This Full House Archive

Category: Who’s Parenting Who?

My Brother, The Soldier

The kids and I attended my twin brother's pinning ceremony and had the great honor of celebrating his recent promotion to Master Sargent, with the troops, on Friday afternoon.

Although, we were ALL very, very proud of him (Go Army!) my son, who wants to grow up to be just like Uncle Bud, was beyond thrilled to have been invited (thank you, Pam!) and, upon our arrival, was more than a little unnerved to find a room filled with soldiers, standing at attention, waiting for us to take our seats, in the front row.

Me, too!

"Ummmm…don't be nervous…remember they are just like your Uncle Bud!"

You see, although we ALL know how hard my brother has worked, not to mention, all the sacrifices he (and his wife Pam) has made, through the years, to get to this point in his military career (losing a kidney to cancer, along the way) to hear the same acknowledgements and accolades, from his superiors, well, yes, this was a very big deal, indeed.

Then, it was Steve's turn to speak and, even though I couldn't help but giggle at the way he kept rocking the podium, back and forth (just a little) I smiled, in affirmation, as the rest of the room was soon made privy to the light-hearted, funny little boy I grew up with.

"Phew, is it hot in here, or is it just me?!?"

Then, I was taken aback by his eloquence.

The way he acknowledged my parents as inspirations for ALL of their hard work, raising their children to be proud of their adopted country and for their strong sense of family; recognizing his wife as an equal for her sense of commitment and sacrifice; excelling even his own expectations and promising to work, just as hard, to gain the respect of his men.

As a parent, I understand how difficult it is to NOT worry about your child (no matter how grown they are) I believe this is the very first time we ALL saw Steve for the man he really is.

Aaaand, truth be told, I am so, SO HAPPY that my kids got the chance to celebrate my brother, the soldier, as well, you know?

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

May 2, 2011
This One Time, At Camp Poopy

Kids are on spring break, this week (note to spring: feel free to show up, anytime, now, thanks) and Hope, who has been looking forward to staying with her godparents, to work their iris farm, ran from the car, suitcase in hand and excitedly announced her arrival.

"I'm ready to spread manure!"

Yes, the kid loves nature THAT MUCH and I am not even kidding, when I tell you, it's ALL that we, her teacher, the kids in her class, our next door neighbor and the mail carrier, have been hearing about, for weeks.

Unlike her older sisters, she is not afraid to get dirty and I tease my son that she is actually a lot like what I imagine having a younger brother would be like, too.

Much to the delight of her godmother, who raised two boys and also happens to be a little bit crunchy…even before crunchy was cool…and often joked about not knowing what to do with a girl.

So, in my eyes, it sort of fits that fate bring these two together and, truth be told, makes my heart feel a little squishy, knowing that, when all else fails (i.e. my attempting to convince some therapist that my youngest daughter's childhood wasn't really all that bad) Hope will remember this one time, at Pittsgrove Farms.

When she helped spread manure and really, really liked it. Actually, I'm not sure what is on her hands and was, at the time, reassured by her godfather that they're really not going to make the kid spread manure…shhhhh…but, don't tell her, okay?

"Aunt Cheryl made applesauce pancakes, this morning!"

Uh-oh.

"You lucky goose!"

Wait for it.

"Mom made us ALL eat granola."

Yes, but we're having waffles…for brinner!!!

Note to spring: don't bother, I got this!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

April 20, 2011
Shoulda Asked the Baby Name Genie

The girls and I, along with my mom, were invited to a baby shower a few weeks ago and…uh…no…my son was not very happy about it.

"Why can't I go?"

[hands on hips]

"Because, it's for girls ONLY!"

My 9-year-old, however, was THRILLED…until…the part where they played what turned out to be some pretty fun baby shower games.

For example, to help break the ice, guests who liked the names their parents chose for them were asked to stand in the living room and those who, you know, unliked their name moved to the dining room.

My mother (a.k.a. Eva) and I happen to like our names and, even if we didn't, she and I were very happy to stay, right where we were and, you know, not have to lose our seats.

Besides, it was sort of fun watching my teenagers (a.k.a. Holly and Heather) freeze, then rock back and forth, indecisively, for once.

What?

I told them it was perfectly okay if they didn't like their names (eventually) and, since they are 17 and 15, that I would not be offended, in the least, seeing as, at this point in the game, they dislike most everything my husband, Garth (not his real name) and I say, or do, anyway.

My mother then tapped me on my shoulder, pointed toward the dining room and there was my youngest daughter (a.k.a. Hope) with her arms folded across her chest and standing, right there, in the front row.

"I wanted to be called Robin!"

The room burst into laughter (I have that affect on people, sometimes) and, well, shame on me for not listening to her, in the first place and the REAL funny thing is, Robin WAS on our list.

FLASH FORWARD TO YESTERDAY: After asking my son to take out the garbage for, like, the eleventeenth time, he just stood there, with arms folded across his chest, in the middle of the kitchen.

"WHAT?"

[frowning]

"You just called me Hope!"

Really?

"Which time?"

After hollering, for somebody, or anybody, to do something, after all these years, I sort of forget.

[hands on hips]

"My name is Glen!"

I knew that.

"How come my name doesn't start with an H, like the girls?"

Because, Heidi wouldn't have worked and I told him that there's a pretty neat story behind the reason why we chose the name, Glen (with one N only, please) but, I will save it for another blog post (you're welcome) also, Hunter Thompson was taken.

"I know, I know, it means a quiet place for salsa."

[grin]

"Actually, it's solace, Hope, not salsa."

[hands on hips]

"Actually, it's Robin!"

UGH!

"WHATEVER!"

Apparently, no one says whatever anymore and, I get it, as a parent of teens and tweens, the only thing hip about me is, you know, my hips….or, should is be are…I forget?

Morale of the Story: Picking out baby names is hard; having to explain it to your teens and tweens is even harder; just ask the Baby Name Genie!!!

Because, clearly, Ella Scarlett, Reese Delilha, Layton Maurice and Perla Danielle Thompson sound, you know, waaaaay hipper, right?

Fiiiiine, but try hollering those names, five times, real fast, go ahead, I'll wait.

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

April 13, 2011
Don’t Make Me Have to Use UPPERGROWL!

We're dog sitting for very dear friends of ours and, uh, no Doofus-Dawg is NOT happy and not just because Sassy enjoys sitting in his favorite chair, either!

Although, Sassy has stayed with us before, I swear, Doofus is still not finished getting over it, yet and I kinda, sorta think he's a little afraid of her, too. This time, however, she seems to have grown real attached to my son.

Sassy is at Glen's side, constantly, all weekend and even growled at my youngest daughter for tossing one of her game pieces, in frustration (okay, so maybe it was Hope who growled) but, I still thought she was really being, you know, sort of cute (the dog, I mean!)

Until, I cleaned up after dinner with the inlaws and came into the living room to find Sassy lying next to my husband, Garth (not his real name) IN MY SPOT and, when I tried squeezing in, next to them, well, this time, she really DID growl!

Yeah, I know, right? Still, you can't help but admire her, uh, self-determination and yes, I realize that she's just another dog with extreme territorial issues and epic gastronomic concerns (especially, when fed too much table food, or cheese…UGH!) on the other hand…I guess the same could be said about a lot of people (ahem) too.

So, who am I to judge, right?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Yep, it's going to be a looooong week. I hope Glen gets home, soon!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

April 11, 2011
Best to Worst Combinations of Children
Guess How We Ranked?
A friend of mine posted this link to an article on Facebook, yesterday, stating, “Want to be happy? have two daughters,” and, seeing as three out of four of my kids are, you know, hormonally-enthused (ahem) my first thought was, WOW, we must rank pretty-gosh-darned-high, for once, dagnabit.

Apparently, we do, in the worst possible way:
“BEST” TO “WORST” COMBINATIONS OF CHILDREN
1. Two girls
2. One boy and one girl
3. Two boys
4. Three girls
5. Three boys
6. Four boys
7. Two girls and one boy
8. Two boys and one girl
9. Three boys and one girl
10. Three girls and one boy <— WHOO-HOO, THIS IS US!!!
11. Two boys and two girls
12. Four girls
Of course, results are highly subjective, however, I was relieved to learn that parents, with four children of ANY gender, in general, found it harder, with meal times, mornings and the bedtime routines stated as being more difficult.

Well…DUH!…and I mean that in the most subjective way possible.

Long story, short (I know, too late, still) it brought to mind a pretty funny thing that happened with my son, the other night.

He was sort of annoyed with his sisters (no surprise there, right?) then, had a HUGE mental blow out with his dad and me (see last parenthesis) ran up to his bedroom and this is the part where he would have SLAMMED the door…if he had one.

Instead, he came back downstairs looking for…wait for it…A HAMMER!

[eyes go wide]

“Or, do you think this would break open if I bashed it on the ground?”

Apparently, he was rummaging through his stuff, found his old ATM-style-coin-bank-type-thingies and, well, I was just sort of happy he didn’t choose something a little more, you know, bashable.

“I’ll get it open for you.”

Because, I happen to come from a family of 2 kids (one boy, one girl) and can handle stuff like this better than my husband, Garth (not his real name) who has 4 siblings, which, does NOT even rank on the charts…understandably.

Also, my father was the king of “let’s just jimmy this sucker open!”

“But, I lost the combination!”

Having also inherited our habit of, you know, losing keys.

“Hand mommy that screwdriver, over there, would ya’?”

After a few minutes, I was able to get it open (after taking out the batteries, in order to kill…I mean…quiet the stupid alarm, of course) I then sat back and watched, quietly, with extreme prejudice, not saying a word, as my son carefully extracted its contents:

* One G.I. Joe figure
* Two quarters
* One stretchy man
* One Junior D.A.R.E. badge
* A picture of his 2nd grade class trip to Sandy Hook
That last one helped us date these treasures and I half-expected my 12 year-old to go all boyteen, on me, or something.

“You know, I can’t believe I thought any of this stuff would be SO important to me!”

Me. Still. Not. Saying. A. Word.

“Boy, was I stupid!”

Morale of the Story: 2 out of 3, 3 out of 4, whatever, one day, it just won’t matter as much, oh, and in this house, we don’t need no stinkin’ combinations, either!

Or, something like that.

“You should really blog about this, mom!”

Really? Can I?

“Yeah, so I can read it, for the next time I get MAD AT YOU for NOT HAVING any MORE BOYS!”

I rest my case!!!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
April 8, 2011
Where the Earth Meets the Sky
(YES, in Jersey!)

When my kids were younger, I used to love to take them to Monmouth Battlefield State Park and not because it's just down the road from the best gosh-darned apple cider donuts made in New Jersey, either.

Although, I do not miss those double-stroller days (okay, maybe just a little) I was a bit taken aback by bittersweet moments (okay, more like suffering a major heart squeeze) as they each fondly remembered the museum to be a little, you know, bigger.

I felt the same way (sort of) but, for many different reasons…four of them, to be exact.

Still, it was a good day and there's something about the openness of "the battlefield" that makes my kids want to go all, you know, feral.

To run free. Unrestrained and out of focus, yet knowing that they are well protected from the highways, that run within a stone's throw, on either side.

Oh, I'm not saying that every day is this pretty, or promise that the road ahead isn't filled with tons of goose poop, either.

There was this one time, however, on the battlefield, when we found the exact spot where the earth meets the sky.

And, well, I just love that, you know?

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

April 4, 2011
Hell. Handbasket. Two Tickets, Please.

I am a BIG believer in Karma — put it out there, you'll get it back and all that jazz — whatever, it's just a simple way of keeping my good vs. less than gooder side in check.

Unless, it's April Fool's Day and, well, then, all bets are off.

ME: Uh, we got about 4 inches of snow last night, but schools haven't called, so you might want to change into something a little warmer.

17 yo: Are you kidding me?!?

15 yo: You mean, I shaved my legs for nothing?!?

ME: Yes, I'm kidding.

15 yo: PHEW!

17 yo: You mean, there's no school?

ME: No, I mean it didn't really snow last night!!!

[eyes go wide]

HAH, APRIL FOOLS!!!!!

Snort. Cough. Wipes eyes.

Now, I totally understand how those with younger children would probably not think this to be very funny.

I merely considered pulling this same gag on my two youngest, for a fleeting moment, but thought better of it, for fear of being thrown into a whole other sort of purgatory and, trust me, you don't want any of that.

Also, wouldn't have worked as well with those of you living in an area where, you know, it's actually snowing.

GARTH (NOT HIS REAL NAME): You might want to warm your car up, it's snowing.

[eyes go wide]

If, however, you have teenagers, Garth (not his real name) or I will be more than happy to save you a seat!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

April 1, 2011
Doofus Domesticus vs Phasma Phasmatis

Exhibit A: Came home to find the cat's dish and cereal bowls neatly stacked in the living room.

Exhibit B: Where they were when I left the house, this morning.

Exhibit C: Doofus-Dawg avoiding eye contact which, clearly, is an indication that he's got something to hide….not to mention, he can reach the sink AND the stove…PINHEAD!!!

Truth be told, the fact that he neatly stacked the bowls, when he was done…you know…cleaning them…is sort of freaking me out…okay, more than just a little…or, maybe we have ghosts.

Either way, I wonder what it will take to get them to fold the laundry?

Since, you know, I can't get my kids to understand that the dish washer is dirty….DAMMIT!

On the other hand, I could just let the dog take care of it, seeing as he doesn't seem to mind licking the floors and vacuuming the crumbs off the carpets, either.

But, THEN what would I complain about?

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

March 30, 2011
Mom Blogging Pain Scale

My mom and I were talking and both happened to glance outside her kitchen window and watched, as my 9 year-old tried to get her 15 year-old sister, who was reading a book at the time, to play with her.

Judging by her stomping off and kicking her brother's scooter, it was pretty clear to the both of us that her attempts were, you know, unsuccessful.

"I think she caught us looking."

Because, the kid quickly turned and thought better about leaving the scooter in the middle of the cul-de-sac.

"She's going to kill me, that one is."

Okay, I know, yes I was being overly dramatic (sort of) but, after 17 years of raising kids (and killer dust bunnies) I'm pretty tired at this point in the game.

Does it show?

I fully expect that they (i.e. non-parental units living in my house) will figure this out, soon enough, especially once I finally get those iron bars mounted to their bedroom window(s).

"It's never easy, no matter how old your kids get."

My mother was right, of course (just like with most other things, as I've learned over the years) I swear, she's got this sixth sense about her.

It's like the woman knows what I'm thinking, or, at least, what she thinks I need to hear.

"Nope, you never stop being a parent."

How DOES she DO that?

Then, it hit me (as the most obvious things tend to do) like a smack to the forehead.

"Moooooooom, can you PLEASE do something about her?"

It's called validation and pretty much the reason why I started contributing to the blogging community, almost 8 years ago, in the first place.

"What would you suggest…hanging…crucifixion?"

My 15-year-old suggested that a burning at the stake to be more than sufficient.

Contrary to the latest blogging statistics and demographics, I chose to go outside and scooter, instead!

"Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!"

Un-motorized, even.

[sound of crickets]

Silly mom bloggers.

Edited to Add: I drew the Mom Blogging Pain Scale (not bad, eh?) but, the photo was taken by my 15 year-old and she doesn't know that I used it (yet) but, she will be okay with it, once she sees that I gave her full credit.

[heavy sigh]

Blogging used to be a lot easier, you know?

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

March 28, 2011
The Writing on the Back Door
You know when stuff you read, or something someone says, makes you think so hard, that your eyes begin to cross with concentration and then you clench your jaw in absolute frustration, until you finally give up and go all:

"Look, you trying to tell me something, or what?"

Me, either.

Quite frankly, I try not to read into stuff…too much…because, well, with 2 teens and 2 tweens in the house (yeah, I know, right?) my head hurts enough, already.

Like most of my mom friends — especially, those of us raising a bunch of raging hormones, that walk and talk, but refuse to tell you ANYTHING and dang if a person couldn't go blind, rolling their eyes like that — I have become somewhat of an expert at dodging emotional grenades.

Until, one of my kids drops the h-bomb.

"I hate my life."

It doesn't matter which kid says it, really, because the sad truth of it is, each of them have said it, at least once and did I mention my youngest is 9?

"Don't you dare slam that…"

SLAM!

She's got a wicked arm, that one, which reminds me, I should really look into signing her up for softball.

What?

I mean, she is the youngest and, well, empathizing with a mom friend, whose daughter recently turned hormonal, "Welcome to the dark ages."

I quickly reassured my friend that the black cloud will indeed lift, around the time our kids turn 12.

[knocking on wood until knuckles bleed]

I didn't bother mentioning the fact that they then become teenagers, because, heck, what do I know and the poor woman looked as if she needed a Tylenol, already.

SLAM!

I'm not even sure that their bedroom door is going to hold up (related: all 3 share 1 bedroom, enough said!) it's been a loooong week, you know?

Then, I walked into the den/laundry room (mostly, laundry room) and noticed the writing on the back door (Hope likes to make lists) and, well, I fully expected to find myself at the TOP of her s-list:
- Live your life your way not how someone tells you how to live
- There is a whole world everybody can see right in front of our faces
- Our planets can be very interesting things. Like love is one of the most important things in life.
- I have a dream that we will have peace in the world.
- You can have fun one day. You don't need a special electronic. Just be creative.
- When the sun sets and rises it goes up and down almost like life. Sometimes life can get bumpy like a road.
Okay, I may not be the brightest crayon in the box (more like a dusty gray, really) but, DAYUM, if my kids aren't trying to tell me something?

Or, maybe they're just trying to drive me crazy?

[crosses eyes, clenches jaw]

Yeah, right, anybody got any Tylenol?

© 2003 – 2011
March 25, 2011