even two) who is STILL awake and have the best gosh-darned virtual slumberless party ever.

Long live the Three Klutzketeers!!!

[sound of crickets, chirping]

If anybody needs me, I'll be right here…propped up against the kitchen table, waiting for the service people to show up to fix my dishwasher AND washer (both of which are FUBAR!) so, I can…you know…put ALL this water to good use…YO!

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House
July 2, 2012
Why Is Everyone in SUCH a Hurry? (Atlernate Title, If You’re From Jersey: SLOW THE FRIG DOWN!)

Mommy's little bumper sticker: seriously, it's on my car right now. What, I'm from Jersey, you got a problem wit-dat?

My 16yo daughter texted me, my husband AND my oldest at 7:05 on her way to school this morning.

"A car just spun out on the parkway and nearly crashed into my bus. Definitely awake now."

I didn't see the text. I did hear my cell phone croak in the middle of the night (note to self: lower volume after 10 p.m.) but, my husband didn't tell me about her text, right away, either.

"I wanted to check in with her first, because I figured you would flip out."

He was right. Aaaaand, my Jersey may or may not have exposed itself on Facebook.

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April 16, 2012
Nearly Wordless Wednesday: The Jersey Shore (No, not THAT one!)

A few of my favorite photos taken (yes, BY ME!) on our spur of the moment, sure, we'd love to come and stay with you guys at the beach, New Year's weekend family getaway to Cape May, NJ:

(Feel free to click on any of the photos for a closer look!)

Enough said. With many thanks to our very dear friends, Cheryl and John, for putting us up (yes, ALL OF US) and helping us to create such wonderful memories, because they roll like that!

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

January 11, 2012
My Karma Ran Over Your Dogwood!

Last winter, you may or may not remember my telling you about the house next door.

Miss Grace turned 103, this month (bless her hearty little, uhh, heart) so, about 2 weeks ago, I pulled into my driveway and saw our other neighbor cutting her grass.

DANGIT!

The 3 of us have very large properties (as in, DANG, but this grass got real long, didn't it?!?)

I don't remember the EXACT measurement (that particular brain cell burned off about 2 kids ago, I think) but, I'm pretty sure we're about 300+ feet long, backdoor to end of mow-able backyard and, well, that's A LOT of grass clippings, my friend.

Our riding mower is broken (of course!) and I can't very well sit by and watch our other neighbor, who works the night shift and coaches in the afternoons, cut Miss Grace's lawn when he could be, you know, sleeping.

But, the self-propelled portion of our lawn mower is ALSO broken (I know, go ahead and act surprised anyway) making it more a non-moving lawn mower (as in, DANG, but Miss Grace has got a lot of shrubs, doesn't she?!?)

I don't remember the EXACT moment (after 4 tours of potty-training duty, I'm pretty much thankful for even a small fraction of brain activity) but, I'm pretty sure it was AFTER cutting underneath her holly tree.

3 things came to mind:

1. Poison ivy lives here.

2. Miss Grace is NOT allergic to poison ivy.

3. I am SEVERELY allergic to poison ivy.

No worries. I've done this before (sadly) and know EXACTLY what to do:

1. Take a shower, IMMEDIATELY!

2. Dry off, COMPLETELY!

3. Wash infected clothes and any towels used, SEPARATELY!

Besides, Karma dictates I should be fine (no?)

HAH! Made you itch!!!

So, here I am, 2 weeks later, fresh from the doctor's office, thinking I was suffering from some sort of horrible contagion, with a prescription of prednisone (it makes my brain itch, like crazy) just so you know:

3. (REVISED) Wash infected clothes and any towels used SEPARATELY and IN HOT WATER!

Next week: I'm ripping out her holly tree and planting a dogwood (shhhh, but don't tell her, okay?) after I borrow a HAZMAT suit, of course.

STUPID poison ivy, DUMBASS Karma!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

September 23, 2011
Remembering Union Street

7 years ago (next month) I sold my childhood home (approx. 30 minutes outside of NYC) and moved my parents "down the shore" to live in "the village" or what my kids warmly refer to as "Camp Mama and Papa."

So, a week before the move, we took our kids up for one last visit and my husband started to take a couple of random pictures.

At first, I couldn't quite understand why. Although, yes, the gardens were magnificent and often times my parents would receive compliments from passersby.

My kids grew up here visiting with their grandparents nearly every Sunday and yet I couldn't help but look forward to watching each of them (and us) make many more memorable moments in Mama and Papa's shiney new home.

The last I heard, the house on Union Street was being rented (AGAIN!) and, living 90 minutes away, my parents sometimes STILL visit, insisting that, you know, they just happened to be in the neighborhood.

A few weeks ago, I drove up north to run a few errands (okay, only one, the Hungarian butcher is still there, enough said) and did EXACTLY what I told my parents NOT to do.

I drove up Union Street, right passed the house and, I swear, I could hear my heart break a little.

The foot bridge, the lamp post, the rose-covered arbor, the greenhouse that my father built using leftover materials recycled from various landscaping job sites, it was ALL gone.

I did NOT recognize it, anymore.

Today, I'm heading out to check on my parents (my dad tore a ligament in his "good arm," yesterday) but, not before I make a quick stop for them at the Hungarian butcher…ONLY!

So, yeah, thank you, Garth (NHRN) this is EXACTLY how I will always remember Union Street.

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

September 13, 2011