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  • Teenagers, You Goth To Love Them!

    One of the BIGGEST fallacies you'll ever hear about parenting teenagers…IMHO, as a parent of teens, four times over, maneuvering through waves of hormonal and emotional angst for the last 9 years…both theirs AND mine…is the popular belief that parents of teens are entirely responsible for their children’s behavior.

    That is SO not true! I am mostly responsible for my teens behavior, but not entirely.

    Like adults, teenagers have their own agenda and many times (okay, mostly) it involves doing exactly the OPPOSITE of what their parents would do in almost any given situation and, well, it's a part of growing up.

    Hope: I'm going to go with Holly and pick Heather up from work!

    Unless you happen to be 13 years-old AND your 3 siblings happen to be older than you…well then…I am most assuredly responsible for her behavior…entirely.

    Me: Hang on, let me see your face!

    Something you may or may not know about me: I don't have a very good poker face and will undoubtedly be the MOST popular person at the Texas Holdem table. Also, the poorest.

    Hope: What's wrong with it?!?

    However, after 21 years of parenting, you think I would know better, right?!?

    Me: Nothing, just stay in the car and try not to scare anyone!

    Nope!!! Judging by the way her shoulders dropped as she walked away from my desk, not my best parental moment.

    I am, however, a Professional Dork and totally comfortable with calling out myself for being an asshole — except for this one time.

    Holly: Was that REALLY necessary?!?

    My oldest was more than happy to take on THAT job.

    Me: I'm not happy about her wearing THAT much makeup.

    Now this is where my middle girl would remind me about the time she went through her Goth stage and be all over me about how I was NOT helping my youngest with building her self-esteem…if my middle girl had been home when this all was going down, I mean…but Holly was kind enough to take on THAT job, as well.

    Holly: Yes, but you're not helping her confidence any.

    See what I mean?

    Glen (shivering): EEESH!!!

    My son was sitting right behind me, playing his video game and making it clear that he wanted NO part in this conversation, until the girls left the house.

    Glen: She's sooooo pretty, why does she want to hide it behind ALL that make up?!?

    And you know what? I started to brain-vomit ALL the stuff that SHOULD have been said to my 13 year-old:

    • It's hard to be the youngest
    • Feels sort of like getting lost on a crowded street
    • Standing out from the crowd
    • Finding her own identity
    • Being comfortable in her own skin
    • And if that means wearing black lipstick…so be it

    Except I was saying
    ALL of it to my 16yo son.

    Me: And now she HATES me!

    Aaaaaaaand, flashing my parental insecurities like a bead-hungry and slightly drunken reveler on Mardi Gras.

    Glen: She doesn't hate you, she just doesn't like you very much, right now.

    Did I mention my teens are WAY smarter than me?!? In fact, I think maybe I've learned more from my teens these last few years as their mom than…well…let's just say, they've been doing most of the adulting, lately.

    Soooooo, I thought to myself…SELF!!!…what would teens do?!?…WWTD?!?…I texted her an apology.

    Apology TEXTED!

    Then I sat and stared at my phone. And sat. And stared some more. 

    Me (siiiiiiiiiigh): She's not answering me.

    Aaaaaaand, then my cell phone rang.

    Hope: I just saw your text, Momma….

    I'm not at liberty to share the rest of our conversation, but suffice it to say that I am forgiven and continue to remain an example of exactly how NOT to act…to my children AND other parents…you're welcome.

    Hope Is A Little Goth

    She's a little bit Goth, I'm a bit of a Dork…okay, A LOT! #nofilter

    In fact, she agreed to a selfie and insisted that I blog the moment…you know…as a reminder…in case I forget what an ASSHOLE I can be.

    Glen: Aaaaaaand, another tender moment brought to you by HORMONES!

    Teenagers, you gotta love them…I mean…because GOTH!!!…but I love them! Seriously.

  • Toiletexting: It’s A Real Problem – At Our House, Anyways!

    I started blogging in 2003 (with 4 kids home all under the age of 10) and I remember how most of my mom and dad friends (at the time) thought I was soooooooo crazy, because who has the time…really?!?

    Christmas 2002

    Photo of my Mom with her grandrugrats, taken circa 2003 B.P. (before picmonkey)

    They were right, of course! Those were some crazy-busy daze, my friends! On the other hand, blogging was (and still is) cheaper than therapy.

    And then Facebook happened (i.e. one of the top ten BIGGEST time sucks in internet history) and now we can ALL meet up for some coffee (or cawfee, if you're from Jersey), rather than wave at each other as we attempt to maneuver our way OUT of a school parking lot (I don't miss having to do school drop-offs and pick-ups anymore, NOT ONE BIT) and now we can discuss parent-type things…on the internet…in our pajamas…from the privacy of our own bathrooms and everything…YO!!!

    Looking back on it now, I kind of…sort of…almost…miss those crazy-busy daze…but living in a house with 3 teens and 2 other adults can get really weird, too!!!

    Most especially when one of them texts you…from the bathroom. 

    Teens Toiletexting Exhibit A

    I was warming up the car to take our youngest to school, because they haven't shoveled the bus stop (which is a whole OTHER blog post!) and, well, standing out in 13 degrees…with a wind chill of minus HOLY CRAP IT'S COLD…would make me have to go to the bathroom, too!

    Teens Toiletexting Exhibit B

    Moral of the Story: Teens are REAL DEEP sleepers and GAHDFUHBID one of them replaces the toilet paper!

    By the time I got back inside the house, Holly was already awake and had gotten her baby sister some toilet paper. And I would have been MORE pissed about it…if it weren't for the fact that…after getting out of the car and going back into the cold…I also had to go to the bathroom…like REAL bad, too…YO!!!

    [sound of crickets, sighing]

    Dumbass polar vortex, stupid weak bladder!

  • Wordless Wednesday: Unfrozen

    Bird on a cold frozen roof

    Take a real close look and you'll see: there's a bird up there on top of our chimney, getting a steam bath and a facial, I don't blame him/her.

    Linky Love Bytes: Wordless Wednesday HQ

  • There’s a Reason Why They Don’t Call It Womenpause

    Menopause. It's such an unattractive word. Let's be honest. What was the FIRST thing that came to mind when reading the word…MENOPAUSE…hot flashes…mood swings…old lady disease, maybe?

    No one really likes to talk about…ahem…she who shall not be named…and I don't blame anyone visiting with us right now…especially, for the first time…for wanting to click away, at this very moment.

    Because ain't nobody got no time to just sit around and think about how bad they feel about stuff…especially women…let alone, blog about it.

    On the other hand: I've just entered my 12th year of blogging, so my kids are much older than your average parent-type blogger, which means I'm now in the "as close to forgotten without actually getting there" demographic, but my writing philosophy has pretty much remained the same.

    I only share the stuff I would feel comfortable talking about…in front of my teens…or meeting someone, for the very first time.

    "Could you talk about THAT…in ANOTHER room…please?!?!"

    On the OTHER other hand: Apparently, I feel WAY more comfortable about talking in front of my teens…than my teens do…even though I wasn't really talking in front of them, when telling a good friend of mine one of my favorite transvaginal ultrasound stories…per say.

    "Nooooo, I can't say transvaginal five times real fast!!!"

    But, I try anyway.

    "We can STILL hear you!"

    Unfortunately for my teens, we live in a small house and my voice carries.

    Right. So. Point being (because I do have one, it's in here, somewhere…OH YEAH…moving on) I've even taken to discussing my girlie troubles in the most manly way I know how, in mechanical terms, to help our more squeamish blog visitors feel a little less uncomfortable.

    This is not one of those times.

    WARNING, FRANK DISCUSSION AHEAD: relating to the female reproductive system, while using proper medical terms, for both internal and external bodily functions, and everything.

    Okay, so while we wait for other folks to click away — I really don't talk about this stuff all that often, so I really do hope you consider coming back and please make sure to give the storm door a real good tug on your way out, because it sticks, that's what SHE said! — did I ever tell you about the time my uterus broke the ultrasound machine?!?!

    SLAM!!!!

    Now that we're alone. Last year, I was diagnosed with adenomyosis and there is nothing funny about this real painful, sucky part of perimenopause! Unless, you happened to be in the same room with me during an ultrasound and I'm feeling really, really uncomfortable about it.

    "We're going to do the regular ultrasound first."

    Because they make you drink A LOT of water before an ultrasound and, well, ultrasound technicians aren't exactly thrilled about the idea of you pee-ing…oh, sorry…I mean…urinating all over the examining room…either…still, I nearly kissed the ultrasound technician on the mouth, because I had to urinate THAT BADLY!

    "There's a gown in the bathroom, put it on and I'll be back in just a few minutes!"

    And when the ultrasound technicians tell you "There's a gown in the bathroom" what they really mean is look for the really long (and wide) sheet of pink glorified toilet paper.

    [sound of a really long and wide sheet of pink glorified toilet paper, ripping]

    ProTip: When it comes to womanly issues, it's easier if you just check your dignity in at the door.

    Now the next real sucky part about waiting for a transvaginal ultrasound…is the waiting…I'm not very good at waiting…for anything…I get bored real easy and start looking around the room for stuff to read.

    "Oh look, a uterus!"

    Because, 4 babies…I kind of…sort of…know what one looks like.

    "With a giant cluster of BLAH sitting…[squinting at ultrasound screen]…right there…OMG!!!…no WONDER this shiznit hurts SO MUCH…look at the size of that…wait a minute."

    This particular cluster of BLAH had what looked like tiny arms and maybe even…

    "OMG…IS THAT A HEAD!!!"

    The ultrasound technician came back into the room just in time to find me with my nose glued to the ultrasound machine and tracing what looked like…

    "Is…that…a…BABY?!?!"

    Did you hear it? The two remaining gray cells in my brain EXPLODE?

    Not My Scan

    BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!

    "Ummmm, that's NOT your ultrasound scan!"

    Aaaaand, I don't believe I've ever been SO HAPPY to be in the "as close to forgotten without actually getting there" demographic…as I am…RIGHT NOW…not to mention…I may be the only person who's ever giggled her way through a transvaginal ultrasound…yo!!!

    Moral of the Story: Don't go reading other people's ultrasounds!!!

    Aaaaaand to the person to whom this ultrasound scan truly belongs: CONGRATULATIONS!!!!…you have a beautiful uterus!!!

    [sound of crickets, chirping]

    Stupid ultrasounds, dumbass menopause.

    Updated to add: The doctor's office called me, while in the middle of writing this post, to give me the results of the ultrasound — not pregnant, but there's a cyst on my right ovary and I need to go back for yet ANOTHER transvaginal ultrasound in 6 weeks…you know…for extra BLAH!

    Can't wait to see whose ultrasound I'll be reading next…NOT!!!

  • Super-Nor’Easter-Winterstorm-Pain-in-the-Ass-Juno

    Big doings here in Jersey. We've got our first major snow event (a.k.a. ROYAL PAIN IN THE ASS, if you're from Jersey) creeping up our coast. The kids had an early dismissal (they've already canceled school for tomorrow), my husband's work closed early and, well, now we wait.

    20150126_123955-MOTION

    The snow started blowing sideways at lunchtime, but the blizzard doesn't really get here until sometime in the middle of the night, because who needs sleep, right?!?

    [raises hand]

    I have anxiety issues with snow — especially major P.I.T.A. snow events and most especially driving in it, here in Jersey, home of Asshats On Wheels!

    Middle girl: Don't worry Mom, Holly's taking me to work!

    Now that we have a kid driving (and two more driving, this spring/summer) the panic that sets in…whenever I hear the words…"major…"snow"…and…"event"…used in the same sentence…goes way beyond the fact that I do NOT do snow…very well…and, well, Eastern-European-types are not very good at keeping a straight face…AND…we pretty much suck at poker, too.

    Oldest girl: But driving in the snow doesn't bother me…as much as it does you… Mom!

    Truth. Which is why she is driving her sister to work and…you know…I'm not…sooooo, if it's gonna snow, I'm the one who's usually hoping Mother Nature drops a sh&tload of it, right on top of us!

    Mother Nature: A'ightden…BAM!!!

    So, I'm sorry…New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Maine…Super-Nor'Easter-Winterstorm-Pain-in-the-Ass-Juno is ALL my fault!

    The boy: I'm sooooo nervous about this storm!!!

    And I seemed to have transferred my fears, onto my 16 year-old son.

    Me: Bah, we slept through worse storms, it's gonna be okay!

    And by we, I mean my son — the boy can sleep through almost anything, seriously.

    The boy: Nooooo, WHAT IF IT DOESN'T SNOW and WE HAVE TO GO TO SCHOOL?!?!

    [GASP!]

    Me: Oh, the hor-ruh!

    He's got mid-terms, this week. Enough said.

    [sound of crickets, laughing, from all the way in Flah-rid-duh]

    Stupid #snowmaggedon15, dumbass Juno. 

  • PLEASE Don’t Call It A Sweet Sixteen Party!

    My son is turning 16, next Friday. SIXTEEN!!! The difference between his turning 16, as opposed to my two oldest daughters having crossed that bridge…with very little pomp and circumstance, other than a group sleepover…YAY!!!…while my 13 year-old daughter is already clipping through fashion magazines for prom dress ideas…WOW!!!…is that the boy insists his turning 16 is really not ALL that big of a deal.

    Gamer Glen

    Guess what he wants for his birthday?!? G'head, I'll wait!!!

    Glen: I have to tell you about something my friends and I did in school.

    Aaaaaaaand, here's where being a mom of a teenager (for the last 9 years) comes in REAL handy.

    Me: [blank stare]

    Rather than jumping to conclusions (which is the only form of exercise I seem to be getting, these days) and imagining the worst possible things my son and his friends could have done, to want me to hear it from him first…because TEENAGERS…I've learned that's it's probably a real good idea to just…you know…shut up and listen.

    Glen: This kid invited us to a party.

    Still shutting up and listening.

    Glen: He's a special needs kid, it's his birthday, but we're not sure how we feel about going.

    This is the part where my brain nearly exploded and it took ALL of my strength (mental AND physical) to not want to revisit the last almost-sixteen years of parenting my son, because clearly I'm NOT doing it right.

    Me: What do you mean, you're not sure how you feel about going?

    My husband and I have been especially mindful of our childrens' need to be able to understand and acknowledge empathy, however, our parenting doesn't always necessarily translate well outside of the home…because PEER PRESSURE!

    Glen: We want to go, but for the right reasons.

    So I asked him for their reasons:

    • Birthday Boy visits everyone's lunch table, for a few minutes, every day.
    • On this particular day, he invited each of the kids to his birthday party.
    • He had a list of 21 kids (TWENTY ONE!) who accepted his invitation and said they would go…and then as soon as Birthday Boy left their table…they whispered to each other how…nah…they really weren't going.
    • Throughout the day, my son and his friends were asking around, you know, to see who was going (or not) to Birthday Boy's party.
    • None of them expressed any interest in actually going.

    And the number one reason why my son and his two best friends actually went to Birthday Boy's party:

    • How would YOU feel on your birthday…if no one showed up…seriously?!?

    Not including my son and his two best friends, four other kids were there and they ALL had a really great time — especially, Birthday Boy!

    Don't get me wrong. This is not a post about how I feel my son is better than your son (or daughter) and, quite frankly, the boy is especially gifted at driving his father and I bat-shit-crazy…more often than not…trust me.

    Glen: You can blog about it, if you want to.

    But because people are always so quick to point out how (or when) a kid should (or shouldn't) act…especially if he or she is not your kid…it's nice to hear whenever a teenager is NOT driving his parents bat-shit-crazy.

    Glen: Because not ALL teenagers are like that.

    Aaaaaaand, my son thought it was good to know — me, too!

    Glen: But…PLEASE…don't call it a sweet sixteen party!

    Sometimes, these blog post titles just write themselves…YO!

  • One Flew INTO the Cuckoo’s Nest

    Today started out not so great, however, I was mentally prepared for it (living with 3 teens, a 20-something-year-old and not sleeping very well, having agonized over ALL the things, last night), because there's always a fair amount of crazy going on at our house and I am a fully-functional worry wart.

    Heather: Holly has an interview, so you're taking me to work, right?

    There's a long and very convoluted story of why Heather doesn't have her driver's license, yet. It's not my story to tell. Suffice it to say, spring cannot come quick enough.

    Me: Yup!

    [looks out window]

    BAH!, it's snowing like crazy.

    Because I'm a…BAH!!! It's snowing like crazy!!!…sort of driver. Then the car broke down and then something broke in my head. You know, the type of broke that makes your nose run, while you stare at absolutely nothing, and a long line of spit starts to form…from your chin…to your chest.

    Or am I the only one who has broken head, runny nose and spit-forming-from-your-chin-to-your-chest-type moments?

    So, yeah, I was feeling very, very sorry for myself, when I heard the bird hit the backdoor.

    BONK!!!!!

    Heather: OH NO, IS IT DEAD?!?

    My middle girl was working from home (because the car broke and then MOM'S HEAD BROKE!) and we both just stood at the back door, staring at this poor little bird, lying on its stomach with its legs all splayed out and its face stuck in the snow.

    Me: Well, its legs are moving.

    But the poor bird seemed to be having trouble lifting its head from out of the snow.

    Me: Maybe it just knocked the wind out of itself.

    I know…I personally would've been all…HOLY CRAP!!!…who put that door there, dammit?!?

    So, I reached down, picked it up, held the poor thing in my hands and stroked the top of its head…while the snow dripped from its beak…in a light shade of pink.

    Heather: Look, Mom is being all Snow White.

    Not really, I was wearing pajamas, but it was snowing.

    Me: He's breathing a bit funny, but his eyes are open, I don't want to scare it.

    I wiped the snow from the back step and gently placed him down.

    Me: We'll just have to let nature take its course.

    I mean, it's a bird. Birds don't live that long, anyway. Right? Flying into stuff or getting eaten by something bigger. What are you going to do? It's survival of the fittest.

    Me: FRIG THAT!

    I grabbed some lint from the dryer (there's always plenty to share!) and placed it under the bird.

    Me: There, now his belly won't be cold.

    The bird was still awake, but not moving much, besides flexing his tail feathers.

    Heather: Maybe we can put him in a basket and hang him up high, so the hawk doesn't get him.

    GOOD IDEA!!! I grabbed one of the baskets from the kitchen, lined it with some more dryer lint, gently placed the bird inside and hung the basket right outside the backdoor.

    Basketfull of Bird

    Now, mind you, both Heather and I were running around the house…looking for just the right basket…and more lint…during this entire time…with the dog running right behind us…because BIRD!!! 

    And then Melisa called.

    Me: OMG! We're trying to save a bird!

    Melisa has visited with us a couple of times (most recently, this past October) so she's used to the crazy. Aaaaand she can pretty much follow along (for better or worse) whenever I crazy-talk.

    Safe and sound

    The poor bird…I couldn't just let it die…it DESERVES a chance to live…I'M GOING TO SAVE THIS BIRD, DAMMIT!!!…and she kept listening, because she is a good friend, like that.

    Heather: I think it's moving around!

    So she stepped outside to take a closer look…

    Heather: OH!!! It just flew away!!!

    Then something else broke in my head and I started crying into the phone. And then my daughter wanted to know why I was crying?

    Me: Because…[sniff-sniff]…I already started writing this blog post…[wiping nose]…in my head…[sniff-sniff]…with two alternate endings.

    I like this ending MUCH better, because that's EXACTLY how my mind works and welcome to my brain!

    Melisa: IT'S A SIGN!!!!

    Aaaaand, then my day started to get MUCH better.

    Me: Now If only I could come up with a good title!

    Blog post title inspiration, courtesy of Melisa.

  • The Gifts That Keep On Giving!

    I loved whenever my kids would bring their school projects home and, considering we've had a kid in preschool, grade school, middle school or high school since 1996, we have certainly collected a fair amount of "pretties" over the years.

    Every now and again, I'll find a construction paper greeting card tucked deep in between some books or reach for a pen and grab one with a plastic daisy (my favorite flower) taped to the end of it and I'll remember…ohhhhh, yeah…this was the Mother's Day card Glen made me and that is the pen that Hope gave me one Christmas.

    Clay pots

    In fact, these 4 little clay pots are the first thing I see…every morning…stacked by oldest to youngest, from top to bottom, all dusty and everything.

    Ask me what we ate 2 nights ago and I'll give you an epic………[blank stare]……..oh, wait a minute…I just blogged it, like yesterday…haaaaaaaaang…onnnnnnnnnn…okay, it was my favorite go to family meal: Hungarian Beef (Pork, Lamb or Chickent) Stew!

    [blink-blink, blows bangs out of eyes, blink-blink]

    Soooooo, point being (because I really do have one) I've got a real super-selective memory.

    Me: Can I use your really pretty tea-infuser cup?

    I've been trying to cut down on my coffee consumption. That's right, I said it! Because I've recently got hooked on drinking loose tea (I blame Melisa!) and I couldn't remember where in the heck I put my little plastic infuser, but found my daughter's really prettiful tea cup with lid and everything!

    Holly: You mean, YOUR really pretty tea-infuser cup?

    …….[blank stare]……..

    Holly: I gave it to you for Christmas, 3 years ago!

    My prettiful almost new tea infuser cup

    Ohhhhhhhh, isn't that niiiiiiice?!?………[blank stare].…….AAAAAAAAND I LOVE IT!!!

  • Pörkölt: Hungarian Beef (Pork, Lamb or Chicken) Stew

    So, yesterday I shared my secret stash of REAL paprika (seriously, I totally felt as if it should have been illegal) today I'm super-excited to be able to post one of my favorite go to Hungarian family recipes – Pörkölt, made in a pressure cooker!

    I needed to wait for it to finish cooking and then make sure to make it look all Pinterest-worthy and stuff, but mostly because I'm a little afraid of the pressure cooker and it sort of needed my full attention.

    Good news is, the Pörkölt came out fantastic and I didn't blow anything up!

    Porkolt - Hungarian Pork Stew

    I know, riiiiiiiiiiight?!?!?!

    First, a quick Hungarian lesson: Pörkölt is a stew made from beef, pork, chicken, lamb…you name it and you can probably make Pörkölt out of it…and it's what most folks mistake as Hungarian Gulyás.

    Hungarian Gulyás is actually beef soup made with carrots, potatoes and spaetzle-type dumplings: you can find my family's recipe for REAL Hungarian Gulyas, here!

    So, on with the Pörkölt! With my sincerest apologies in advance, because I've learned to cook adding the amount of ingredients "by eye" and am really bad at actual measurements.

    Hungarian Pork Stew

    Ingredients:

    • For this Pörkölt, I whacked up a 3 lb. pork roast into stew-sized pieces.
    • 3 tablespoons olive oil
    • 1 chopped onion
    • 1 chopped green pepper (or cubanol pepper)
    • 3 cloves of garlic, chopped (or 1 1/2 teaspoons of garlic powder)
    • 3 tablespoons of Hungarian Paprika
    • 1/4 teaspoon red pepper flakes (optional)
    • 1 28 oz. can of crushed tomatoes
    • I used half of a 32 oz. container of vegetable stock (so 16 ounces)
    • Salt, Pepper to taste

    Putting it ALL together:

    • Heat the olive oil in a dutch oven or a deep pot
    • Saute the chopped onion and green pepper for about 5 minutes
    • Add the garlic, paprika and stir for about a minute
    • Add the crushed tomatoes and vegetable stock
    • Add salt and pepper to taste (before you add the meat!)
    • Stir in your meat
    • Add the crushed pepper flakes (optional)
    • Cook covered for about 2 hours, or until the meat is nice and tender or you could use your pressure cooker instead and get it done in about 30 mins.
    • Serve over elbow macaroni (or YOUR favorite pasta) 

    P.S. This recipe would comfortably feed 8 people.

    P.P.S. You can substitute any meat you'd like.

    P.P.P.S. The measurement for the liquids can be adjusted to the amount of meat you have on hand (that's what SHE said!) and all you would need to do is make sure that the liquid covers the meat (see previous parenthesis!) completely.

    P.P.P.P.S. If using a pressure cooker, please pay attention to the pressure cooker instructions, because I am ABSOLUTELY TERRIFIED OF THE PRESSURE COOKER!!!!

    Jó étvágyat (Hungarian for good appetite, pronounced yo-ate-vadj-yat)!

    ©2003 -2015 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything! Also, I'm attempting to blog EVERY DAY in 2015, I hope it lasts! #TFH365 

  • Sharing My Secret Stash of REAL Hungarian Paprika.

    My parents worked two (sometimes three) jobs — we lived in a 4-room apartment, upstairs in my Grandmother's house, at the time — so my brother and I grew up eating a lot of t.v. dinners — remember those?!?

    The salisbury steak with the chocolate pudding-ish cake was my favorite. Or was it the dinner that came with the hot apple lava? I forget. Either way, I almost NEVER ate the veggies — they were just too squishy for, my taste.

    Aaaaanyway, dinner planning during week nights and Saturdays (a.k.a. scrub the apartment, from top to bottom, or until everything smelled of bleach day) was kept real loosey-goosey.

    Sundays, however, we (my grandmother, mother and I) would spend the entire morning cooking Hungarian food — it was my favorite day! We still celebrate Sunday supper with my parents, whenever we can.

    Now that my kids are older, and their palates have matured enough to believe that eating anything other than chicken fingers will most likely NOT kill them, it's fun to revisit some of my favorite childhood dishes – especially, whenever I'm running late with putting dinner together (which is most nights, sorry guys!) and I've pretty much conquered my fear of the pressure cooker.

    Ummmmm, okay I'm still a little afraid of the pressure cooker.

    Tonight, I was running late with getting dinner started. SURPRISE!!! Even though my husband, Garth (not his real name) was nice enough to remember to take a pork roast out of the freezer for me, this morning.

    Pork roast takes at least 90 minutes to…you know…roast…and it was already way past hungry o'clock, so I busted out the pressure cooker and whacked up the pork roast into stew-sized pieces to make one of my favorite meals on the fly – Pörkölt!!!

    Pörkölt is a stew (made from beef or pork) and what most folks mistaken for Hungarian Gulyas — you can fine my family's recipe for REAL Hungarian Gulyas here!

    Then I reached for the paprika…in a secret little place I keep it…hidden far behind the other herbs and spices…and I couldn't help but feel as if I were hiding something…you know…illegal.

    Aaaaaaand, not because I keep it in a special tin!

    Hungarian Crack

    …OR that it's also tie-wrapped in a plastic baggie!

    Hungarian Crack 2

    Not for nothing, but paprika NEEDS to be stored in a cool, dry place, away from sunlight AND my aunt in Hungary can only afford to ship so much…every few months…and I share the delivery with my mother (a.k.a. our domestic supplier)…because REAL HUNGARIAN PAPRIKA, you guys!!!

    [sound of crickets, chirping]

    Tell you what, I'll share the recipe with you tomorrow, because I've been typing this blog post for…I'm not sure how long…and I forgot to put the danged timer on for the pressure cooker.

    Besides…GAWDFUHBID!!!…I share something that is NOT Pinterest-worthy…right?!?

    RIGHT?!?

    [go home crickets, you're drunk]

    Riiiiiiiiiight.

    Stupid pressure cooker, dumbass crickets.

    ©2003 -2015 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything! Also, I'm attempting to blog EVERY DAY in 2015, I hope it lasts! #TFH365