This Full House Archive

Tag: new jersey mom bloggers

  • NaBloPoMo 2015: Happy ThanksgivingChristmasNewYearsValentinesEaster!

    I used to be a planner, also super-organized (and this is the part where my husband would insist otherwise and I would end any possibility of a long, drawn out debate, by insisting back "WAS SO!" Because I am a great debater, like that!), but those days seem so long ago.

    Holidaze

    I knew if I just held out long enough, mismatched plates and glasses would become a thing (are so!).

    In our house, the holidays were my Olympics! I researched recipes, collected odds and ends for binge-crafting sessions with the kids and made lists for ALL things holi"daze". 

    This year? I'm lucky if I remember to wear matching earrings, and leaving the house with shoes on, and I can't tell you how many times I've caught myself wondering if I had remembered to use shampoo after already having gotten out of the shower.

    My mommybrain is all grown up and waiting for someone to strain my carrots, dammit.

    Now with Dad in and out of hospitals and rehab centers, since the end of August, I can't seem to think past remembering to eat lunch. Our parents play a large part of our celebrations and, now that our kids are getting older, (us too!) I keep reminding myself that every day we spend together is a gift.

    "What's gonna happen on Thanksgiving?"

    Thanksgiving has ALWAYS been my son's favorite holiday and now that he's turning 17 (ugh, really?!?) and has the appetite of a 17yo (a.k.a. never NOT hungry) he's taken over the menu-planning 🙂

    "I haven't even thought about it, so don't know what we're doing, Bud!"

    Truth be told, I'm still trying to figure out where September went.

    "Well, if Papa is still in the hospital, we'll just have to bring Thanksgiving to him, that's all!"

    [one beat, two beats]

    "I mean, it doesn't matter where we have it, or if we cop a squat in the corner and eat off of trays, as long as we are together, right?!?"

    I'm still trying to clear the massive goober that has formed in my throat, so I have yet to get back to him on that one, but I think maybe he already knows the answer and it was more of a rhetorical question, because these kids are way smarter than me. 

    "Wait, is that Christmas music you're playing?"

    My oldest daughter, on the other hand…

    "YUP! Don't judge!"

    Gahdfuhbid, it's like she doesn't EVEN know me!!!!

  • NaBloPoMo 2015: Daylight Savings Sucks, Until It Doesn’t

    Many of my friends with younger children aren't very fond of Daylight Savings and rightfully so. It takes a while (if ever) to adjust a child's internal clock and convince them that…yes, I know it's still light outside…and YES!!!… it is SO bedtime.

    If you have teens then you already know — rebooting is near to impossible once they've executed an all systems shut down — asking them to get up earlier than they need to?

    It's like a scene out of Clash Of The Titans, where Zeus hesitantly asks Poseidon to…WAKE…THE…KRAKEN…while us mere mortals duck and cover.

    Note: I'm talking about the 1980-something version with Harry Hamlin. It's super-campy and awesome fun to watch with your teens, while they rag on all the bad special effects and you try to remember the names of all the actors, wondering if he/she is still living or not.

    [one beat, two beats]

    And if you're still reading, then I love you and we can totally hang together…moving on.

    Image

    I too was all Team Daylight Savings Sucks, until I started going to work in the dark.

    Image

    This morning, however, the platform lights went off as I was buying my 10 trip tickets! It was soooo awesome to ride with the sun shining on the right side of my face and I swear there was a little extra spring in my step.

    Image

    Until I looked up from my desk at 5:15 p.m. and…wth?!?!…when did it get so dark, again?!?!…BAH!!!…Daylight Savings sucks!!! Until it doesn't, and what a view, right?!?!

    NaBloPoMo November 2015

  • NaBloPoMo 2015: Carpe Dentum!

    It’s that time of year, again! November is National Blog Posting Month, when many of us blogger-types are reminded about how much we USED to blog…dammit…and, truth be told, although committing to writing every day in November is ambitious (even for social media enthusiasts, like me) I could really use a good brain-vomit (you're welcome!) soooooo, let's catch up, shall we?

    My Dad is very sick. Long story short, he was admitted into the hospital at the end of August for congestive heart failure and chronic kidney disease (which went unchecked for nearly 2 years) so he's been in and out of hospitals since the beginning of September.

     

    Presenting the newest member of the Zipper Club, 2 days post op and looking good 🙂

    A photo posted by Liz Thompson (@thisfullhouse) on

    He had open heart surgery about 6 weeks ago — we did the math, the other day, and figured out he's been home about 7 days in 2 months — but his kidneys are failing, which is now complicating his recovery. His kidneys keep backing up fluid into his system, so they tapped his lungs last week and, well, it's been a one step forward two steps back kind of stretch these last few weeks, yo!

    My brother, my SIL, my husband and I have pitched in and try to help, however and whenever we can, staying with Mom and taking her to the hospital to see Dad — I've even worked remotely from the hospital snack bar, because FREE WIFI — and one thing that I am trusted with doing, while at the hospital (because, you know, I am a professional dork!) is helping Dad with cleaning and brushing his dentures. 

    We had a close family friend visit when Dad was in the ICU and I sort of got distracted (my trying to talk, listen AND do stuff at the same time almost ALWAYS leads to disaster!) while rinsing Dad's dentures in the sink in his room. 

    I grabbed the tube of toothpaste and smeared just a little bit on his top denture and started to…oh…so…very…gently…brushing, but the cream was soooo thick…like cement…and it smelled…like…I don't know…like…wait a minute…raising 4 babies, I know this smell!!!!

    BUTT CREAM?!?!?!?

    [eyes go wide]

    I took a closer whiff and…YUP!!!!!!…I had, in fact, accidentally grabbed the Desitin and tried to brush my Father's dentures with BUTT CREAM!!!!!!

    [rolls sleeves up, blows bangs out of eyes]

    Guess what? Butt cream is REAL hard to get off of dentures, especially when you don't want anyone to notice what an asshole move you've just made, because butt cream is no where close to being even similar to toothpaste!

    Funny thing is, the nurses didn't even question my smelling his dentures to make sure I got all of the butt cream off, because I think maybe they have pretty much seen everything.

    The End.

    NaBloPoMo November 2015

  • Don’t Break My Heart…My Icky, Sticky Heart…

    It's been about 6 weeks since my "episode" and yes, I just "air-quoted" the word "episode", because I've had all the tests done to me, since the "episode", and I'm WAY MORE comfortable telling you about my "episode", because hypertensive heart disease sounds so…you know…icky.

    I mean, not as icky as a sticky heart valve…like the one I got, too…but I've been assured that it is more common than I thought…and who knew…there's a bunch of us walking around with one or more sticky heart valves…[fist bump]…ain't midlife grand, YO!

    Oatmeal, It's What's For Dinner!

    I like to stir craisins into my oatmeal, how about you?

    So, I've got a new cardiologist. I mean, he's new to me, but he's also very old and I realize that I'm not young, either (thanks for noticing, BRAT!) however, I am younger than he is, so, there ya' go.

    [blank stare]

    Where was I? Ummmmmm…oh yeah!…my husband, Garth (not his real name) was nice enough to drive me to see my new, but very old, cardiologist and accompany me into the office…you know…for moral support…and tissues…oh and cough drops…my throat closes up when I get nervous (that's what SHE said!) and because CARDIOLOGIST!!!!

    "Mrs. Thompson?"

    I jumped up out of my chair and managed to scare the bees juice out of the rest of the people waiting their turn to see my new, but very old, cardiologist. I also happened to be the youngest one in the room and I'm guessing they just weren't very used to such quick movement…heh…and my inner-twelve-year-old tends to crack very bad jokes, when I'm nervous.

    "Who is your primary physician?"

    [blink-blink]

    "I don't have one."

    [blank stare]

    "Well, I'm pretty healthy…normally…but…you know…except for this one time…I mean."

    [blank stare]

    "And if I'm really sick, I take myself to the walk-in-emergency-type-care-place down the corner and see whoever happens to be on duty."

    [blank stare]

    "So I'm pretty open to recommendations!"

    This was getting awkward, you guys. 

    [blank stare]

    Blank stares are like non-verbal scoldings.

    [sound of crickets, chirping]

    Moving along…so, I sat down…because non-verbal scoldings are awful, and the rest of the people in the waiting room sort of just stared at me…or maybe they were sleeping with their eyes open…either way…doesn't matter.

    [blank stare]

    "Mrs. Thompson?"

    Oh man, now what?

    "We need to take your weight."

    Yeah, the woman hates me.

    "OH BOY, MY FAVORITE PART!!!"

    Although, THAT made her giggle. So, I walked over to the scale and…well…I hate scales…especially, these type of scales…you know…the ones where you have to move the weights and they keep sliding…and sliding…and…DAYUM!!!… is she ever going to stop sliding?!?!

    "Eleventy-thousand pounds."

    [eyes go wide]

    Now, mind you, I've made peace with my squishy size 12 body…a long time ago…but DAYUM!!!

    "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?"

    She clicked her tongue (or maybe it was her teeth, doesn't matter) and then she nodded her head.

    "Are you sure that thing is working right?"

    She assured me the scale was working just fine, but because I seemed a little distraught (i.e. acting like the biggest baby, EVER!), she had me step on the scale one more time and started sliding…and sliding…oh, wait…it stopped about 20 pounds short of DAYUM!!!

    "Correction, you're eleventy-nine-hundred-and-eighty-pounds."

    So I hugged her, this time the woman actually broke out into a full-blown grin and I'm pretty sure those were her real teeth, too.

    "You almost gave me a heart attack!!!"

    [eyes go wide]

    "Figuratively speaking, I mean."

    [sound of a roomful of senior citizens, snoring]

    Long story short: My new, but very old, cardiologist is actually very nice AND he laughs at my really bad jokes, so we now have a standing date…every six months…which means I've got plenty of time to work on some new material…YO!

    [blank stare]

    Stupid blood pressure, dumbass sticky heart valve. 

  • 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!

  • 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!!!

  • The Evolution of a Worry Wart

    I don't know what happened, really. I wasn't always such a worry wart. In fact, folks who knew me back in the day (you know, when social media was just a twinkle in Compaq's iframe and we actually face-timed each other, for real) would probably agree — I was pretty loosey-goosey about stuff.

    Siiiiiigh. That's right. Loosey-goosey. Look it up, youngsters. Aaaanyway, where was I?!? Loosey-goosey. Face-time. Social media. Back in the day. Oh yeah, I remember now — soooooo, then I started having kids and…HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!…another worry wart is born. 

    Yep, raising kids has consistently proven to be quite worrisome — teenagers, on the other hand, have issues…ISSUES!!!…like in major energy-sucking, hair-raising, skin-crawley, makes your brain itch-type of issues…and social media isn't helping any.

    As a parent of 4 teens…fine, so the oldest is in her 20's, I'm in denial, a'ight?!?…I still don't have the "right" answers, but I can tell you that it's been a long, slow and drawn-out process…worry wartdom, is…here, let me show you:

    Liz Fall 2014

    And if butterflies are free to fly…then fly away…far away…bye-bye…la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la, laaaaaah…

    Oh sure, I totally remember the baby daze…when I was all like…ohhhhhh….mah baybeeeez…they are soooo cute…and cuddley…GAH!!!…wook at doze baybeeee toes…nom, nom, nom…[sniff-sniff]…and doz brand new baybee smellz…DUH BEST!!!

    Liz a little green

    I got a news flash for you, Kermit…it's not easy being a parent…either.

    Ohhhhh…ummmmm…okay…wow!…what IS that smell…GAH!!!…this sh*t just got REAL, you guys…and WHOA!!!…can you say "snot factory"?!?…ohhhhh…WOW!!!….who knew stuff could come out of ALL the things…THAT FAST…and at that same time, too?!?…IS THAT EVEN NORMAL?!?…daaaaaang, I don't feel so good…because, PROJECTILE VOMITTING!!!

    Liz a lot more green

    Does my makeup look okay…oh, and hang on a second while I…HURL!!!

    Okay, so which one of yuhs forgot to flush?!?…WOW!!!…and what in the world did YOU eat…IS THAT EVEN NORMAL?!?…wait, what?!?…oh, okay…sooooo, you ate ALL the Play Doh…EVERYBODY IN THE CAR, we're going to the doctor, RIGHT NOW!!!…holy crap on a cracker, what do you mean they ALL have strep throat, too…UGH!!!…ohhhhhh, wait a minute…now I'm really not feeling so great.

    Liz a little pinched

    Aaaaand, if you pinch your face and facepalm long enough, it'll stay that way, trust me on this one!

    Wait…soooo, let me get this straight…you're NOT allowed to wear sneakers and the girls are not allowed to wear anything shiny for the play…so you NEED black dress shoes and the girls NEED long-sleeved, blouses…in warm Etruscan red tones…ONLY!!!…right, okay…soooooo, when IS this play…what do you mean, TUH-DAY?!?

    Liz very pinched

    This part is brought to you by the letter B: for "biting" your tongue more often than not and did you know that stress can make you all "bloaty" and stuff?!?

    Soooooo, what time IS this party, anyway?!?…aaaaand, who's all going?!?…and where IS the party, again?!?…ohhhhh, it's a sleepover…AND hey YOU'RE driving…soooooo, I shouldn't worry…okay, riiiiiiiiiiiight…let me get the door for you…whoopsies…wow, who knew front doors could break AND stay locked, so easy…oh, soooo I see you've used the window before…RIIIIIIIIIGHT!!!

    Liz is worried

    Aaaaaand then your kids turn teen: welcome to full metal worry, complete with no sleep and a complimentary set of horns, my friend.

    So, you want to go to this concert…aaaaand the concert is 3 states away…but your friend just got his permit and he's going to drive yuhs there…if I let you borrow the car…okay, sooooo….no…um, no…that would ALSO be a no…and, wait, let me think about it a little…ummmmm…OH HELL NO!!!!…yeah, I know you do…BUT I LOVE YOU, BABY!

    Liz like me new hat

    P.S. It doesn't stop when they become adults, either.

    Long story short: I didn't always look like this, my teenagers MADE me this way! Aaaaand, for those of you with younger children, feel free to consider this to be a cautionary tale:

    Don't worry so much about the teenage years, you WILL survive. Maybe not in one piece. And definitely less easy-breezy about stuff. But, you ARE also in very good company!

    Okay, now somebody remind me…m'kay?!?

    [sound of crickets, chirping]

    You like my new hat? You can't EVEN see the wart, RIGHT?!?

    ©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! 

  • Mom, Mistaken For A Zombie, Gets Punched In Throat!

    Living with 2 teens and 3 other adults (who have opinions AND are NOT afraid to use them), it's not very often that we all agree on…well…anything, really. Unless, we're talking Zombies. And if you're into Zombies? Well, then for the love of all things George Romero, feel free to clean off a chair and sit down, my friend…because there is always room for one more walker!

    Walking Dead Season 5

    Because, 13 MORE SLEEPS UNTIL THE WALKING DEAD!!! YAY!!! We are ALL big fans of The Walking Dead ova here, and have been following along since Season 1, but last season — what, with all the"What IS this Terminus" or "What's with the flowers?!?" and "OMG, LIZZIE?!?"– nearly killed me!!!

    Here's the thing: I just get way too involved in the story line (because, there is lots and lots of drama in Zombieland) and they would've left me behind for Zombie food not even halfway through Episode 1.

    "OMG!!! NOOOOOO, RUN…QUICK…THROUGH THE FRIGGIN' GREEN DOOR…ON YOUR LEFT…NOOOOOO, YOUR OTHER LEFT!!!"

    [opens green door]

    "GAAAAAH!!!!"

    Who knew? Eleventy-billion zombies…OMG!!! RIGHT THERE!!!…dripping with oozey-Zombie flesh…waiting for my sorry ass…right behind the friggin' green door.

    "Mom, could you NOT?!?"

    Yep, I'd be the one my kids smack in the leg with a baseball bat and leave behind as Zombie bait.

    [eyes go WIDE]

    Aaaaaaand, then it hit me…like a baseball bat to the leg…I could easily be mistaken for a Zombie, because:

    • Zombies, kind of, sort of walk funny — I've carried children and given birth, four times, me too.
    • Zombies look all drawn and haggard — I've got teens, enough said.
    • Zombies are hungry, all the time – ME, TOO!!!
    • Zombies react to sound and MUST investigate — because, teens are LOUD…oh and…BOOYAH!!!!…I just remembered where I hid the good chocolate…[insert deep, guttural groan here]…CHAAAAAAW…CO…LUT!!!
    • Zombies have a hard time sitting down or getting up from chairs, without falling on their faces — because, gravity can be stupid like that. 

    Hah! So, when the Zombie Apocolypse arrives…because, OH YES, it is coming…all I have to do is pretend like I'm one of them and…CHAAAAAAAW…CO…LUT!!!…no Zombie food for you, skin suckuhs…NOT TODAY!

    "Until someone throat-punches you and you pass out at the sight of your own blood."

    [blink, blink, blink]

    Long story, short: because, watching television with teens is hard.

    "Ooooooh, there's my pretend boyfriend, he looks REAL YUMMY!!!"

    [cringe]

    "Ewwwwww, that's just ALL SORTS OF GROSS, Mom!!!!"

    Moral of the Story: because, watching television with teens can be REAL FUN, too…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! 

  • 15 Things You Never Say to a Perimenopausal Woman

    Being a mom is hard. Being a mom of teens is…uhhhhhhhh…excuse me for a moment…HEY! DID I NOT JUST SAY THE DISHWASHER IS DIRTY?!? GET YOUR PLATES OUT OF THE SINK, DAMMIT!!!…ummmmmm….what were we talking about, again?!?

    Liz's Cawfee #FoamAtHome

    [takes another sip of coffee, blows bangs out of eyes, plays with chin hair]

    Oh yeah, NOW I REMEMBER! So, I was thinking. Dangerous, for a dork like me, I know. Still. I've been reading lots of blog posts and articles online about what we should or shouldn't be saying to a pregnant woman…EVUH!!!…because, DUH!!!! She's probably NOT in the mood for silly shenanigans, like asking her if it was a planned pregnancy.

    Well, it's actually…NONE OF YOUR FRIGGIN' BUSINESS!!!!…but thanks for asking.

    That being said, I think it's also equally important to realize that saying one or more of the following, to a peri-menopausal woman, may or may not get you some serious hurt:

    1. Daaaaang, it's cold in here

    Shuddup and turn down the thermostat, would ya'?

    2. Why are you so moody?

    Ohhhhhh, other than my uterus feeling like it's on fire and attempting to strangle the rest of my internal organs, AND IT'S HOT IN HERE, no reason, really.

    3. Meh, sounds a lot like PMS.

    Yes, now with EXTRA BLOAT and saggy-boob sweat…HUZZAH!

    4. Relax, you're just being overly-sensitive.

    Oh, my gosh, I'm soooooo sorry…here, you better put some ice on that and don't worry…the swelling should go down in a couple of days, mostly.

    5. All you need to do is change your diet and exercise.

    Good idea, I'll go get MORE ICE!

    6. Sorry, we're all out of cherry limeade.

    Oh okay, and here's my mailing address, just bill me for the damages.

    7. You look too young to be going through menopause.

    [blank stare]

    8. I'm so sorry, but we don't carry that particular shoe in wide.

    Right…soooooo…do you know of anyone else who stocks YETI?!?!

    9. The bathrooms are for employees, only.

    WE NEED A MOP ON AISLE 6, PLEASE!

    10. Let's go bathing suit shopping!

    We're gonna need a bigger mop, AND MORE ICE!!!

    11. Let's go jeans shopping!

    See number 10.

    12. Maybe you just need a nap.

    YES!!! And turn down the thermostat on your way…zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

    13. Do you remember where you put…

    No, is the air-conditioner even working?

    14. Do you remember where I put my…

    NO!!!! WHY IS IT SO FRIGGIN' HOT IN HERE?!?!

    15. At least you don't have to worry about getting pregnant.

    Two words: vaginal atrophy.

    You're welcome.

    ©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!    

  • So, you’ve got a kid “not” going to college – ME TOO!

    One of the many things I love about blogging, that really hasn't changed in the last eleventy years, is it gives parents (like me) an opportunity to revisit a moment…that may otherwise have drifted off in the ebb and flow of nurturing a family…or a much simpler time…lost among the trials and tribulations that go along with raising teens…because TEENS!

    Now, we have Facebook. So, it's sort of fun to be able to reconnect with childhood friends, seeing our kids all grown up and moving onto college  **sniff-sniff**   and how in the heck did THAT happen, because in my mind, we're ALL still like 17, right?!? RIGHT?!?

    [sound of crickets, chirping]

    Riiiiiiiight. What was I saying? OH YEAH! So, I've consoled quite a few of my Facebook friends, because sending off your kid to college is a really big deal. 

    Unless you have a kid [or kids] who isn't [who aren't] going to college, like me.

    Long story, short: although our two oldest daughters' situations are totally different, my husband and I have stood by their decision to put off college, because…well…suffice it to say, if the tables were turned…and YOU told ME that it is the right decision…I'd trust you to know your kid, better than me.

    "Heather and Holly send their regards!"

    My son had his first visit at the orthodontist, a few weeks ago.

    "Oh, that's nice, send mine back!"

    The girls had their last orthodontist visit a few months ago, which means the length and cost of their treatment was pretty much the equivalent of a bachelor's degree…YO!

    "So, where is Heather going to school?"

    UGH!!! Here we go, again.

    "Actually, she's decided to take a gap year."

    Now, here's my problem. If it were me, I'd be all like…oh, okay, that's good…because, you know, NOT my kid…and I really need to stop thinking about what I would say or do in a particular situation.

    "Oh, well, I hope she learns something really important!"

    Aaaaand, I need to stop taking OTHER folks so literally.

    "Oh yes, she's a personal assistant to a local artist AND a production assistant for our county's teen arts program…it's right up her alley." 

    Because, really, how many of us…love…Love…LOve…LOVe…absolutely LOVE our jobs…okay, I do…but, I mean, straight out of high school?!?

    "Because, we WANT her to go to school…right?!?"

    I literally turned and looked behind me…thinking she was asking someone else…because, I'm real quick, like that…and not really.

    "Actually, it's a REAL good decision…FOR HER."

    Now, I'm not quite sure if the orthodontist has children…or if she's even married…and it doesn't really matter, but it seems to me that…at this point in our conversation…common sense would tell you…STFU!…right?!?

    "Well, I hope so!"

    She shook her head…actually friggin' shook her head…clearly, SHE was disappointed.

    "All kids go to college!"

    Here's the thing, this is my personal opinion as a parent of older kids (20, 18, 15 and 13) and not having a college degree, my ownself.

    "Sort of like, all dogs go to heaven?"

    I'm NOT going to argue the benefits of going to college…there are many, I know…however, pushing MY kids to go to college…for the sake of going to college…well, that's just stupid.

    "You know, the movie, all dogs go to heaven?"

    She'd never heard of it…AH! HAH!…so, she does NOT have kids…aaaand, I'm okay wit-it.

    "Good luck at school, Heather!!!"

    I took Heather to the dermatologist, last week — because we are ALL about supporting folks who've chosen to enter the medical field and are perhaps STILL paying for THEIR education…YO! — and the receptionist was really being nice, I think.

    Heather looked at me for a second, rolled her eyes and then answered her.

    "Hey, thanks!!!"

    Siiiiiiiiiigh. We then walked out and I gave Heather's shoulder a little squeeze.

    "It's just that…well…I didn't think it necessary to explain myself to her."

    Nope, and yep, because this kid is WAY smarter than me…too…and I'm okay wit-it!

    The End.

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