This Full House Archive

Tag: Teen Raisers

  • My Kids Think I’m a Stupid Momblogger, I Prefer the Term “Family Chronicler”!

    Bushkill Falls Caution

    Reading between the lines: HEY, YOU KLUTZ, BEWARE!

    I love it when Garth (not his real name) is home for many reasons that I won't bother you with writing a long, drawn out list or anything (you're welcome!) okay, maybe just one.

    Falling Behind the My Pack

    Pulling up the rear (literally!)

    This week, my kids LOVED being able to hang out with their dad (besides, at the supper table or a few minutes before bedtime) as I, once again, played the role of mom blogger. 

    Striking a Pose

    I said "G'head and do something," and I got this!

    Although, I prefer the term:  family chronicler (yes, it's a word, spell-check says so) the kids and Garth (NHRN) are used to me falling a bit behind (as usual) but, this time, I felt a terrible desperation to capture AND savor the moment.

    View fromTop of Trail

    The view from the top of the red trail.

    I have suffered from back problems for years (car accident in my 20's, birthing 4 babies in my 30's, dumbass 40's) and it's been getting progressively worse. 

    Holly at Top of Trail

    Holly at the top of the red trail, YAY!

    An unexpected trip to the hospital for a kidney stone this past February also confirmed 2 herniated discs in my lower back (a.k.a. 2-for-1 diagnosis…YO!) and a subsequent visit with a neurologist who is still waiting for me to, you know, show up.

    Hope Almost at Top of Trail

    Hope at the top of the red trail, ALMOST!

    What?!?  The man wants to shove a HUGE needle in my back…ON PURPOSE!!!…more than once and then, eventually, introduce more pointy objects into my spine that will keep me flat on my back for weeks.

    Heather Owning Top of Trail

    Heather owning the top of the trail, YOU GO GIRL!

    Yeah, I know, I know, there are worse things.  Unfortunately, I have friends and family who are suffering from all sorts of physical, mental and emotional pain…as we speak…DAMNIT!   So, trust me when I tell you that I am NOT looking for any sympathy, JUST because I am afraid of sharp pointy things.

    Garth (not his real name)

    He's got a smart phone and he's not afraid to use it!

    I am, however, scared to death at the thought of being expected to do nothing more than lay flat on my back for weeks.  There, I said it and NOT just because Garth (not his real name) will testify to the fact that I am indeed a TERRIBLE patient.

    The Boy

    He didn't want me to wait alone, at the top of the red trail.

    Apparently, I am an equally AWFUL actress.  There was no hiding the fact that the 2-hour car ride had taken its toll — not to mention, attending 2 blogging conferences, in 2 of my most favorite walking cities, in 1 month — as each of my kids took turns holding my hand, clearing a path or asking me if I needed to sit down.

    Thompson Clan 2012

    When did they get to be THIS BIG?!?

    Not for nothing, but it broke my heart.  Kids today have enough to worry about — I have teenagers, trust me, I know — still, my mother is scheduled for surgery this coming Monday (a long overdue shoulder replacement) but, this time she's really, really scared and, well, I finally "get it".

    Masked Mom

    Look, it's the masked blog-guh!

    No, I'm not the smartest, bravest or most talented person in cyberspace (seriously, I'm okay with it) however, my kids seem to like hanging out with me inspite of the fact they believe I'm stupid for not going back to the neurologist sooner.

    Aaaand that's just all sorts of cool, right?!?  RIGHT?!?

    [sound of crickets]

    Riiiiiight.  Stupid back, dumbass 40's.

    © 2003 – 2012 This Full House

  • Eye of the Tiger Mom

    My oldest daughter is a senior in high school…hang on, while I allow that to sink in or, at least, until I stop shivering…okay, that's better, thanks.

    Aaaaanyway, there is nothing…and I mean ABSOLUTELY NADA…that will bring even the most light-hearted of parental units…crashing back down to earth…faster than a high school graduation and/or college looming over your head.

    Aaaaand, the perverbial glass ceiling being…I am her mother.

    "I need a baby picture for the year book!"

    You've heard of Manic Mondays, right (Bangles, 1986, look it up on Youtube, youngster!)

    "Um, okay, when do you need it?"

    Well, at our house, we celebrate Frantic Fridays.

    "Deadline is today."

    Of course.  Why not?  Never mind that her father is in the car, waiting, or that she should have been at school, 10 minutes ago, OH, and I have absolutely NO CLUE where her baby book is OR if it's even finished.

    Holly June 1994
    Luckily, my youngest (a.k.a. The Informer) pulled this pic pretty much out of nowhere (a'la Houdini) and, well…hang on another second…or 60,000…as my mind begins to race:

    • Was she EVER that little?!? 
    • Did I remember to pack away those adorable baby shoes?!? 
    • What in the world possessed me to get rid of that hat?!?
    • I am SUCH a bad mother!!! 
    • Oh, look, how she's smiling, that's a good thing, right?!?

    The simple act of holding a photo and ALL this (and, MUCH, MUCH more) goes through my mind (it's a gift!)

    Revisiting stuff, like, maybe I should have done [insert stuff] differently.

    Or, stuff I didn't do, in the last almost 18 years, like, take her to Disney (I mean, really, every kid SHOULD go to Disney, right?!?)

    "Oh, look how cute I was."

    Still is (are?) albeit, frustratingly flighty at times and perpetually late…hey, wait a minute…apple, meet tree!!!

    "DUH-DUM..DUM-DUM-DUM…DUM-DUM-DUM…DUHHHHH-DUM!"

    Holly snatched the photo from my hand and I turned, a little too quickly (I suffer from severe internal bedhead, too) but, managed to grab my camera in time for the second chorus:


     

    The leaky roof, cracked ceilings, busted water heater, renovation projects that have gone unfinished for, well, uh, did I mention, we've got a kid, turning 18, next month (I think?!?)

    NOPE, wouldn't trade ANY of it…NADA!…at this very moment…for all the dry wall and/or spackle mud in the world.

    The fact that my 10-year-old even knew the words to Eye of the Tiger (Survivor, 1982, shuddup) which came out the same year I graduated high school?!?

    [shiver]

    PRICELESS and more than just a little freaky, right?!?

    © 2003 – 2011 This FULL House

  • I Give Good Face(s)

    My husband, the kids and I were ALL having a nice, quiet, leisurely dinner at the dining room table the other night.

    [blank stare]

    Okaaaaay, so, maybe the kids weren't actually at the table.

    [eyes go wide]

    Fiiiiiiine, they were all out eating at other people's houses.

    [taps foot]

    Buuuuut, my husband and I were eating…uh…standing up.

    [sound of crickets chirping]

    Aaaaanyway, my husband was in the middle of telling me a story about something that happened at his work the other day and then ended it, very abruptly.

    "What's the face for?"

    [blink, blink]

    Honestly, I wasn't even aware of my giving a face.

    "Which face?" 

    I can't help it.  Part of it stems from my being raised by Hungarians, a culture whose emotional heritability increases exponentially.

    "THAT FACE, right there!"

    Seems some of the kids were home…early…and immediately began to throw their mother (that would be me) right under the proverbial bus.  Apparently, I have six (6) distinct faces, which they then began to categorize, thusly:

    The Face Collage A-F 
    A = Awesome:  For those moments of pure joy and one that I would hope most folks are probably pretty much used to seeing, right?  RIGHT?  Riiiiight.

    B = Be Quiet:  One I use when fighting my inner-12-year-old or trying REAL HARD to keep my mouth shut (shuddup!)

    C = Catatonic:  Believe it or not, this is one of my least expressive faces which, come to find out, is a clear sign that I am NOT listening.

    D = DER!:  I've got teenagers, enough said.

    E = EWW:  My most multi-functional expression and can be easily translated from,"What's that smell?!?" to "Meh, I've seen hairier!"

    F = Fear Me:  Thankfully, I don't use this one very often (DO NOT!) but, one my kids, my husband, the dog and whoever else manages to bring out the Jersey in me (YO!) fear the most.

    Oh, and jackwagons  who insist on double-parking in the drop-off lane, THIS is the one you'll most likely see from your review mirror, complete with its own personalized set of eye baggage and everything!

    You feel me?

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House

  • Serving as an Unspoken Example to My Children Since 2003

    I wrote my very first blog post 8 years ago (Happy Belated Blogivesary to me, heh) on September 2, 2003 (at 3:38 p.m.) and poop may or may not have been involved.

    My youngest was still in diapers and, well, it's understandable, really.  Raising 4 kids, under the age of 10, life revolved around my being the center of their world — handling poop was a large part of it — which, thanks to the internet, had just gotten a whole lot smaller.

    I now had the ability to communicate, with other people, over the age of 10, unwashed and in my pajamas (as far as anyone knew!)

    To be given the opportunity to put my thoughts (scattered and nonsensical, as they may have been) into actual words (thanks to spell check) blogging felt empowering AND downright intoxicating, really.

    Minus, the poop, of course.  Especially, for a self-professed, semi-professional, poop-handlers (like me) you know?

    We've shared a lot of stories in 8 years and, now that my kids are older (me, too) perhaps even managed to work in a title, involving just about every major bodily fluid and/or function known to the universe.

    Because, contrary to what most people think (about moms, who happen to write a blog, or twenty, too) it's not ALWAYS about the poop.

    "Grandma's on the phone and she sounds upset."

    My in-laws were in Massachusetts, on their way back home to Jersey, they got hit by another car and my husband could hear the emergency crew trying to get her side of the car open, they got there THAT fast (thank you Holyoke EMT!)

    While my husband showered and prepared to break the record for driving, round trip, thru MA, CT, NY and NJ traffic (enough said) in 9 hours (it CAN be done) my kids took to task.

    My middle girl Googled information for the local authorities, hospital and hotels, while the youngest wrote the information on sticky notes.

    Aaaand, for all the worries about kids today and their fascination with the internet (not to mention, the moms who blog about them) I have to say, it was nice to see mine use their cyberpowers for good in the time it took me to find my dumbass phone.

    Only, because my oldest used her cell phone to call it.

    Gramma & Grampa

    Then, she texted this picture to my husband's cell phone and, I am very,VERY happy to tell you, they are ALL back home and doing fine.

    Morale of the Story:  Potty-training is hard, raising tweens and teens is like [insert bodily fluid and/or function, of choice, here!] in the wind.

    Beeeeeecause, you NEVER know what's gonna get thrown back at you AND it's not always about the poop, anyway.

    Don't believe me?  Rather than telling you about the rest of our horrifically emotional weekend (you're welcome!) I did a quick search:  PUKE WINS!

    Aaaand thank YOU for allowing ME the chance to, you know, share.

    © 2003 – 2011 This Full House