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#BlogHer14: A puffy-eyed view of the real people behind the power strips and surge protectors.

It was exactly one week ago today, after boarding the first of two flights it would take for me to get to the 10th Anniversary BlogHer Conference in San Jose (because California is about as far away as you can get, from Jersey!), I thought I was going to vomit on my flip flops.

I blamed lack of sleep…a nervous stomach…finishing work well after my husband had fallen asleep…on the couch…for the last month…or two…with the dog…he also has a REAL nervous stomach…the dog, too.

This morning, after another unsuccessful night of readjusting to post-conference life, I read my first BlogHer '14 recap and felt that oh so familiar churning in the pit of my stomach.

Personally, one of my FAVORITE moments from this year's conference happened pretty quickly: the BlogHer '14 opening video: I am BlogHer, where bloggers show us what it means to be a community utilizing two of my favorite online mediums — in words and in pictures.

Sense of community, finding your tribe, being with your people — these catchphrases, in my opinion, are the very foundation of BlogHer and what organizers have continued to build on, the last 8 conferences I've attended, anyway.

Words are powerful, like that.

On the other hand: this is my 3rd conference actually working behind the scenes, so I feel it safe to say reading feedback that borders on personal and attacks the integrity of our work…(thanks for helping me with that sentence, Melisa)…well, excuse my Jersey…it's a friggin' punch in the gut.

Words have impact, like that.

On the OTHER other hand: what you may or may not know is many of the BlogHer team are bloggers and some of us have been a part of the blogging community for many years, too.

Many of us are also members of the BlogHer Ad Network; some of us have been from the very beginning **raises hand** and I'm pretty sure it's why I was hired in the first place — especially, when talking with brands about recruiting bloggers for their special events.

Blogging is complicated, like that.

Explaining the process wasn't always easy and there were mistakes made, for certain…(stupid Eventbrite!)…but now, misinformation is being tossed around like expletives on a hot summer night…(here, in Jersey anway!)…so, yeah, it's REAL tough not to take these sort of things to heart.

Moving on, it's no secret, rather than believing that there is a behind-the-scenes conspiracy…(that one is mine AND Melisa's)…that is meant to encourage a society based on exclusivity…trust me when I tell you, no there isn't.

These are real people…trying to do a good job…and, more importantly, do right by their community.

after visiting each and every conference attendee's blog and social media accounts, you guys sure can write about a lot of stuff.

Oh, and she probably looks a lot like this: still in pajamas, all glassy-eyed, wearing a matching set of heavy eye baggage and complimentary stress zits on her chin…YO!!!

©2003 -2014 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!

July 30, 2014
I expect they’ll be fighting over who gets to change “my” diaper, too!

making parenting look like a piece of cake since, never mind when!

A long time ago (i.e. about two kids in diapers, one in pull-ups and one losing her first tooth, ago) and way before I worked up enough nerve to go ahead and push "publish" on this old blog, a bunch of my mom friends and I would make a little extra diaper money by working with local marketing research companies and participate in consumer focus groups.

We were sort of like bloggers, but without blogs. Yeah. That's right. Bloggers without blogs. You heard it here, first.

Aaaaanyway, because we had a houseful of kids under the age of I don't remember anymore, we were real popular with the toy companies. And the toy companies were real popular with our houseful of kids, too.

Flash-forward I don't remember how many years: the phone rings and all four of my now teens and adult children will NOT do anything about it, until a robotic voice tells them to.

Call from…Focus…R…Us…

These guys haven't called us since forever ago, so I holler to let the machine get it which, if you have teenagers in the house then you probably already know, is totally unnecessary.

Call from…Focus…R…Us…

Parenting pro-tip: kids under the age of 10 will usually put themselves in charge of answering the phone, with or without your permission.

Beeeeeeeep…click.

They didn't leave a message, so now my teen and adult children are all like, who the heck is Focus-R-Us? Halfway into my explanation, they lost interest. Until.

"Remember the time when Papa came over to babysit and didn't know how to change Hopey's diaper?"

True story. My mom and dad used cloth diapers. My mom was in charge of changing the babies. My dad would take the diapers down to the laundromat and, considering I also have a twin brother, that's a lot of dirty diapers. Can you blame him?

"Seriously, Papa didn't know how to change a diaper?"

Cloth diapers, yes. These new-fangled disposable diapers, no. But, considering our youngest daughter waited until I left the house to surprise her Papa with a big load of stinky, he was willing to try.

Only, my 2 year-old son REFUSED to show him where the disposable diapers were kept.

"Yep, you made Papa look for them!"

A few hours later, I came home from Focus-R-Us with my two oldest (they were asked to give their opinions on the latest Christmas line, and oh boy did they, but that's another blog post, you're welcome!) to find my son pouting in the corner (come to find out later that he put himself there, not my dad) and my father was very, very proud of himself for having changed his very first diaper, EVER!

So, I then pulled my son aside, knelt down next to him and whispered into his ear.

"Why wouldn't you show your Papa where the diapers were?"

My blonde-haired, blue-eyed, precious little baby boy pulled the pacifier from his mouth, put his hands on his hips AND explained EXACTLY why.

"Beeeeeee-caws, dat's Mommy's job!"

Aaaaaand oh how my now teenage son and I laughed…and laughed…his sisters, though…ummmmm…not so much.

"In case you're wondering, it isn't!"

Although, my now 13 year-old is taking great delight in claiming, "Papa changed my poopy diaper, NOT yours!!!" from now on. You're welcome, Hope.

©2003 -2014 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!

July 2, 2014
Have you seen this scary man/woman?
this full house, forever ago

It’s been 2 years since we’ve had kids roaming the halls of the elementary school; wondering how they can get out of going to gym class (mostly the girls) or losing track of time on their way back from the bathroom (probably my son) and just where in the heck DID they put down their lunch bags (ALL of them) or coats (my son, again) seriously?!?

Hint: claim cramps, it’s on the kitchen table, and there’s a bit of comfort that goes along with my believing there are warm and toasty kids out there, who are probably still wearing my son’s coats.

Aaaaanyway, although my husband and I do NOT miss the daily grind of school drop-offs and pick-ups, there’s a calm sort of “Yeah, we’ve got teens and haven’t burned-out all of our gray cells, YET” sort of feeling that goes along with raising older kids.

Somethings I do miss:
- Sitting outside at the school playground
- For at least a few minutes, every day
- Waiting for the kids to burn off some steam
- While I go through their backpacks
- Finding little drawings of the most random stuff imaginable
- Seriously, I don’t EVER remember inviting a five-armed alien, with big orange eyes and three heads, to dinner
- Although, it was probably meant to be a picture of me
- My kids draw good
Then there would be this guy. His pants were always too short, his shoes sometimes didn’t match and he always seemed to be arguing with someone, who wasn’t actually really there, and it used to scare the kids to hear him holler at…well…no one.

Quite frankly, me too.

Not because I was afraid he was going to hurt us (okay, with four kids hanging onto every one of my body parts within their reach, maybe a little), but because he always seemed to be so…you know…angry.

Years passed, our kids started taking the bus to their schools, but we still sometimes saw “the scary man” walk by the front of our house — same too short pants and mismatched shoes.

Fast forward to this morning: we ran out of milk. Okay, so in the large scope of things, not a really big deal. Unless, you’ve only had one cup of coffee and cannot…and I mean NOT…function properly without at least one more cup of coffee, like me.

I asked my oldest daughter if she’d mind driving down to the corner to grab a gallon, but she was running late for work….GASP!!!!….not so much because she was running late for work (honestly, I’d be checking for pods in the crawl space, if she wasn’t), but it meant that I would have to go down to the corner and get my own danged milk….GASP!!!!

Long story, short: my car isn’t feeling very well, at the moment (because the washing machine is broken and the car has sympathy pains, OF COURSE!) so I decided to walk and, as it often times happens when I am alone, I started talking to myself:
- A friggin’ second cup of coffee
- Is all I want, dammit
- Stupid car
- Dumbass washing machine
- Daaaaang, but it’s too hot for this sweatshirt
- Gah, BOOB SWEAT!!!!
- Probably be ALL out of milk, anyways
- I meant the store, NOT my boobs
- Because those puppies have been empty FOR YEARS!!!
- SNORT
- That’s what SHE said
Aaaaaand, then it hit me, like a dried-up boob upside the head: all those poor people driving by, as I’m literally arguing with myself, I must look like a fright. Then I glanced down at my feet.

enough said

You know, I haven’t seen the scary man in a while. Gosh, but I hope he’s okay.

©2003 -2014 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!
June 20, 2014
Two Shots of Happy, One Shot of Sad
I am a big fan of Spotify and love listening to all sorts of music, especially at different times during the day, for example:
- Mornings: are for acoustic new-age-totally-zen-like-chill-the-frig-out-already-type of channels while working, but not before carefully screening out play lists featuring waterfalls or rain, because overactive bladder…YO!!!
- Afternoons: are made for badass-don't-EVEN-think-about-messing-with-me-womenz like P!nk and Halestorm's Lzzy Hyde (a.k.a. my husband's second and third wives and I'm totally okay wit-it!) while driving and/or running a bazillion errands, especially during the summer. I live Jersey, enough said.
- Evenings: however, are perfect for storytelling sexy-sexy-type crooners like Frank Sinatra, Harry Conick Jr. and Michael Bublé (although, in our house we call him Michael Bubble) while I'm making dinner or feeling…you know…a little sexy-sexy, my ownself.
Note to my teens: you guys are old enough to know how it works, and that it STILL works (mostly, sort of), so get over it, already!

An online friend of mine recently introduced me to Martini in the Morning, a play list that is currently running 24-7 on my Spotify account, because it is far enough away from mainstream music (a.k.a. kryptonite, for teens), that even my kids aren't making fun of me…as much…okay, for about 5 minutes…it's kinda, sorta cool.

Until! This song: Two Shots of Happy, One Shot of Sad started to play and I went to Google it (it's written by U2: Bono and The Edge, KEWL!) and also to learn a little more about the artist who was singing all sexy-sexy like, Matt Dusk.

Aaaaaaaaand, oh. Em. Gee. Now I can't seem to get ANY work done…DAMMIT…but that doesn't mean I'm going to NOT get ANY work done…alone…soooooooo, here ya' go:

You're welcome!!! Gee, I wonder what Garth (not his real name) is doing, right now?!?

©2003 -2014 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!
June 3, 2014
What Have You Broke(n) For Me, Lately?

If I had to choose one super power, something that I'm really, really good at — better at than the average mom, even — most people who know me (both virtually and IRL) would probably agree: I break things, a lot.

In fact, I even blogged about my being a total KLUTZ back in 2008 for a Thursday Thirteen meme. Remember those? No? Well go and Google it, then. G'head, I'll wait.

[cracks knuckles, stretches and…GAH!!!!…Charlie horse…CHAR…LEE…FRIGGIN'…HORSE!!!]

Today, however, I was in rare form, even for me:

Post by Liz Katkics Thompson.

My youngest daughter heard me hollering from the shower (because, she's almost 13 and is well aware of the fact that her mama is a KLUTZ!) and, after finding out that I did NOT in fact slip in the shower (I think she secretly wants to be able to dial 911, just once, on purpose or something), her driver-personality kicked in.

Hope: You can use our shower. It's clean! In the meantime, I'm going to text Dad and ask him to stop at the store to pick up a new shower head on his way from work.

Me: NO!!!!!

Hope: Why?!?

Me: Because he's going to demand an explanation.

Hope: Ummm, actually, he probably won't.

I'd still be frowning, if the kid weren't correct in her assumption: if it's broken, then mom most probably broke it, too.

Aaaaaanyway, the broken shower head got me thinking: wouldn't it be fun to revisit the 13 Things I haven't managed to kill or break yet from 6 years ago, you know, to see how many are broken or not?!? She asked, rhetorically:

1. The blow dryer I bought at CVS back in I don't remember when: DEAD. Also, the wallpaper? GONE!!! Because, honestly, who wallpapers a bathroom?!?

2. My husband's grandmother's telephone table: in need of a good oiling (aren't we all?), but not broken. The African violet, however, GOOD AND DEAD.

3. My Dyson vacuum cleaner: RECENTLY DECEASED; we bought another one, but an older model; because college tuitions…YO!!!

4. My husband's grandmother's Christmas cactus: my son was sick with mono last year, got up too fast to answer the front door, passed out and knocked it over (I can't find that blog post, but probably Facebooked it) and my husband's grandmother is probably taking bets on what I'll be breaking, next. 2-1 it will be this plant (see #5, below).

However, I managed to save three stalks, but they too are most definitely VERY NEARLY DEAD.

5. The refrigerator: This sucker lasted more than 15 years…which is like forever in appliance years…and I think that is my finger, but can't be sure, sooooo moving on…

6. Creeping Charlie: DEAD. Good thing too, I never really liked it all that much and it was sort of creeping me out, hanging out in the corner like that, anyways.

7. China cabinet filled with pretties from Hungary: Still here, unbroken (knocking on wood until knuckles bleed) I'm still not allowed to touch it, enough said.

8. Matching china cabinet filled with even more pretties: see number 7, above.

9. Sir Fig Newton: DEAD! However, I can't take the blame for this one — the cat insisted on peeing in its pot and it drowned, I mean the fig tree not the cat — stupid cat!

10. The Cookie Jar: It was a present given to us on our wedding day and…although you probably already figured it out…I am NOT allowed to touch it, either.

11. My sneakers: Mysteriously disappeared after the original post published back in 2008, I think the dog may have ate them.

12. Doofus-dawg: He is a canine version of my dorkish self, so we've both grown MUCH more patient with each other, enough said.

13. These are My geraniums: ALIVE!!! All of these pots are from cuttings off of a plant I received after our oldest was born, nearly 21 years ago. There's an interesting story behind these geraniums.

Geraniums were my grandmother's favorite flower and she kept pots on her balcony. My father escaped from Hungary when he was 18 (he told his mother that he was going out to get bread) and they never saw each other, again — my grandmother died the year after we were born.

Her death nearly destroyed my grandfather (Dad, too) and, in turn, he neglected the geraniums, but never had the heart to throw them out.

My brother and I were two years-old when my parents were granted amnesty and were finally allowed to go back. When my grandfather received the telegram, the geraniums started to bloom.

I believe that she is the reason why mine look so beautiful, today.

Because tomorrow is my 50th birthday (but I still look good, DAMMIT!) and Nagy Mama knows, that I know, a little divine intervention goes a looooooooooong way, especially for dorks like me.

Soooooo, in celebration of my making it to half a century (seriously, that's a long a friggin' time in KLUTZ years!), re-read the title of this blog post, but sing it out loud, while I dance like this:

This is where all you youngster/hipster-types are all like…but WE want to wear over-sized men's clothes and gold-plated triangular earrings, TOOOOOOO…that's right, be jealous.

**Aaaaand, this is where I would totally flip my hair and pivot from one hip to the other, if I had hair and my hips weren't permanently locked in the downward dog position, dammit**

Stupid menopausal hair, dumbass locked up hips.

©2003 -2014 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!

May 27, 2014
3 weeks; 21 days; 504 hours; 30,240 minutes and a pair of fake eyelashes.

so, this happened. the girl formerly known as thing two (when i started blogging 11 years ago) looking all growed-up and beautiful for her senior prom.

To everyone else, it's just a very lovely capture of another milestone reached in the life of a teen. To me? It is one more bittersweet reminder of just how quickly the years have gone by or how they're sort of speeding up and beginning to make me feel a little like throwing up, even.

Long story, short: I've been working a lot of hours, lately. Like, if I'm not sleeping…then I'm pretty much working…and the kids have been awesome about helping out…I mean…as much as can be expected, their being kids and all.

Which means there's a lot of debating on whose turn it is to: change the dishwasher, feed the animals, switch the laundry, walk the dog, take out the garbage, mow the lawn, and forget to take something out of the freezer for dinner.

Okay, that last one was probably me, but one of the really GREAT things about raising teens is when THEY start remembering things for you.

"I'm taking Heather to get shoes for the prom, after I pick her up from work."

Then they get old enough to drive and can take their siblings to work and stuff — that's just all sorts of awesome, right there.

"Don't forget, I get out at 12:55 today, so we could get my hair and makeup done!"

Even longer story, short: seniors are let out early on prom day, which is also all sorts of awesome, except the buses still run on a regular schedule, so I glanced down at the timestamp on the spreadsheet I happened to be working on and…DAMMIT…but spreadsheets can be evil little time suckers.

"I'm leaving now!"

My oldest daughter was working (because, you know, eventually I'm going to need to allow her to have a life, too) so I was left in charge of picking up my middle girl.

"Mom, you'll never make it."

Here's the thing. My middle girl does not drive. The vocational school she attends is 30 miles away and it does not have a driver's ed class, but since she was hoping to go to a city college, she was perfectly okay with putting off getting her driver's license for a while.

"We'll get there in time, don't worry."

20 minutes later (give or take a minute, or another 20) I pulled up to the school, she got into the car and then 3 weeks worth of stress (both hers and mine) boiled over, words were exchanged and, well, it wasn't pretty.

30 minutes later, we walked into the hair salon all puffy-eyed and emotionally spent.

To her, the last 3 weeks, of what should have been an exciting time of announcing college decisions and preparing for her senior prom, have become nothing more than 21 days, 504 hours, and 30,240 minutes of disappointment.

To me? It was yet another reminder of just how far I have come to feeling like an absolute failure at all the things…especially, not knowing how to make my kids happy…anymore.

"Mom, she forgot her eyelashes."

I watched my daughter's eyes move from her reflection in the mirror to mine, as our hairdresser asked the make-up girl to take me to the beauty supply store, a few doors down.

My hairdresser is also a very good friend of mine and she has a teen, enough said.

"I picked these, they sort of flare out like wings, I thought these would look cool."

My daughter nodded her head.

"Yeah, I like those."

We both stared at the fake eyelashes for a few more seconds, before our eyes met and we smiled at each other, at the same time…even.

My oldest daughter got there soon after that and we both sat there together for the next 90 minutes, while folks continued to fuss over her sister, both of us content with watching her enjoy each and every minute of it.

And then it hit me, as these sort of parenting-type things often do, like a brick upside the forehead.

"Why don't you go home with your sister, while I settle up the bill."

Parenting teens is sort of like being strapped into a roller coaster…all day…every day…and whose success SHOULD be measured simply by our ability to walk away without a) throwing up and with b) all your body parts still attached.

"Nah, I'll just wait and ride home with you…Momma."

Then again, we could all just throw our hands up in the air and screeeeeeaaaaaaammmmm…allllllllllllllll…the…frig…waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay…dowwwwwwwwwwwn.

Happy prom day, Heather. I love you. I'm glad it turned out to be a good day, after all.

©2003 -2014 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!

May 11, 2014
Tips and Tricks To Make Life Easier For You and Your Teen: a guest post by my almost-13yo.

I've been busily training for a couple of new jobs (a much needed and very appreciated couple of new jobs!) so my youngest daughter was kind enough to offer her services and guest blog for me, this week.

Aaaaand, since I've already failed (miserably!) at posting every day for #NaBloPoMo, I took the kid up on her offer and told her to have at it 🙂

So, she came up with this, unedited and totally in her words:

Hey hi hey…most of you know me as the youngest person in the thisfullhouse family. If you don’t know me then I’m Hope. I’m turning 13 in two months. If you’re a parent and you have a teen or many teens like the mom of thisfullhouse here are some tips and tricks to make you and your teen's life a lot easier.

Remember these are all totally true facts coming from a teen sooooo yeah.

1. Make sure they have a book to read or get into…I went a couple years thinking I hated books and here I am having 82 books/series I want to read. This is NOT an exaggeration.

2. Make sure you have lots of tea and coffee in your house. If your teen is upset about something tea is the best thing. One of the best things my sister makes me is chai hot chocolate. You make chai tea and mix in a little hot chocolate for a new world to be open in front of your very own eyes.

3. Let them listen to what ever music they want and let them dress how they want. It doesn’t matter what they dress like or listen to, but if they start to dress a little too badinkadinky let them face the consequences.

4. Let them learn from their mistakes. It’s the best way for them to figure out what they’re doing wrong, and fix it themselves. It will also show you just how responsible we teens can be. So it’s practically a win-win situation going on.

5. On those nights where you just want to be alone with that special someone 😉 schedule a sleepover at your teen’s friend’s house. The two friends can have fun together and you can be with that special person of yours ;) Remember at the friend’s house. If your house you will be bothered for tis and that here and there and be bombarded with millions of questions. And remember I am a professional.

6. Have a certain day to hang out with them just you and your teen. Make a movie night at your house, or go out for coffee, or go on a walk, a jog, a run, whatever you want.

7. Whenever your teen says ‘whatever’ or ‘I don’t care’ just know that they really do care and they are just trying to cover it up or hide it from you to act “cooler”. This especially happens around friends; don’t worry it happens to every parent you’re not doing anything wrong.

8. Lastly, GIVE THEM SPACE. If they are having a problem or trouble with something, no matter what it be, GIVE THEM SPACE.

Try these tips and see for yourself. Good luck!

Yep, the kid is WAY smarter than me. The only thing I would add: yes, you should also totally consider yourselves lucky…if and whenever your teen allows you to take a picture of the back of their head…YO!!!

©2003 -2014 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!

April 18, 2014
When a teen slams a door, somewhere a local home center has just made another sale.

The funny thing about raising teens (by funny I mean less ha-ha-ha and more what-the-huh?!?) is all the stuff you thought you knew about parenting…just stop it, right now…because kids have this really innate ability of having you question almost every move you make, to be totally wrong, probably.

Personally, my inner-12-year-old would LOVE to have me forget that I am the parent, take over the situation and let's play a little verbal dodge ball, while where at it.

This morning, it's the door slamming.

SLAM!!!!

Sets my nerves on edge and don't worry, both my husband and I will give the door slammer a second chance to try again or the door goes away. It works for us. The front door, however, is a different story.

4th grade: one of the last times when they remember how to close the door, quietly.

Our youngest child lost her cell phone privileges, this morning. Doesn't really matter why. She probably doesn't even remember, okay neither do I. But that's not the point I'm trying to make, here, because I really do have one.

[blows bangs out of eyes, stares out the window]

Oh yeah, right. So, my husband and I were watching the weather channel (it's how we bond in the mornings, don't judge!) when we hear our youngest coming into the room…from three rooms away…for being as small as she is…she's got a VERY HEAVY FOOT.

[stomp-stomp-stomp]

And then leave.

Garth (not his real name): Have a nice day!

[STOMP-STOMP-STOMP!]

Me: Love you!

This is the part where you would probably hear the door…SLAM!!!…if we hadn't invested in that thingie that keeps the storm door from bashing into the door jam…hang on, let me ask Mr. Google, okay it's called…a door check, years ago.

[the whooshing sound of a door…closing…very…very…slowly]

Me (to my husband): I think we handled that pretty well, you?

Long story, short: raising teens is hard, but being an emotional and moral compass is even harder… YO!

Got teens? Don't have a door check? Get one!!!

©2003 -2014 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!

April 11, 2014
Better late than never, admitting you have a problem, being late.

Like any other 15 year-old boy (at least, the teenagers I've had the pleasure of ignoring me) my son likes to sleep (a lot!) and can fall asleep, at a drop of a hat, standing up, with one arm tied behind his back and holding up a "Do not disturb!" sign with the other, if need be. He gets it from his father.

Glen and Holly hiking together in the marshlands of NJ, sort of.

The boy is probably lagging behind or running perpetually late, for almost everything, too. Guess who he gets THAT from?!? G'head, I'll wait!!! Although his is more of a laid-back, slow and steady sort of late, while I'm frantically trying to finish up all the things…at the same time…and probably doing it wrong, too…not to mention…SQUIRREL!!!!

Aaaaanyway, I was going through some paperwork at my desk (alright, so I was filing stuff from last year, let's just pretend it was today's mail, okay?) and my son…slooooooooowly…pops his head in to let me know that he's home from school.

Although my neighbors could probably hear him barrel through our front door, anyway. This is also the kid who feels the need to identify himself when texting me…or calling me…on my phone.

"Hi mom, it's Glen, I'm home!"

See what I mean?

"I have late dentention on Wednesday."

To be fair, my oldest ran late nearly every day when she was a freshman (and pretty much right through graduation), but go figure this would be the year the high school decides to crack down on lateness.

"But, before you say anything, I get it!"

[one beat, two beats]

"In my defense, it's dentention I owe from a while ago!"

I didn't ask if it was because he forgot that he owed detention from a while ago, because TEEN BOYS ARE ALSO SUPER-FORGETFUL and, well, I just happened to ask myself that same question…right now…because SQUIRREL!!!

©2003 -2014 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!

I'm NaBloPoMo-ing it, feel free to check out what I've NaBloPoMo-ed, thus far (PHEW!) and let me know how I'm doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!

April 8, 2014
And now we’re Doofus-dawg-proofing the couch.
I was pregnant with our oldest when we moved into our house…what we then referred to as our starter home…on Memorial Day weekend…21 years ago. Okay, so we're really sloooooooooooow starters.

Although my husband and I still dream about not having to share a closet (smaller than some other people's pantries) or my waking up in the middle of the night and having to go to the bathroom, all…the…way…downstairs…across the kitchen…through the living room…and waaaaay on the other side of the house…[taking a moment to catch my breath…phew…thanks!]…it's more than what a lot of other people have and, well, we've always managed to sort of make stuff work.

It's also a lot easier now, in the sense that our kids are mostly-grown and have all pretty much child-proofed themselves, by now.

Then our poor old Doofus-dawg goes and hurts himself, by fracturing a bone in his foot which had to be splinted in order for it to heal properly, so the vet sent us home with very strict instructions:
- NO JUMPING
- NO RUNNING
- NO CLIMBING
No problem, I mean, seeing as he spends most of his days dosing on the couch, right?!?
- AND ABSOLUTELY NO JUMPING UP ON THE FURNITURE
R'uh-oh. Seriously?!? The definition of a dog's life includes jumping on the furniture — especially, when you're NOT looking — and, for as big as he is, our Doofus-dawg is especially proficient in sneaking up right next to you, without you even knowing it, until it's too late.

yes, we ARE martha stewart's worst nightmare.

So, once again, we've managed to make it work: using laundry baskets to Doofus-proof the furniture.

and this is where we do our best edith and archie bunker, yo!

Aaaaand, although I didn't think we would have to worry about the recliners (they rock, literally!), Doofus-dawg did in fact try and get up on the recliners, too. The cone of shame is a reminder to quit chewing and it also seems to be working.

Still, night time is proving to be difficult. Doofus is used to sleeping upstairs with us, so my husband has been sleeping downstairs with Doofus (yeah, I know, it's going to be a looooong 4 weeks), but I didn't think he'd appreciate my posting a picture of the super-ingenious way he's managed to keep Doofus off the couch.

Soooo, my oldest daughter and I re-created it for you:

this is me, pretending to be my husband, doofus-proofing the couch.

Aaaaaaaand, this is the part where you begin to feel really, really good about yourself AND pretty gosh-darned happy that you do NOT have to live with me. You're welcome!

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I'm NaBloPoMo-ing it, feel free to check out what I've NaBloPoMo-ed, thus far (PHEW!) and let me know how I'm doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!
April 7, 2014