This Full House Archive

Category: Who’s Parenting Who?

Fanny Body Asks, I’m NOT Home!

Knock-knock. Who's there? Fanny. Fanny who? (see blog post title) SNORT!

The kids helped me out with a little blogging project and, since it's been raining cats and dogs, since, like, forever, they built this awesome tent in the middle of our livingroom.

Not that it's earth-shattering news, or an epiphany in parenting, that will perhaps, one day, save the world, by any means, or anything.

It's just that, you know, my kids are older AND by older I mean: a) oldest is graduating high school this year and b) youngest is moving up to middle school next year (SOB!)

The fact that they still like doing this sort of stuff…with me…well, sort of just blows me away, a little.

You see, I am not the best mom, or expert at anything other than being a dork (I get that!) but, raising teens is REAL hard.

Aaaaand, some would be hardpressed to argue that first part, as well (DAMNIT!) but, these are my kids and, some day, REAL soon, maybe they won't be home long enough, or even want to admit that, you know, we actually had fun…together.

Except, this one day, when we built a tent, out of blankets, in the middle of our living room, microwaved us some S'mores and watched Toy Story 3.

Aaaaand, it was AWESOME!

"Holy crap on a stick, look at the size of those mushrooms!"

Told you it's been raining, A LOT!!!

"Heeeeey, you know what, they sorta look [snicker] you know [cough, cough] kinda, I dunno, funny-looking, right?!?"

After some scolding and a quick lecture on the appropriateness of this particular conversation, my kids finally allowed me back into the house and sent me and my inner-12-year-old straight to my room, for some quiet time.

Aaaaand, it was AWESOME!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

Freshly-brewed elsewhere: Allstate Good Hands Roadside Assistance Program Recap where I get to share a $50 Amazon gift card. Also, had fun filming this video with the Minute Clinic folks at BlogHer.

August 22, 2011
Not My Daughters, Most Likely, My Son

Over the years, I've learned to expect less than favorable opinions, from other people, upon learning that I have 4 kids.

Then, when other people find out I have 3 daughters, who ALL share the same bedroom, the shock sets in and, well, yes, it is just as complicated and delicate of a situation as anyone can imagine.

All I can say is, thank goodness we have a REALLY BIG backyard and, when hormone levels begin to rise and, add in the closeness of summertime, threaten to reach epic proportions (like, yesterday) I can toss them ALL in the swimming pool and, hopefully, avert a nuclear meltdown.

Mine, too!

Being a girl is really, really hard. I know. My daughters sometimes forget, I used to be one. Once. A long time ago.

However, I wasn't allowed to play organized sports, even though I was really good at soccer and could pretty much run circles around the boys, when playing "for fun" at the Hungarian Club.

With my sincerest apologies, in advance, to Mia Hamm's mother, it was a boy's sport and both my parents worked during the day AND cleaned office buildings, together, in the evenings, during most sporting practices, anyway.

It wasn't in their nature to, you know, ask for help.

Besides, they had me to help cook, clean and were grooming their daughter to be perhaps the best that they could have expected, at the time, given their upbringing.

Frankly, there are worse things (trust me, I've heard their stories) and my parents have since admitted, as their daughter, I've far surpassed any and all of their expectations (mine, too!)

They ARE terrific grandparents and have been there, for my kids, sharing in nearly every milestone and a few unexpected surprises, as well.

Funny backstory: after a long day of furniture shopping and helping my parents plan their move, we stopped for lunch and my father actually cheered, out loud, when my oldest got her period at McDonalds.

While, 30 years earlier, I got in trouble, BIG TIME, for leaving a pack of Kotex on the bathroom sink.

Still, I try and make it a point to thank them, whenever I can, for helping to make me the person, who I am…right now.

I am…the mother of 3 very spirited daughters, who are confident and, although they don't like each other, very much, sometimes (okay, a lot) there's unconditional love, in there, somewhere, albeit wet and perhaps even a little sticky.

Oh, and I also have a son, who likes to cook, bake and knows how to separate his laundry (okay, so my mother taught him) and…YES…I expect him to make someone a REAL good wife, most likely, some day.

Just, not my daughters.

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

July 1, 2011
Times Fun When You’re Having Flies

Not unlike many cultures, growing up, my twin brother and I spent a lot of time with our grandmother — especially, in the summertime.

Some of my fondest memories are of helping Nagy Mama cook Sunday dinner, or tend to her vegetable gardens, while listening to awesome stories "from the old country."

To be REAL honest, there were a few downright scary moments when I think she, along with others of the grandparent-ly-type, made up half of these so-called folktales, just to scare us kids into, you know, being good.

So…YES!…I have taken poetic license in re-telling some of these stories…to MY children.

Like, when exploring Uncle John's and Aunt Cheryl's farm, looking for freshwater crawfish (WHAT!?!?) apparently, Jersey's got 'em, who knew?

Aaaand, finding this little dude, instead, then telling my kids that…YES!…it is most definitely a wishing frog .

Which, upon closer inspection, he (or, she???) was obviously ready, willing and seemed to be quite comfortable, actually, in granting us audience, big or small.

Ahhhhhh…but, there IS a catch…you have to catch him, first.

Then…and ONLY then…can you make your wish.

Unless, you find a tall, dark and really, really brave mom-type blogger (preferably, descended from a long line of warrior princesses) to, you know, do it, for you.

Because, contrary to what the Grimm Brothers may have told you, it's really bad juju to kiss a frog (see disclosure, below.)

Go ahead, make a wish (you know you want to) but, don't say I didn't warn you…OH!…and you're welcome!!!

Disclosure: Just so you know, this blog post is for entertainment purposes, ONLY. I am in no way advocating the kissing of frogs. In fact, it's probably a REAL bad idea, as some frogs can give humans tapeworm cysts and salmonella poisoning. (See also: EWWWW and GAG ME WITH A SHOVEL!!!!) It's okay, though, because I didn't really kiss him/her, made sure to wash my hands (before and after) and, truth be told, the frog didn't look too happy about the idea, either. SHEESH!!!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

June 27, 2011
The Neglected Side of My Kids’ Family Tree

When my son was in the 4th grade, I asked my parents if they'd be interested in speaking to his class about what it was like to have immigrated to America.

This year, they were excited to be invited back to Heritage Day by Hope's 4th grade teacher, who heard them speak a few years ago and was hoping they'd share their experiences with her class, as well.

This time, I was a little concerned about their being able to go through with it.

To be honest, physically, mentally, emotionally, my parents are in a very different place (who isn't, right?) they have their good days and bad days — not to mention, down right sucktastic times when they can no longer hide the pain from their faces — so, I didn't make any promises and just hoped for a good day.

It was a REAL good day.

In fact, I'm seriously considering taking on a managing role and hitting the public speaking circuit with these two: they are SUCH good tawww-kuhs (or, tock-kerrrrzzzzz, if you're from Hungary!)

My inlaws, not so much.

My mother-in-law suffers from trigeminal neuralogia, has for years, to the point where the simple act of eating, drinking, talking and even smiling, causes her debilitating pain.

Married to their son, for nearly 21 years, I feel it safe to say that it probably hurts my father-in-law, even more. Dad grew up outside of Boston (or, if you're from Boston, then Bah-ston) so, I really do appreciate his strong New England sensibilities and his wicked sense of humor (dry as it is) especially, on a good day, when my mother-in-law is, you know, not hurting.

I don't blog about my in-laws, much. The fact that either one of them might be reading this, right now, is probably making my father-in-law, you know, itch and I'm really sorry about that.

Because, we ALL have learned to enjoy each others company (yes, on purpose!) and, although we may not always agree, let alone, get a word in edgewise (sorry, Grandpa!) my inlaws are an important part of our family's story, as well.

IN OTHER WORDS: Yesterday was a REAL good day, too.

Consider yourselves blogged, Mom and Dad (you're welcome!!!)

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

June 20, 2011
3,650 Days

As a mom of a 17, 15 and 12 year-old, other than scraping teeth on utensils, or chewing and speaking at the same time (shiver!) things don't bother me as much, as they did, when ALL 4 of my kids were in single digits…at the same time (double-shiver!)

But, this kid…right here…just turned 10 today and, well, I'm still having trouble wrapping my head around the fact that my oldest is now a legally licensed driver.

Or, that my middle girl is turning 16 at the end of this year and how much older than 15 that sounds, right about now.

Cape May 2011

Never mind, that my son's next birthday will mark the "Holy Hannah Montana what do you mean we have 3 teenagers in the house," point in our lives where my husband, Garth (not his real name) and I won't be able to use each of my pregnancies as a time line, to remember stuff, for very much longer.

Cape May 2007

Like, how this post is supposed to be about Hope's 10th Birthday and here I am, going on about her siblings and, well, that's how it goes, when you are the youngest, right?

But, this kid…right here…makes us laugh AND cry (especially, whenever she feels the need to interject herself in a conversation and correct one of us, which is often) like no one else we know (she's usually right, btw!)

Although, sometimes Hope will swear that she is ALWAYS last and that no one EVER listens to her, she has single-handedly managed to claim an especially squishy spot in each of our hearts.

Because, Hope IS a mashup of ALL that is good in our lives at the moment and, now that she's crossed-over to double digits, too (SOB!) I can't think of a better reason to celebrate, than this:

From Day 1 to Day 3,650 (or, 3,652.42199, including, leap year) there is and always will be ONLY one Hope — a.k.a. Queen of the Cat Daddy.

Happy 10th Birthday, Hopey!

P.S. After careful consideration, I've decided to surprise Hope and take her to get her nails done after school, today. I understand, she's only 10 (see above) but, it's the ONLY thing on this kid's birthday list and, considering I'm her mother, it's really not a whole heck of a lot to ask, is it?

P.P.S. Besides, she's MY kid…soooooooo…pppfffbbbllltttt!!!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

June 16, 2011
And if you voz to zee my Iriz…

Pardon me, while I tap into my Hungarian roots, here, but I love this time of year, minus the wet.

Some of my favorite flowers are blooming, RIGHT NOW, most of which we adopted from my parent's garden, before selling the house they spent 30+ years, rebuilding, literally, from the ground up.

It was just too much for them.

After 7 years of successfully negotiating dozens of hurdles that life continues to throw at them, my parents are still making beautiful things happen, in the dirt.

It's in their blood.

I've read that there are over 200 varieties of Iris (Irises?) but, that pretty little thing, there on your left, grows right outside our front door and, well, it just makes me smile…BIGTIME.

Aaaaand, that, right there, izzzzz a verrrrry gut ting!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

May 25, 2011
“Man”ifest Those Post Its, My Son

Glen is 12, going on boyteen and, being raised in a house, filled with females, he's grown used to navigating through a raging sea of hormones.

Also, rooting through an endless supply of feminine products, because, well, there has GOT to be a roll of toilet paper, in there, somewhere, DAGNABIT!

On the other hand, our house seems to be a breeding ground for random pieces of bar soap and I guess we could always recycle them into something fun and useful…but…EWWWW!

Aaaanyway, all bathroom issues aside (you're welcome!) my son remains light-hearted about growing up in a testosterone-ly-challenged environment…mostly.

Although, I do make a point of reminding him, that he is the ONLY person, in this house, who does NOT have to share a bedroom (doorless, as it is) with anyone.

So, I was upstairs helping my son put away his summer clothes (wishful thinking, I know) the majority of which do NOT fit, so we made a quick job of it, by the way (UGH!) when, a giant dust bunny rolled out from underneath his bed and scared our socks back to their original color.

Apparently, his version of "clean your room," is slightly different from mine, by definition (i.e. picking your clothes up from off the floor is clean enough) I blame his sisters.

One by one, we took stuff off, from on top of some other stuff, moved more stuff and, DANG, the boy REALLY didn't have as much room as, you know, I led everyone, here, to believe….sorry.

"Can we put any of this stuff in the garage sale?"

[shiver]

I know, I hate garage sales, too. Still. We need the room and he wants a new skateboard, so on and so forth.

"Sure, if you're ready to let it go."

It's not like when they were younger, when I waited until they were in school to get rid of stuff (sorry guys!)

Besides, I still remember feeling MORTIFIED when my mom found AND read my diary and, well, I really, really don't want to go there.

"Maybe we could move things around a bit, too."

Since, you know, Glen was at school, the last time I changed his room around, by myself…WHAT?…he was still in single digits, at the time (I think!)

FLASH FORWARD: 3 hours later (for real, I checked!)

TAH-DAHHHH…I helped Glen create his very own official man cave…please disregard the hearts and flowers border…it used to be my room…B.G. (before Glen) and, well, life is good, once again…or, at least, this one rainy weekend.

I took some clean clothes up this morning and saw that he's since included a bunch of post its on his mirror.

Upon closer inspection, I realized that it was his version of a vision board and, well, suffice it to say, we got to talking about a lot of stuff, in those 3 hours and, even though I would LOVE to show you, it's not my place to tell you.

Okay, just one: Stay focused.

I think it's a boy thing, but also admitted that, some adults, even parents (ahem!) have difficulty, dealing with too many distractions, so on and so forth.

[taking an even closer look]

Aaaand, there's this one: Get more Axe gel and deodorant!

It's okay, anyone who's raising a boyteen already knows why that particular "post it" was being referenced to, in the short term, of course!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

May 23, 2011
Life Balance, Take 17
Yesterday, we attended an art show, held at a local bank, supporting art in schools, featuring two of Holly's pieces.

You can't really tell from my cell phone, however the majority of this pen and ink drawing is stippled, with tiny little dots.

I remember, because I can still hear the, "…dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot…" of her tapping the pen well into the night.

The same with this one,"…dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot…" which explains the permanent dent in the poor girl's right index finger.

This piece, however, is still her favorite, she says, because it's the first, of many she's created (dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot) taking inspiration from her own life, rather than that of another artist.

It's her vision…of herself…and, well, my inner-17-year-old totally relates to the juggling act going on in her head.

I mean, I am her mother.

As her mother?

To be honest, it made me a little sad to think, man, that still seems like A LOT of pressure, doesn't it?

Even more sadly, I started to over-analyze stuff, in my own head, like:
- Why is she putting bills above love?
- She's only 17.
- Perhaps she meant budget?
- Great, now she won't want kids.
- Can I blame her?
- No, I'm her mother.
- Should a 17 year old be thinking of this sort of stuff?
- I never did.
- Did I?
- Apparently not, see first bullet.
- Why aren't there any more foot holds?
I did ask her about the bills thing, considering that she may (or, may not) have read my last post.

That's when….

Warning: you're about to enter a proud mom-type blogging moment and, if this sort of stuff makes you itch, I don't blame you. However, considering that I am her mother, stuff like this just seems all the more amazing, you know, so indulge me this one time, okay?

….she quickly pointed out that the closest thing to her heart is family.

"Read from the bottom up, not the top."

TAKEAWAY: Seems we're ALL well passed refrigerator art and graduating into deeper, smarter waters, now.

[second glance]

GAH…quick, someone throw me a dingy, PLEASE!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
May 20, 2011
Nothing Beats a First Snot-Swapping!
My husband, Garth (not his real name) attended a business-related event, last night (yes, without me, go figure) so, the kids and I were on our own for dinner (codeword: pizza) and then settled in to watch one of my most favorite movies of all time.

All 3 of my girls were absolutely enthralled with the idea of 50 First Dates and sort of fell a little in love with Adam Sandler's character, as he attempted to make Drew Barrymore's character fall in love with him…every day.

My 12-year-old son, however, thought Rob Schneider's performance as pure genius, of course.

"Didn't you say you dated a guy like that, once, Mom?"

Long story, short (you're welcome) no, it's not the first time we've watched this movie together and yes, yes I did, although he had both his eyes, the dude was missing a couple of teeth and wore Elmer's glue, instead of hair gel, don't judge.

"What was your first kiss like?"

"Well, his gums were a little slippery and his hair kept poking me in the eye."

[eyes go wide]

"No, NOT HIM and EWWWW, I mean with Daddy?"

I knew what she meant. After approximately 8 years worth of no sleep, trust me when I tell you messing with teenagers is AWESOME!

"Actually, I don't remember."

Yes I do. But, seeing as my oldest girls are well within acceptable dating range (mine, not my husband's) they don't need to know, right?

"I do, I do!"

My 9 year-old, however, was born old and, well, being the youngest of 4 just makes having to explain the birds and the bees stuff a whole lot easier, you know?

"You sneezed snot all over him, right?"

Not quite.

Even longer story, shorter (seriously, you should be thanking me) here's a quick synopsis:
- We met on a blind date.
- Went to the movies.
- Movie turned sad.
- I cried.
- Movie turned sadder.
- I sobbed.
- Clearly, they called it Dead Poet's Society for a reason.
- I blew snot.
- Garth (NHRN) handed me his handkerchief.
- HONK!
- Tried to hand it back to him.
- Told me to keep it.
- I was hooked.
- The end.
2 months later, he proposed. Garth (NHRN) and I were married 13 months after our first date and, well, 4 kids later, suffice it to say we've both sort of grown comfortable with each other's snot.

"Do you still have the handkerchief?"

[frowns]

"Ummmmm…I don't think so."

[one beat, two beats]

"Good, because that would just be SOOOOOOO weird!"

Yes, yes it would and apparently, according to my kids, even for me, go figure.

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
May 13, 2011
Because, Kindess Really DOES Matter

As parents (tired, wigged-out, sleep-deprived, frazzled and frustrated as we may seem) my husband, Garth (not his real name) and I continually try to teach our kids to, you know, do the right thing.

It's not easy.

Trust me — having been involuntarily drafted to the receiving side of some pretty crappy interceptions, from folks coincidentally resembling the wrong end of a horse — I know.

What, you too, isn't it ironic, totally stinks, too, right?

Still, every now and again, a person comes along, most likely when you least expect it and…WHAM!…reinforces the urge to become a lifelong member of the human race, through a random act of kindness.

Even a simple one, like, after complaining about the rash of winter storms, ripping the h-e-double-hockey sticks out of your beloved American flag (my father has flown one since as far back as I can remember…yes, THAT long) followed by a synopsis of your entire life's story (he can't help it; the man's a storytellah!) and, thinking that you've lost your audience, as she ducks out of the room and runs for cover, then, feeling a gentle tap on your shoulder and receiving the gift of a new flag, from a brand new friend.

That, my friends, will produce tears and make a man's face fold up and fall right in on itself.

"Thank you, SO MUCH!"

Personally, I find the sensation quite exhilarating, I hope it lasts!

You're turn: did you know May is National Military Appreciation Month? According to NMAM.org, there are at least a dozen easy ways to support our military, the easiest one being:

WHEN YOU SEE A PERSON IN A MILITARY UNIFORM, SHAKE THEIR HAND AND SAY, "THANK YOU FOR SERVING OUR COUNTRY"

My kids and I did and, well, it felt AWESOME!!!

There are 27 more chances (including today) to thank a soldier and, don't worry, you STILL have plenty of time.

Go ahead, I'll wait.

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

More Stuff We Like: Recharge Our Troops With the Help of Operation Gratitude

May 4, 2011