This Full House Archive

Category: Who’s Parenting Who?

This Ones Tricky, You Have to Use Imaginary Numbers, Like Eleventeen

I give up, you figure them out…

When I told my husband, Garth [not his real name] I was pregnant with our youngest, it didn't come as much of a surprise, really; not like the first time, I mean, when he closed his eyes, fell back on the bed, grabbed his head (with both hands) and sort of just laid there, for a few minutes, moaning.

We had already signed the contract on this house (less full, at the time) and then came Valentine's Day and, well, he WAS there when it ALL happened.

Three more (+) signs, later:

"Well, at least, no one will have to sit alone, on the rollercoaster."

Then, all of a sudden, our lives turned into one big Dr. Seuss book:

One Kid, two kids,

Meh, what's one more kid

Some have brown eyes, except their brother

Don't ask me why

Go ask your mother.

Little did we know, all those days (and nights) ago, how prophetic my husband words would be.

GAH! Now, I'm speaking in rhyme? Hang on, this will be real quick.

[slams head on laptop]

There, that did the trick…I mean…where was I?

Rollercoasters? Feh, they're for wussies. Raising tweens and teens? Best get your barf bags ready, now. Not only will they make you eat your words…

"I will never YELL at my kids, ever."

They'll make you chew on them a bit, first, before spitting them all over your sensible shoes, too!

"HANG UP YOUR WET TOWELS, DAMMIT!!!"

Wet towels. Tragic. I know.

[sound of puking]

I got sick, this week…NO, I'M NOT PREGNANT!

[knocking on wood until knuckles bleed]

I know, because I got my period at the same time (you're welcome!) it's how I roll and, well, best get your heating pads ready, now. Being a woman sucks. Being a woman of a certain age, sucks wet poodle.

"Go back to bed, Mah!"

It was already dark, the kids were ALL home from school (thank you, Carpooling Mom!) but, it was the quiet that woke me.

"Buh, dinner…breakfast dishes still…I gotta go…um."

Stupid analgesics.

"Your sick, we got this."

Aaaand, with a slightly confused and saddened heart, I turned toward the stairs, thinking that perhaps it was good that the kids were learning to take care of themselves (jinx) and slowly climbed closer to the realization that, one day, they won't be needing me, at all.

"Sheesh…she's like a kid, sometimes."

Judging by the frequency of my bathroom stops, I imagine it will be real soon, too.

© 2010 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

January 8, 2010
TLC Book Tour: The Body Scoop for Girls (Pssst, It Ain’t All Pretty)

Yes, my mother and I had "the talk," at least once, that I can remember. The day I got my first period, my mother and my aunt set up a lounge chair in my grandmother's backyard, handed me a glass of lemonade, saying something about sitting in the sun being "good for you" and I still remember thinking that, somehow, the rest of the neighborhood knew.

"You're a woman, now."

That, along with being herded into a darkened gym with the rest of my 7th grade class, to watch someone's mother (or, older sister maybe) wrestle with a "sanitary belt" (I know, I'm old, shuddup!) was the extent of my education into womanhood — until, I had children.

"Don't be afraid to ask mommy ANYTHING!"

[pointing down there]

"What dis called?"

Um…wait…I know this one.

"That's your…um…pooh-tee."

Say it with me…FAIL! Then, a mom friend of mine told me about a body book for girls put out by American Girl and I immediately ran out and bought 2 copies (1 for me and 1 for the girls) and it was good — until, I had teenagers.

[lifting bra and pointing at, well, you know]

"Is this normal?"

[eyes go wide]

I have the extreme pleasure of being the 1st stop on the TLC Book Tour for January 2010, featuring The Body Scoop for Girls by Jennifer Ashton, M.D., Ob-Gyn.

Got lemonade?

(more…)

January 6, 2010
Best Blog Pics of 2009

January 2009: Old House, Has Good Bones

In the beginning…no, wait…let's not go that far back (you're welcome!) I'm entering my 7th year of blogging and was in the habit of embedding photos long before it was, you know, cool (shuttup!) as inspiration for that day's (or, week's) blog post.

A picture's worth a thousand words (i.e. Worldess Wednesdays = a quick cure for writer's block) right?

My friend Melisa (With one S) posted a month-by-month list of her favorite posts (she got the idea from Scary Mommy) aaaaand, since 2009 was, well, you know (ICK!) I'm focusing on the photos that represent the "best" of what this here blog is all about.

Sort of — ready?

(more…)

January 1, 2010
Four to the Teen, Baby!

Happy Fourteenth Birthday, Heather!

Today, you are fourteen and, well, like I told your sister Holly (in her birthday letter, last month) Holy Hannah Montana, the years are just flying by. No matter how hard I try to deny the fact that my two oldest girls are getting older (me too, DAMMIT!) time insists on slipping through my fingers, burrowing deeper into my chest and squeezing away a little piece of my heart, each year.

Remember yesterday, when everyone left us alone at the breakfast table and you and I talked about when you were little. How you cried a lot and never slept.

Me, too.

Except, you DID sleep in your car seat (a little) in our first minivan, you know, Daddy's Windstar (may it rest in peace) while I drove around town, in the middle of the night, through tears of frustration…both yours and mine.

I know now that, right from the beginning, you were developing a keen sense of empathy and was just hypersensitive to the world around you.

"I'm sorry, Momma!"

Still are.

"For what?"

It's like you know exactly how I'm feeling, or when to make daddy smile.

"Thinking about that makes me wanna cry."

[blank stare]

See what I mean?

"Soooo, you wanna go for a drive?"

Although, most folks would probably consider outwitting your parents at the dinner table, on a daily basis, as borderline brilliant — especially, to your siblings — I really do miss your knock-knock jokes.

"Just you and me, okay?"

I know how hard it is to be the middle child…sort of…literally, wedged between two sisters, having to share one bedroom, which you end up cleaning, by yourself, mostly and giving up the corner of the couch, so your baby brother could better reach his sippy cup.

"So what, mom STILL makes me use one, when I'm sick, too."

You were my little keeper of the peace; still are.

Then, all h-e-double-hockey-sticks broke loose and, by Thanksgiving, last year, we were all trying, real hard, to make YOU feel better, while you celebrated your 13th birthday, flat on your belly.

Nothing, could have prepared us for the long road ahead, right?

Then, it was mommy's turn and, well, making butt jokes during yet ANOTHER emergency surgery is more than appropriate, right?

Riiiiight.

It DID get better. You made the field hockey team. I survived your first game. Then, worse. You had one more emergency room visit.

"They really asked me some STUPID questions."

Oh yeah. I forgot about that.

"Like what?"

But, since SHE was the one to bring it up.

"Like, if I'm sexually active or not."

[grabs time by the cajones and squeezes, HARD!]

Aaaaand now, well, you ARE fourteen, one year post surgery and looking forward to joining your sis in high school, next year (DAMMIT!) not to mention, proving yourself to be the bravest and strongest kid I know, over and over again.

So, there's nothing much more I can say (without crying, again) besides, what I used to say, you know, when you were little:

"I love you more than the moon and the stars!"

Aaaaand, Momma's gonna sing (yeah, AGAIN!) ready?

[clears throat]

Happy Birthday, my Christmas Baby
You're fourteen, I can't believe it's true
But, I've just one wish on this special day…

I wish I were more like you!

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

December 28, 2009
Wordless Wednesday: Smile, It’s the Holidaze!

Wake me up when New Year's ends!

Check out the Official Wordless Wednesday HQ
Tag, you're it: Wordless Wednesday

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

December 23, 2009
Writing Challenge #3: The Gift – Angels Bearing Lopsided Christmas Trees

This is part of a writing challenge at {W}rite-Of-Passage, a community of bloggers who are looking to get back to the writing part of blogging and brainchild of my friend, Mrs. Flinger. Today’s challenge was Write about the Christmas Gift you remember the most.

——————————————————————-

Like most of the kids in our neighborhood, my twin brother and I eagerly counted down the days until Christmas, by doing our homework, eating our all of our vegetables and cleaning our rooms, without being asked, in a desperate attempt to earn extra points with Santa Claus.

However, we were perhaps the only family in town without a tree.

"Not until Christmas Eve."

We would sit and sulk in the back of our station wagon, on the way to the laundromat, or coming back home from food shopping, as our folks marveled at other people's houses, every weekend. Still. No tree.

"In Hungary, kids had to wait until after midnight for the Christmas Angel."

Oh, there were plenty of stories. About trees and drunken angels. Like, the year my grandfather decided to celebrate Christmas on the way home from work, tripped on the entrance of their small apartment and dropped their tree…decorations and all.

"It was the Angel, I tell you, I saw it drinking on the trolley!"

I'm sure my grandmother didn't appreciate my grandfather's dry sense of humor, just as much as my brother and I couldn't understand my father's excitement at finding a pair of socks, or a foil wrapped orange under their Christmas tree.

Still. We listened and it made my father miss them both, all the more.

"Daddy's home and he's got our tree!"

My father worked for a landscaper and for years sold Christmas trees, in the parking lot of a garden center, before being laid-off for the winter.

"It's beautiful, Daddy!"

If you were to ask me what Christmas gift I remember the most, thirty-something years ago, I would have answered the Barbie Country Camper.

"Your grandmother would have loved such a tree."

Today, it's stories of drunken Christmas Angels and lopsided tabletop trees that help make Christmastime special for me…and my family.

Just like Dad.

Other folks participating, today:

Write on!

[Click here to view past Writing Challenges]

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

December 21, 2009
I Saw Mommy Shake Down Santa Claus

My husband, Garth [not his real name] and I attended his company's holiday party, last weekend and — although, this is our 21st Christmas — it's been a long time since we've attended a company party, together.

"Should we valet-it, tonight?"

We had no choice (no self-parking allowed) seriously, the banquet center is in a real swanky part of the county (I could very nearly spit to Bon Jovi's and Springsteen's house) but, everyone was allowed to bring a guest.

"I don't believe you've met my wife…"

Actually, we both knew only a handful of folks and there were, like, over 200
people there (no biggie, after BlogHer, I know) but, the atmosphere was that of 1 big happy family (mostly) and we ALL toasted my husband's upcoming 1st anniversary with The Kinder and Gentler Bank.

"Would you like another glass of Pinot Grigio?"

Did I mention, there was an open bar?

"I'll have the Chateau Briand, thank you!"

Needless to say, Garth [not his real name] and I were dressed to impress and enjoy ourselves (i.e. no sweatshirts, or hoodies allowed) as it was the 1st time that we've been out, together (sans children) in, like, weeks, months, um…what year is it, again?

"BUUUUUUT, YOU PROMISED TO TAKE ME TO THE MALL!"

Seriously, on a Saturday, at Christmas?

"Yes, you did."

I must have been high on Lysol, or something, but my husband also reminded me that, since our oldest was sleeping over someone else's house (about danged time, too) Heather kindly offered to sit the rest of our kids, for us.

"You take her and I'll take the rest to Five Below, or something."

Besides, it was Heather's turn for some private mommy time and, at 13, I'm just happy that she still, you know, admits that I am her mother, let alone agrees to be seen with me, in public.

"You can take my car!"

WHOOT!…[cue new car smell]…so, I kissed my husband (whispering, in his ear, something about looking forward to, well, you know, later) and we went our separate ways.

"No…toll…paid…what does that mean, Mom?"

[eyes go wide]

"I dunno, I thought the E-ZPass Lane was open and…OH, FRIG!"

Then, I remembered that I had my husband's car.

"Daddy doesn't have E-ZPass?"

Nope. Aaaaand, I'd blown through 2 tolls, already, which cost my husband (does the math) $50.00 in tickets.

"Aaaand, we haven't even gotten to the mall, yet!"

So, I asked Heather to text her father what happened, hoping that it would give him enough time to, you know, get over it.

Then, he texted back.

"Well, at least, something's getting blown around here."

No he didn't. But, if you have kids, then you KNOW he was thinking it, right?

"I'll make it up to you."

Did I mention that there was going to be an open bar?

"It's not like I haven't heard that one, before."

We really did have a wonderful time at the Christmas party and, as we helped our youngest children find their beds (or, which ever one happened to be the closest) Garth [not his real name] and I were still feeling, you know, toasty.

"I can't sleep; can I go upstairs to Glen's bed?"

[eyes go wide]

"Orrrrrrr, did you guys wanna be alone?"

[the sound of a romantic mood, exploding]

This Christmas, I'm giving Garth [not his real name] the gift of hope.

"Maybe we should just install an E-ZPass in OUR bed."

Or, which ever one happens to be the closest, right?

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

December 16, 2009
The Littlest Elf That Could, Fo’Shizzle!

Hope found her sister's infamous skull cap (you know, the one I wrote about, a few years ago, when my middle girl was going through, well, at the time, it seemed like something pretty major) and, as with most things in our house, time heals old parenting
wounds and my husband, Garth [not his real name] and I just don't seem
to sweat small-ish head gear, anymore.

"Wait, let mommy take your picture!"

You see,
Hope is our youngest and, being 4th in an already long line waiting to get
into the bathroom (my 16 year old has moved in, apparently) and, well, it's like we get a do-over, sort of.

"You never let US sleepover anyone's house until we were, like, in middle school!"

Yes, but I also pointed out the fact that Hope has never had her own room. Okay, neither did Heather (consider yourself lucky, Holly) but, that's NOT the point.

"When can I get a second hole, like Heather?"

[eyes go wide]

"I think wearing 2 earrings in the same ear looks cool!"

Oh, phew, I thought she meant [remembers that Heather might be reading this, right now] never mind.

"Maybe when you're 10."

WHAT?

I know, I know, but you don't live here (you're welcome!) or have to hear constant comparisons being made on just how terrible of a mother I am, was and forever shall be, no matter what I do, do you?

"Did you hear what Hope did, today?"

I came home from work, one night…um…this week (I think) and, though Garth [not his real name] has stepped up to the dinner plate, rather nicely (his home made chicken fingers taste way better than mine, DAMMIT) let's just say that, apparently, he was a tyrannical slave driver in a previous life and the kids are, you know, beginning to really miss me.

[closes eyes and rubs left temple]

"What now?"

Long story short (you're welcome!) her father was looking through her backpack (seriously, the guy IS anal) when he saw an envelope marked "from the class mom" opened it and found it was filled with change.

"$10.00, to be exact."

Quarters, nickles, dimes and pennies, ALL stuffed into a smallish white envelope.

"What, is she extorting money from the class mom, now?"

Not exactly.

"It's for the teacher's gift."

Apparently, she's lived with me long enough to know that, you know, I sometimes don't remember to sit down and actually read the bazillion handouts, that come home, anymore (seriously, there are some freakishly anal people out there!) and she's absolutely right.

"I'm almost exactly 8 and a half, now."

Yeah, I know and it's making me feel a little sad.

"I can take care of myself, you know."

Okay, more than a little sad.

"So, can I have an allowance?"

I'm all torn up that my littlest elf can NOW reach all the way up to the top shelf.

"NO WAY, WE DON'T EVEN GET AN ALLOWANCE!"

Don't worry, I'll get over it.

"Maybe when you're 10."

But, probably not.

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

December 11, 2009
Are You Smarter Than the Head of a Money Laundering Ring?

So, how's that part-time job going? Pretty well, actually. I got paid (yes, REAL money) last week and, well, I was rich (or, richer than the week before, anyway) for all of 5 seconds, when I remembered that, you know, I signed up for direct deposit.

DAMMIT!

It ALL goes into the "house" account, anyway.

Yes, I have a debit card, but it's just not the same as handing over a ten spot and not caring if you get change back, or telling the kid behind the counter to, you know "Keep the change," is it?

As if, I could ever justify buying a cup of coffee (or, if you're from Jersey, it's a cup-uh-caw-fee) for the cost of a gallon of milk and a dozen eggs, too, in some places, right?

Then, I was doing the laundry the other day (I know, act surprised, anyway) and I hit pay dirt!

"That's mine!"

My oldest girls have been helping out A LOT around the house, lately (under duress, from their father, of course) although, I'd love to be able to offer them an allowance, I don't remember the last time I got paid for, you know, doing my laundry.

"How do you know it's yours?"

Besides, they both have regular baby-sitting gigs and STILL get paid way better than I do.

"Beeeeecause, Holly loaned me five bucks."

My 10-year-old son, not so much.

"But, I lost it."

Aaaand, he's real bad with money.

"She gave me some, too."

My 8-year-old, however?

"But, mine's in my pocket!"

One beat…two beats…

"Wait a minute, let me see that money!"

Tell me, is it like this at your house?

8yo: "Hey, that's mine!"

10yo: "How DO YOU know?"

8yo: "Because, that's MY lip gloss!"

10yo: "Well, that IS my paper clip!"

8yo: "Here, you can have it!"

10yo: "That's NOT fair….Mooooooom!"

Aaaand, if it's not like this at your house.

"Here then take the lip gloss, too!"

Then lie to me, and I'll be sure to save you a nice warm spot, okay?

"It's got to be worth at least 4 bucks."

Beeeeecause, hell has GOT to be better than doing the laundry!

8yo: "Wait a minute, let me see that lip gloss!":

In my house, anyways.

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

December 1, 2009
A Thanksgiving Prank Gone Bad

It was the night before Thanksgiving, and all through the house, not a creature was sleeping, except for the boy and his, well, that's our Doofus Dawg and he is WAY bigger than a mouse.

Then, someone suggests, quite innocently,"Wouldn't it be funny, if we painted his toe nails?"

Now, most people would probably think, "Yes, but it wouldn't be very nice."

"Why yes, yes, it would, I'll get the nail polish!"

Then again, we are NOT most people, he IS the only boy in the house and, well, the kid pretty much pranks us…ALL THE TIME…so, it's all in the name of good, clean, fun, right?

"You're gonna make him cry."

Apparently, my 13 yo did NOT think it was such a great idea, but went along with it, anyway.

"That's just not right."

Neither did my husband, Garth [not his real name] who woke up with his fingernails painted, once, but that time I…I mean…we painted them black and he DID notice before leaving the house for work.

"Shhhh, you're gonna wake him up."

My son, however, slept through it all and it wasn't until sometime, in the middle of breakfast, the next day, that he even noticed!

"GAAAAAH, who painted my toenails?!?"

Aaaand, there was much giggling.

[eyes go wide]

Until, it dawned on him that, you know, someone painted HIS toenails.

"I told you he would cry."

Yeah, maybe we should have listened to Heather (obviously, she HAS more sense than her mother) but, my SIL was a little surprised at how upset he got (having slept over, on the night in question) and, well, she, or I would have let him in on the prank, before anyone else arrived for Thanksgiving dinner.

"I am SO embarrassed!"

Then again, maybe I've grown a little too used to dealing with girls, who cry, just because they can and aren't boys supposed to be all, you know, snakes and snails and puppy dog tails?

"I'm SO sorry, Bud; I really thought you'd think it was funny!"

Apparently, I was wrong…AGAIN!

"Well, IT'S NOT!"

I stood there, watching him, as he tried to wipe the nail polish off with a wet piece of toilet paper, and I wanted to crawl under a rock, and die, probably just as much as he wanted me to, if not more, I'm sure.

"Here, let me do that for you."

I grabbed the nail polish remover and started to, you know, try and clean up yet ANOTHER BIG MESS I'd gotten us into and, well, we each took turns and thanked my son for accepting our apologies, as half-assed as it sounds, at the moment.

"We didn't mean to make you cry!"

Lesson Learned: Girls are spice and everything nice, until their brother's asleep and there happens to be a bottle of nail polish, near by.

"Besides, you can always stick one of their fingers in a glass of warm water and make them pee their beds!"

Less than smart mothers, like me, however, deserve nothing more than strained carrots and peas, or made to watch the Doodle Bops, until our eyes explode AND our ears begin to bleed.

"No, that would be mean."

Although, he DID giggle…a little…me, too.

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

November 27, 2009