This Full House Archive

Tag: new jersey mom bloggers

My Ability to Confuse People, In Two Languages

Growing up in my parent's house we spoke Hunglish and, even now, my kids have very little trouble following along, as their maternal side of the family tree continues to hold entire conversations, in half Hungarian and half English.

now, my mom and I both spend our sundays trying to remember just when (and how) in the heck our kids got so grown…

The downside being: my inability to complete a single reprimand, without referring to some Hungarian proverb my parents or grandmother would bust out in similar parenting situations.

Problem being: my kids have no clue what the heck I am hollering about, in two languages, unless I bust out with a slew of curse words and, well, then they know to duck and cover.

Just the sound of "a fene egye meg", when spat in between "hulye", "pofatlan" and "balfasz" is enough to guarantee, at the very least, an awkward silence from the "stupid" "faceless" "sucker", "damn it" (true translation, makes no sense, I know) especially, if you happen to be on the receiving end.

Still, Hungarian expressions like "lofasz a budosh kurva anyad seggebe" are quite offensive and much worse than its English counterpart: which I cannot even bring myself to type, this early in the day.

Suffice it to say it is quite stinky and most likely very, very painful.

[shiver]

So, what's my point…and EWWWW!!!…right?!?

I received a call from the nurse at the high school that my middle girl attends: she got in between a boyfriend and a girlfriend being all…[giggle-giggle]…oh, stop it…[giggle-giggle]…and their supposed playful pushing and shoving, which then suddenly turned all…no, YOU stop it…BAM!!!

The girlfriend fell into her locker door (which was wide open) and slammed it into my daughter's head.

I know, ouch!

Unfortunately, it didn't end there. Heather then slammed the OTHER side of her head into her own locker and, well, OUCH!!!

Long story, short: she went to the nurse's office, politely asked for an ibuprofen and then proceeded to vomit.

A LOT!!!

Aaaaand she was still vomiting, by the time I got to her school, almost an hour later, earning us an impromptu ride in an ambulance.

It's how we roll.

Heather is the only one out of all four of my kids…[knocking on wood until knuckles bleed]…who has ever gone through surgery…twice…followed by two more emergency room visits for complications from a very invasive procedure on her backside.

In teaching hospitals that happened to be staffed with medical students, each and every time.

Seriously, even I was all like, OH MAN, 20-something year-olds are staring at my 13 year-old's butt, really?!?

She is also my migraine kid.

"There seems to be no cranial damage."

Only, this time, the pediatric physician on staff had a wicked accent and I heard it as her saying: no anal damage, because I am 12.

"We're going to treat her for migraine with i.v. fluids and meds."

Having been there way too many times, my ownself, I got absolutely nothing whimsical to say about migraines or i.v. fluids.

[shiver]

Aaaaaand, that's when my daughter proceeded to lose her cranium.

"Why DOES IT ALWAYS have to be me DAMMIT?!?"

Not for nothing, but the kid DOES seem to be a magnet for this sort of stuff and I am seriously considering investing in lots of bubble wrap, over the summer.

"Well, you know what your great-grandmother always said?"

Heather closed her eyes and pretended to be sleeping; didn't stop THIS dork any, though.

"The dog will always choose to pee where there is pee, already."

[blink-blink-blink]

"Like, you know, when we walk Doofus-Dawg?"

She finally opened her eyes, probably way past bored at this point, wondering where in the heck this was going.

"How he sniffs and then pees on every pole, mailbox or whatever."

[blink-blink-blink]

"Soooooo, you're saying I'm a pole, that makes total sense…to no one."

Ah, a little nugget of sarcasm, it was at this point when I knew that she was beginning to feel a little better and that we (mostly me!) would be okay…SHEW!!!

"Nooooo, I'm saying we're both more like pee magnets."

Aaaaaand, then I heard someone else quietly clear their throat.

"The bathroom is just around the corner, if you need, Mrs. Thompson."

Moral of the Story: Better to be laughed at than puked on, I always say.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

"Hulye" head injuries, "seggfej" proverbs.

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything!

June 18, 2013
I’m Married to a Saint, Literally

Confession: we're not a very religious family, in the sense that we have not attended church services in a very long while and are, what I often refer to as being, "in between churches" at the moment.

If you were to ask me to give you a reason why we aren't, at the very least, involved with some form of organized religion, it would be a very solid….I don't know.

We used to be.

My husband, Garth (not his real name) served as a deacon, while I taught Sunday school when our two oldest were in preschool and I was pregnant with our son when the church elders asked me to apply as the director of the vacation bible school that same year.

DID SO!

Aaaaaand, it may even surprise some of you to learn that I actually got the job (clearly, when I used to be much more organized and stuff).

Long story, short: we left the congregation soon after our son was born and then, a few years later, had our youngest daughter christened at the church where our oldest girls had attended preschool.

We haven't been back since, for what my husband and I now consider to be very boring and undramatic reasons.

The kids? Well, over the last several years, they have each been either asked to attend various religious ceremonies and youth groups with friends or have participated in church functions…with OTHER families.

I mean, why lay ALL our ecclesiastical baggage on them…right?!?

Right.

Soooooo, you can just imagine their surprise when Garth's (NHRN) niece and her fiancee asked him to officiate their wedding, this summer.

No, he did NOT become a minister, since in between those last few paragraphs, or anything that can be even remotely linked back to his college degree: Garth (NHRN) minored in religion, ironically enough.

My husband was dumbstruck — literally, he did NOT know what to say — I, on the other hand, was all like…SURE!!!…Uncle Garth (NHRN) would LOVE to marry you guys…because I am ALL supportive and brave (mostly, for OTHER folks) like that.

Garth (NHRN), on the other hand, is all…it's their wedding…I do NOT want to blow this.

So, this weekend, we were invited out to dinner to discuss the wedding ceremony with our niece and nephew-in-law-to-be and, well, funny how some stuff sort of seems a lot less worrisome…to some folks…when discussed over a pitcher of white sangria.

"So, what do you think Uncle Garth (NHRN)?!?"

Also, I may or may not have started answering for Garth (NHRN).

"SURE…that sounds like a GREAT idea…FUHGHETTABOUT what everyone ELSE wants…it's YOUR wedding…yada…yada…etc…etc…"

But, NOT for long.

"SHUDDUP, YOU!!!"

Aaaaaand, without skipping a beat, his niece pointed out how I effectively managed to reiterate the very reason why she suggested Garth (NHRN) solemnize their marriage.

"Seeeee, THIS is what WE have to look forward to!!!!"

Not just because he's lived with me for almost 23 years, which qualifies him for sainthood, in some circles…I'm pretty sure…more likely, because he is also smart enough to let me finish my sentence…FIRST.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Right.

Saint Garth (not his real name): it's got a nice ring to it, don'tcha think?!?

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything!

June 10, 2013
BEWARE: Guard Dog on Laundry Duty!

Backstory: I first Instagrammed a picture of our Doofus-Dawg sleeping…sorry, I mean…PROTECTING the laundry, because someone’s GOT to guard it from the danged squirrels.

My office also happens to pull double-duty as the laundry room and, upon occasion, Garth’s (not his real name) mancave and, yeah, it’s not called This Full House for nothing!

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Aaaaanyway, it’s sort of hard to work with a 90 lb. Doofus-Dawg snoring behind me and I was all, like….daaaaaaaang….how he could EVEN sleep through ALL the bird chatter and squirrel-squealing going on behind “him”.

Here, let me show you:

Stupid birds; dumbass squirrels; friggin’ laundry.

©2003 – 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything!

June 5, 2013
I Don’t Always Talk To My Teen, But When I Do, We Text
Some parenting-type experts will agree: most teens have no idea how to have real conversations, because they are too busy texting on their cell phones.

I am NOT one of these parenting-type experts: in fact, I really do wonder if any of them…you know…actually live with teens and I'm just going to embrace this moment (sorry, I'm a hugger) and share a little parenting-type secret with you, okay?

Wait. For. It.

Teens do NOT talk: sometimes, even when they are spoken to, and I most humbly suggest that you just go ahead and not expect any serious eye contact, anytime soon, either — it'll be easier that way, trust me.

However, most parents also own cell phones and, well, messing with your teens just got better.

For example-type purposes: my oldest daughter went out with a bunch of girlfriends to celebrate one of their birthdays, after work.

No biggie, right?

I'm going to add some key pieces of information missing from that sentence:
- My oldest daughter is 19
- As are her girlfriends
- It was teen night, at a dance club
- My daughter's shift ended at 8 p.m.
- She got home at 9 p.m.
- It took her until sometime around 10:00 p.m. to figure out just which shoes goes best with which top
All "yeah, but she's an adult now" and "she's got a good head on her shoulders" arguments aside (because, seriously, with a houseful of teenagers, the line for questioning my parenting abilities forms to the right) I suspect any attention she does get will most probably NOT be kept, above the shoulders.
- Text me, no maybes!
Long story, short (I know, too late, but we're already too deep into brain vomit, you're welcome) I pretty much did the same thing at her age (YES, I still remember and never mind just HOW long ago it was) and, well, only really important people walked around with briefcase phones.

Aaaaaand, my parents never slept.

Today, my husband and I insist that our kids remember to, at the very least, text us: but STILL we are NOT sleeping.
- 10:03 p.m. — at Snooki's house (not her real name and don't EVEN!) I'll text when we leave
- 1:29 a.m. — Heading to get food now then back to Snooki's (seriously, JUST STOP IT!) house! All safe and sound
- 2:19 a.m. — change of plans, I am sleeping over Annie's (not her real name, either and this would be funnier, if she had red, curly hair, which she doesn't, whatev!) I'm there now
She did stop home long enough to tell me some quick and amazingly funny stories from last night (seems guys have NOT changed, AT ALL!) and then I got this text after she got into work:

What?!? Alright, fine, I don't expect everyone will get the 80's movie reference, but my kids are pretty used to my busting out into Broadway show tunes, too…aaaaaaand, YES!!!…this IS the part where you should start feeling a little bit better about yourself 🙂

You know, thinking on it some more, I never DID hear back from her. Maybe she's just too busy Googling "fly dance moves" right?!? RIGHT?!?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Stupid parenting-type experts; dumbass 80's catchphrases.

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything!
May 17, 2013
Another Vlog Tutorial: How NOT to Talk to Teenagers
Working in social media, I get to watch a lot of "how to" videos (YES, it's a job!) and I have learned some really interesting stuff along the way: like, how some parenting sites can make raising teens (and tweens) sound sooooooo…I don't know…wash, rinse and repeat.

So, I was undermining my teens' privacy the other day and started thinking to myself; you know, maybe it would be a whole lot easier if someone showed me what NOT to do…and…HEY!!!!…wait a minute…I can do that!!!

So, I present to you, the second in a series of "how NOT to" vlogs.

A few post-production notes:
- I am, and have NEVER even claimed to be, in no way, shape or form a parenting expert…clearly.
- If, however, by posting these silly little videos, I can make you feel even just a little better about your parenting skills, then my job here is done.
- That being said, do NOT try this at home, I am a professional dork.
- My husband, kids and even the dog know and they seem to be okay wit-it.
- I also realize that the audio does not match the video.
- You've just witnessed a professional dork "workin-it".
- With SUPER heavy duty and totally teen-induced eye baggage, even.
- Wil Wheaton is awesome.
© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

New and improved with a fan page on Facebook and everything!
May 15, 2013
Sinceriously Yours, I.M. Deluded

Our youngest daughter is turning 12, next month — pausing to allow for the "OH, BUT HOW?!?" and the "MY BAYBEEEEEE?!?" to come through, okay, I'm good now, thanks!!! — and, as fourth in line, MY BAYBEEEEEE (whoops, that one slipped right through, sorry!) she's learned to sit back and observe, as her older siblings get grounded for one reason (or twenty), so that she knows EXACTLY what she can or cannot get away with.

Aaaaaand, she will test us…in theory…just in case.

I'm just beginning to get used to her turning eleventeen

Long story, short: not only have we deluded ourselves into believing that this kid would most likely be the easiest one to raise, we NEVER had a chance.

Oh, but she's soooooooo cute, right?!? YES!!! Also, to her advantage, she's smart and presents a list of reasons why she should be allowed to [enter whatever it is her siblings were NOT allowed, here] which, more often than not, leaves me snort-laughing and, well, when I say we NEVER had a chance, I mostly mean…me.

For example: my insisting that she does NOT in fact need to get one of those $$ binders, this late into the school year and then finding an email (sent to my business account, btw) outlining the reasons why she does so need to get one of those $$ binders:

REASONS WHY I DO SO NEED TO GET A $$ BINDER

1.) I would be way more organized throughout the year.

2.) We would save more money with just buying one big binder rather than two smaller ones.

3.) They have more space and it will allow me to have easy access to everything in my binder.

4.) As you can see my binders right now are falling apart.

5.) It would allow me to have more space for every subject, have space for my writing materials, and it would be 1 binder.

6.) With this binder I won't have to use a book bag.

7.) This binder would take a lot of weight off of my shoulders, I would carry the binder and my lunch, that’s it!

8.) You would not have to worry about it breaking because they are really good, and it may even last until 7th grade that saves even more money!

9.) And did I mention that it saves money???????!!!!!

10.) All of these reasons make up the binder of my dreams.

Aaaaaaand, then she included "here are some pictures" with her closing statement:

I hope you choose to buy this binder with me and as you can see I'm leaning towards the purple color.

Sinceriously,

How could I say no, right?!? RIGHT?!?

Riiiiiiight, but what if I told you that she ALSO copied her list of reasons why she does so need to get one of those $$ binders and then shared it with me in a Google doc?!?

You see what I mean?!? We…okay, fine…I NEVER HAD A FRIGGIN' CHANCE, with this kid.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Aaaaaaand, you are NOT helping.

[blows bangs out of eyes, drains coffee mug]

She had me at number 8 (don't judge!) and, now that she has one of those $$ binders (yes, it's purple, dammit), it IS one less thing I can √ off of my list for next year, right?!?

[what IS it with ALL these crickets, anyways]

Stupid school supplies, dumbass Google docs.

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

New and improved with a fan page on Facebook and everything!

May 9, 2013
Do You Know This (or That) Mom?
Not unlike most days, her morning does not start out very well: in fact, she cannot remember the last time she did not have to holler at someone:
- GET UP!!!
- GET READY!!!
- HURRY UP!!!
- ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY SURE YOU HAVE EVERYTHING?!?
- DON'T FORGET YOUR LUNCH!!!
- YOU'RE GOING TO MISS THE BUS (AGAIN!)
- WAIT, SO WHOSE BACKPACK IS THIS?!?
Then her phone will ring; she immediately recognizes the number and begins to feel the first pangs of regret when wondering, "What now?!?"

Another migraine; she will listen and then she will silently nod her head, as the nurse asks for a verbal approval, knowing very well that she did so send in the paperwork, twice before, because all she ever wants is for the pain to stop.

She hangs up the phone and mentally begins to plot out her day, which may or may not include a 90 minute drive to pick up a sick teen.

She hollers (once more) to her kids, to make sure they wear comfortable shoes, because she will NOT be driving them to school.

Then her phone will ring (again) and now she begins to wonder, "Could this day get ANY worse?"

Yes, yes it could and if she had a dollar for each time she's hollered, "AREN'T THOSE SHORTS A LITTLE TOO SHORT?!?" she'd be able to afford to keep up with her children's growth spurt(s).

At this point, she begins to wonder if her kids are trying to kill her, and she may or may not have said it, out loud.

She will then sit in the cold metal chair, where thousands of others (very much smaller than her, btw) have waited for disciplinary actions, mentally willing herself to sit straight-backed and sure, when she swears she feels as if she is beginning to melt from all the disapproving glances, feeling as if she were 12 years-old, all over again.

Her almost 12 year-old daughter will walk into the office, her head down in a futile attempt to hide the streaks of dried tears (seems she did in fact, say it out loud) and she will feel as if yet another small piece of her has died.

She will then hand her youngest child a pair of pants, along with her science book, stroke the back of her head, look straight into her chocolate-colored eyes and say, "See you later, sweetie."

She drives home in silence, wiping away the tears at every stop light, hoping that she does not pass anyone she knows.

A car blows its horn; she waves and smiles.

Then her phone will ring (for the third time, this morning), but this time she tells the nurse that she will be there in about an hour.

She will then take a few minutes, to herself, and write it ALL down.

She grabs her purse, puts on a pair of sunglasses and, for the first time today, will begin to forgive herself for being that mom.

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

New and improved with a fan page on Facebook and everything!
May 3, 2013
Tell Them About My Name

My kids love hearing the stories behind their namesakes and each still pretty much like their given names, except for our youngest: while playing a name game at a friend's baby shower, Hope insisted she wanted to be called Robin.

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

For two reasons: naming your children with the same letter sounds harmless enough, until you try hollering for one of them, and can't seem to remember their names, without sounding like an idiot…each and every blessed time…because, I'm smart like that.

There is also a pretty neat and totally goosebump-worthy story behind the reason why we chose to name our son, Glen.

One of my husband Garth's (not his real name) earliest childhood memories was from the summer when he was about 4 years-old: he fell into a rose bush, ten times his size (as he remembers it) when a really big boy from the neighborhood ran over and, without hesitation reached in through the thorns, lifted him out, brushed him off and then walked him home.

The really big boy was a 19-year old, his name was Glen Bates — a few months later, he was killed in Vietnam.

But wait, my story is about to get a whole lot goosebump-ier.

(more…)

April 29, 2013
Middle School Drop-Off, Dropout

Get thee to the bus ON TIME!!!

With multiple kids in school for the last thirteen years, we are at that point in our lives when — rather than referring to pregnancies as a timeline — my husband, Garth (not his real name) and I are beginning rely on graduations to help us remember stuff.

Don't even get me started on the years when we had kids attending four different schools (redistricting, halfway through, yeah, THAT was fun!) and, well, a large chunk of that time is still a little fuzzy.

I do, however, remember spending at least two hours…every day…either dropping off or picking kids up from school and a bulk of that time was spent witnessing/experiencing carpool lane ashattery of epic proportions.

Entering middle school: I waved each of my kids off to the bus stop and may or may not have reinacted the entire first scene of the Sound of Music…four times.

[cue heavenly ray of light]

Unless, my two youngest miss the school bus and…HOLY HANNAH MONTANA…I thought the elementary schools were bad?!?

Middle school drop-offs are a whole OTHER level of hell.

Then my oldest started driving and offered to help out getting her siblings to school on the days they miss the bus.

[cue choir of angels]

Until this morning when, upon entering the seventh level of hell, where everyone else's kid also seemed to be running late, she came home and then proceeded to blow a gasket.

"How did you NOT go insane?"

Yeah…

"How did you NOT get into a car crash?"

…um…

"Seriously, the way THOSE people drive?"

…I…

"I can't believe you did THAT for ALL those years?"

…know.

"Seriously???"

I showed her a couple…HUNDRED…previous blog posts to, you know, back me up.

"Well, g'head and blog this then: CARPOOLING SUCKS, I QUIT!!!"

Which reminds me, my son is graduating 8th grade. He'll be a "walker" again in high school (bet you didn't know hell actually had 8 levels, huh?!?) AND first period begins at 7:25 a.m.

[face palm]

Well, it WAS nice while it lasted…YO!!!

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

New and improved with a fan page on Facebook and everything!

April 10, 2013
Tell Us Which City’s Shelter Dogs to Feed Next

PEDIGREE CTNC Blog Post: This post is sponsored by PEDIGREE Brand, which compensated me to develop this content and reader giveaway.

I wanted to share a quick update with you on the special feeding project I've been working on with Pedigree and Miranda Lambert (love her)!

With your help, Pedigree has received more than 14,000 nominations, from all over the country, for their Choose the Next Communities program: a new initiative to feed more shelter dogs while they wait adoption.

The top five finalists are in and now we get to tell Pedigree which city's shelter dogs to feed next. I am also excited to be able to share a special gift basket with one of you and your bdf: best dogfriend forever.

First, the top five community shelters include:

(more…)

April 8, 2013