This Full House Archive

Tag: new jersey mom bloggers

No longer THAT mom, but about THAT crazy lady, at the grocery store.
If given the choice ten years ago: I would rather push an old-fashioned reel lawn mower through a field of sticky balls…barefoot…than spend half the day dodging other shopping carts at the supermarket, while simultaneously attempting to put ALL the stuff my kids threw into OUR cart…accidentally on purpose…back on the shelf.

Now that my kids are older? I still hate…Hate…HAte…HATe…HATE food shopping. Unless I am with my husband (date night at the supermarket, FTW!) and most especially if I happen to be shopping with one of my teenagers.

"Are you Facebooking, again?!?"

"Maaaaaaaaaybeeeeeeeee?"

The kids were off on Friday (the winter daze have sort of melded together, I forget why) so I asked my son to go food shopping with me (he lives with 3 sisters, enough said!) and, now that he's getting older (me too, DAMMIT!) I'm beginning to realize that not ONLY is my son the spitting image of GarthNHRN, the kid rolls his eyes at me….just like his dad…too.

"Put your phone away, Mom!"

Long story, short: raising teenagers can be sort of fun, sometimes.

"Can you load the conveyor belt, while I go ahead and bag?"

Aaaaaand, very rarely…like in, almost never…do we experience any drama at the check-out line, unless I'm shopping with my youngest (who NEVER seems to have ANY gum in her pocket, because I am the meanest mom EVER) and especially if:
- The store you normally shop in is wicked-busy
- So you head to the one across the street
- Where there are only two cash registers open EVER (don'tcha HATE that?!?)
- And you happen to pick the teenage cashier with an attitude
- (see previous parenthesis)
- Who clearly heard "I'll go ahead and bag"
- As "You just go ahead and scan ALL that stuff, REAL FAST" dammit!
Because, of course!

"Gah…the bread…the eggs…GAH!!!"

I don't do ANYTHING, real fast…but I do tend to drop stuff, OFTEN…especially when I'm expected to do stuff…REAL FAST!!!

Oh, and shopping bags that tend to tear…REAL FAST…do NOT help.

KABOOM!!! WHOOSH!!!

And hollering at your 15yo son, after YOU were the one who just dropped AND spilled an entire bottle of juice…most definitely does NOT help…NOT ONE BIT.

"Don't just stand there, PICK IT UP!!!"

In my defense, it was an expensive bottle of juice that happened to be on sale…dammit…but my poor son was clearly too embarrassed to acknowledge that…you know…he was actually shopping with me…and NO!!!…I do NOT blame him…but would you believe that the cashier just stood there and watched it GLUG-GLUG-GLUG all over the floor.

Okay, I lied. She crossed her arms and then started popping her gum.

"Clean up at register 2!!!"

Good thing this was NOT my first rodeo…or juice spilling, for that matter…oh, and I was wearing my glasses, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to holler out which aisle was now drowning in juice…REAL FAST.

"DAMMIT!!!"

Now, to keep the rest of this blog post short and sweet, here's the bulleted version of what happened next:
- I picked up the almost-empty juice bottle
- And then dropped it again
- Because, wet juice bottle
- And then kicked the now even-more-empty bottle of juice
- Creating two rivers of juice
- So I asked my son to move the shopping cart closer
- Okay…fine…some SCREAMING may have been involved
- While he calmly continued to load the belt
- And tried NOT to slip on the river of juice
- That had now formed between us
- But he forgot about the second river of juice
- And did a real crazy side-step
- Because he is almost 7 feet tall
- Or something
- And kicked over the even-more-empty bottle of juice
- Which then spilled, again
- Creating a friggin' ocean of juice
- With the juice bottle cap floating right in the middle
- So I bent over to pick it up, because that is a law suit just waiting to happen
- But I kicked the cap
- Which then ricocheted off the now empty bottle of juice
- And slid across the floor
- Right into the bank kiosk
- Which caused the woman
- Who was woman-ing the bank kiosk
- To laugh, hysterically
- And then start to look for a camera
- Insisting that my son and I were punking the store
- Or something
- Because NOTHING like this EVER happens
- Not in real life, anyways
- And this is when the cashier started bagging stuff
- Because she wanted us to get out of there, REAL FAST, too!
Aaaaaaand then we left, end scene. The real kicker to this story?!? One of the reasons why I even bothered to stop at this particular store, in the first place?!? Was because…

…wait…

…for…

…it…

…their juice was on sale.

[rolling eyes, like a GarthNHRN]

Thinking on it some more, we never DID get out replacement bottle of juice, which also means we paid double the price, for one bottle of juice, dammit.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Stupid food shopping, dumbass easy-tearing plastic bags.

©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!
March 17, 2014
More stuff Bing said, my dad said, on Facebook.

My dad has been on "the Facebook" for a little over a year and it's been fun to watch him reconnect with friends and family here and in Hungary, but he was a little worried about leaving comments for his English-speaking friends…in English…so, of course, I tried to encourage him (because I am ALL about social media engagement, yo) by insisting that Bing translator would help them out.

Aaaaand, seeing some of the crazy stuff that Bing said, that he said, is yet ANOTHER reason why I do not, and should probably never be encouraged to, teach social media classes.

Then again, some of my Facebook friends seem to be having fun trying to make sense of the Hungarian to English translation, my favorite being: if there is no love there is no semi swaddling you.

Until, this particular conversation:

Then, my Dad commented on my Facebook: Nalunk ho, legalab is eszt montak.

And I commented back: Nalunk is, Apu…sok ho.

Dad: By us snow, at least this is what they said.

Me: By us too, Dad…lots of snow.

Then, there's what Bing said:

Dad: We offer you, ho.

Me: We offer you, Dad…a lot of ho.

Right. Go home, Bing. You're drunk. And who you callin' a ho?!?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

So, yeah, I can't WAIT to see what Bing says, he says, next. Oh, and now I am also thinking about changing my blog's tagline to:

…6 people, living in a 7 room house, and a lot of ho.

Stupid English, dumbass Bing.

©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!

March 12, 2014
Parenting teens: the call home protocol.

As a parent-type blogger with older kids (i.e. can quantify their ages using both hands AND having moved over to their feet, even) I sometimes feel this incredible need to share a few insights to help save other parents (especially, those with younger kids) a few sleepless nights, or twenty.

This week: we're expecting another snow storm (seriously, enough with the polar vortex, it's called winter!) and I tend to spend my off hours worrying, rather than sleeping, especially during snow storms, because kids with their driver's licenses, yo.

Aaaaaand, sometimes they sort of forget to call me, whenever they get to wherever it is they are going, because parents don't sleep…period.

So, I'd like to share with you one of my favorite ways of getting the message of "CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THERE, DAMMIT!!!" across.

**offers a plate of cookies, passes over the clicker**

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!

February 28, 2014
One man’s fashion failure, another mom’s super suit.

As a mom of 3 girls — oh, and a boy who understands the correlation between the changing phases of the moon and its affect on female behavior as more than just a survival tactic — I believe in the restorative powers of comfort food, especially in the wintertime.

This same line of reasoning, however, does NOT always translate well with clothes.

For example: my husband hates, Hates, HAtes, HATes, HATEs, HATES it when I try to explain away my wearing distressed jeans, most especially when I am super stressed.

Aaaaaand, if these back-to-back snowstorms don't quit it soon, I may NEVER take them off, because asshats multiply in the snow.

This week, it snowed (A LOT!) and it was STILL SNOWING when my middle girl texted to tell me she needed a ride to her internship gig, because her carpooling friend decided to stick it out at school and just take the bus home, smart girl.

On the other hand, my kid is struggling with calculus (it's okay, she knows it!) and would rather NOT have to stay in school, any longer than necessary, anyways.

Plus, she LOVES her mentorship with our county's council for fine arts…me, too.

I then did the math, because it is NOT calculus: 24.6 miles to her school, 17.1 miles back to the theater, 11.3 miles back home again…rinse…repeat…[sound of brakes, screeching]…I'm just glad Google maps is not interactively live, because it would be looking for a puke bucket, right about now.

"Hon-NEY, where ARE my SUPER stressed pair of jeans?!?"

Long story, short: both my husband and my oldest daughter offered to make the run for me, but I chose to put my big girl pants on…actually, they are capris…and texted my middle girl to let the theater know we may be a little late, because I will be driving very, like in very, verrrrrrrrrrrrrrry, slooooooooooooooowly.

And then I figured on spending the next couple of hours just sitting in my car…yes, I am THAT good at planning out stuff that allows me the opportunity to NOT drive in the snow…maybe even read a book or something.

Then the sun came out, or at least I think it was the sun (later confirmed with my friends on Facebook and Instagram!) but I wasn't ready to go home, because KILLER DUST BUNNIES!!!

So I decided to drive the 2.6 miles to Trader Joe's, because I have never been and…well…now I know…OMG, COOKIE BUTTER!!!

"Excuse me, but where is your ladies room?"

I get REALLY excited sometimes, then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror:

Here is Liz, ladies and gentlemen: she's wearing her favorite SUPER stressed jeans, her husband's puffy-insulated-type-sweatshirt thingy, along with her oldest daughter's furry boots…because they were just long enough to cover up the fact that she is actually wearing capris pants…and…YES…the girl can work her dorkside, for sure.

Aaaaaaand, I would like to take this moment to publicly apologize to the woman standing in front of me at Shop Rite, who I judged as being high maintenance (North Face jacket, Ugg boots, Louis Vuitton bag) the night before.

I was wrong and I am very, very sorry. You just go ahead and keep working it…GIRRRRRL!!!

To the asshats who continually insist on riding my bumper…during a snowstorm…in the slow lane…feel free to continue to BITE ME!!!

Stupid polar vortex, dumbass winter.

©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!

February 20, 2014
Love, Hungarian American Style

My maternal grandparents were married on June 9, 1935 in UjDombovar (pronounced oo-yuh-dome-bo-vah-r) Hungary. My grandfather Istvan was the oldest of 7 children and my grandmother Maria was born on a farmstead in a small Hungarian village bordering present day Croatia, Serbia and Slovenia.

Through my father's own childhood memories, I now know my grandfather became the patriarch of his family, following the sudden death of his father, and (albeit, very unwillingly) took on the responsibility of supporting his mother and his 6 siblings: 2 years into World War I, my grandfather was 16 years-old, at the time.

My grandmother was a quintessential "old country" girl, pulled out of school around the 3rd or 4th grade (just enough to learn simple math and proficient to write your name in longhand), she spoke with, what we here in the states would also consider, a very heavy Southern accent and my father will tell you that she loved to sing old folk songs, especially when she thought no one was listening.

What neither he or I can tell you is how my grandmother met my grandfather.

What drew them together? How did they fall in love? Did my grandfather seek her family's permission? Or, in my ridiculously romantic imagination, did they meet by chance? On a stormy afternoon, when her day in the fields was cut short and his motorbike broke down in the rain, as she shyly pointed him towards a shortcut and they shared the muddy path back to her village, perhaps?

As the family genealogist, I couldn't help but become very frustrated when interviewing family members and almost always received the same response: people just didn't talk about themselves, or even know anything about their own families, back then.

I never met my grandmother (she died a few months after my brother and I were born) and the memories I have of my grandfather are very different from that of his son's.

So, it's days like this, when images of hearts and flowers abound, I wish someone would hurry up and invent a time machine. Because one of the very first things I would do is go back, sit with my grandparents and listen to THEIR story.

And then I would try to explain why bloggers (like me) share such stories on the internet: I don't want their great-grandchildren to EVER forget where they came from…me either.

On a muddy path, somewhere in between heartache and a folksong.

In the meantime, I'll just pretend that they are both smiling at me…JUST ME…and perhaps even thinking to themselves, "Boldog Valentin nap, kis Sziszikem".

Happy Valentines Day, everyone!

©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!

February 14, 2014
Blogging is not dead, it just needs a little airing out.

It's no secret, I have this terrible habit of taking pictures of other peoples houses. Some folks would call it creeping, but I like to think of my fascination with other people's houses as simply appreciating good curb appeal.

Then there are the houses like number 1658, up there. At first glance, it looks and feels a bit foreboding, as if the stairs or the railings would give way at the slightest touch and send you right back down into some serious hurt.

Although, growing up in an urban neighborhood, where folks sometimes made a habit of misunderstanding your stuff as community property, I totally get the chain across the stoop thing.

I wouldn't want a bunch of uninvited strangers sitting on MY lap, either.

And yet, even when looking back on it now, I can't help but walk away and imagine there being SO MANY stories here, just waiting to be told, if given the chance.

This is why I am and will always be an advocate for the blogging community.

Stories take time to manifest themselves, sometimes they appear within a blink of an eye and then life moves on to the point where we often times miss things, especially when facing in a totally different direction.

On the other hand, I am also guilty of not reading as many blogs posts (as I used to) and I am also engaging in a lot more conversations on Facebook.

On the third hand, social media platforms (like Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, Tumblr and Twitter) are just a quick snapshot of a person (in this case, a blogger like me) and very much like a virtual Open House.

For example: I follow Momofali on Facebook (because "stalk" is such an ugly word!) because she's smart…and funny…she also posts smart and funny updates about her kids and dog…and then Momo occasionally shares a link to her latest blog post.

Aaaaaand, this is the best example of how social media helps us to appreciate the curb appeal of an amazing blog post AND further proof in my evangelizing…NOPE!…blogging is SO NOT dead.

Moral of the Story: Shut up and just blog, already.

Until then, I'mma continue creeping on your Facebook (or Instagram, etc…) and you can leave the rest up to my imagination, 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!

February 12, 2014
Parenting teens: the face infographic.

Having entered my 11th year of blogging…she said, in a Gandolf-like voice…I sometimes feel this incredible need to share a few insights, if you will, to help save other parents a few headaches — especially, parents of younger kids.

In case you missed it: there's the little infographic to help reinforce a more realistic homework ritual and the how much should you help your child with their school project infographic.

This week? I'm laid up with a kidney stone-type pain (they ARE the devil!) and, once again, my husband used his super-power of being able to assess EXACTLY how badly I feel with 8 simple little words: do you need to go to the hospital?!?

You know, I could never figure out those pain scales…either…which inspired me to create an infographic to help other parents decipher their child's facial expression(s), based on the top 5 faces I get from my teens.

**passes bottle of [insert favorite brand of pain reliever, here]**

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!

February 7, 2014
Winter of discontent, breeder of constructive anxiety.

It's snowing (again!), the kids are home from school (see previous parenthesis!) and, although I am thrilled to NOT have to worry about my oldest driving (it's her day off, YAY!) or our school buses getting through this mess, I'm just hoping they actually finish out the year…before the 4th of July.

2 out of 6 people in this house actually like the snow, I am NOT one of them.

The cold weather is rough for a lot of folks. Especially, if you are prone to winter depression. Most especially, when you are dealing with a physical disability. But, you know what's really hard? Watching the people you love, more than ANYTHING on this planet, try and fight their way through both.

Aaaaand, if you are a parent, well, then you already know that there is NOTHING worse than seeing your child in pain. Physical, mental, emotional, it doesn't matter. Unless you are a parent of a teen, or caring for an aging parent, who's grown accustomed to feeling alone and helpless, then it's like walking around with an epic splinter, embedded deep inside your chest, constantly poking at your heart.

I once thought the best Garth (not his real name) and I could hope for (as parents) is that our children grow up to be healthy, happy and relatively well-adjusted human beings.

Only NOW do I realize that it is a lifelong process, for ALL of us.

So, when the problems seem insurmountable (like today), it helps to know that sometimes…some…ding…danged…times…the answer is as simple as embracing the ability to look beyond the storm.

Kids (in unison): Hey, daddy's home!

Finding that…one…bright…spot…of…hope.

Me: Oh, wow, they actually let you come home WAY early, huh?

AND then cling to that mother-trucker…FUH-EVER…or, at least, until the next BIG storm.

Garth (not his real name): I didn't text you, because you've got enough to worry about.

Although I prefer to think of it as more like "constructive anxiety" am I right?!?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Stupid ground hog, dumbass Winter Storm Maximus.

© 2003 – 2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook and everything!

February 3, 2014
Parenting teens: the school project infographic.

So, last week, I created a little infographic to help reinforce a more realistic homework ritual to help save other parents (especially, those with younger kids) a few headaches.

This week? I was inspired by my friend Beth (a.k.a. Life in the BAT Cave) to create an infographic to help your child complete school projects – which, at second glance, could pretty much be used as another homework infographic — because I am also really good at multi-tasking, for you, like that.

**passes bottle of [insert favorite brand of wine or beverage of choice, because I'm easy, here]**

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!

January 31, 2014
Help teens get a great start in the morning, for real!

As a Kellogg’s KChamps partner, I had the extreme pleasure of meeting with U.S. Olympic legends (that’s me over there, standing with 1980 Olympic Hockey Gold Medalist…Jim Craig…seriously?!?) and athlete hopefuls representing Team USA to help kick-off the 100 day countdown to the Sochi 2014 Olympic Winter Games.

I know, who ever thought a dork like me would EVER be able to say that, out loud, RIGHT?!?

Kellogg’s is also an official sponsor of the U.S. Olympic and Paralympic Teams and, now that we are just a few days away from the opening ceremonies for the winter games (February 7th, whoot!!!), I am super-excited to join the Kellogg’s Team USA athletes in kicking-off the Great Starts Program for 2014 AND help share in their Olympic journey!

This month, they’ve challenged me…personally…to share tips to help other families with teens get the best possible start to their mornings: CHALLENGE ACCEPTED!!!

Aaaaand, if you know me…personally and/or virtually…then you know how I like to keep it real AND snarky.

(more…)

January 29, 2014