This Full House Archive

Tag: this full house

3,650 Days

As a mom of a 17, 15 and 12 year-old, other than scraping teeth on utensils, or chewing and speaking at the same time (shiver!) things don't bother me as much, as they did, when ALL 4 of my kids were in single digits…at the same time (double-shiver!)

But, this kid…right here…just turned 10 today and, well, I'm still having trouble wrapping my head around the fact that my oldest is now a legally licensed driver.

Or, that my middle girl is turning 16 at the end of this year and how much older than 15 that sounds, right about now.

Cape May 2011

Never mind, that my son's next birthday will mark the "Holy Hannah Montana what do you mean we have 3 teenagers in the house," point in our lives where my husband, Garth (not his real name) and I won't be able to use each of my pregnancies as a time line, to remember stuff, for very much longer.

Cape May 2007

Like, how this post is supposed to be about Hope's 10th Birthday and here I am, going on about her siblings and, well, that's how it goes, when you are the youngest, right?

But, this kid…right here…makes us laugh AND cry (especially, whenever she feels the need to interject herself in a conversation and correct one of us, which is often) like no one else we know (she's usually right, btw!)

Although, sometimes Hope will swear that she is ALWAYS last and that no one EVER listens to her, she has single-handedly managed to claim an especially squishy spot in each of our hearts.

Because, Hope IS a mashup of ALL that is good in our lives at the moment and, now that she's crossed-over to double digits, too (SOB!) I can't think of a better reason to celebrate, than this:

From Day 1 to Day 3,650 (or, 3,652.42199, including, leap year) there is and always will be ONLY one Hope — a.k.a. Queen of the Cat Daddy.

Happy 10th Birthday, Hopey!

P.S. After careful consideration, I've decided to surprise Hope and take her to get her nails done after school, today. I understand, she's only 10 (see above) but, it's the ONLY thing on this kid's birthday list and, considering I'm her mother, it's really not a whole heck of a lot to ask, is it?

P.P.S. Besides, she's MY kid…soooooooo…pppfffbbbllltttt!!!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

June 16, 2011
Maybe This Time, She’ll Stay…Parked.

Last week, I got to spend a few days at one of my favorite summertime destinations and, would you believe, it is NOT Disney?

My family has never been, actually.

Nope, in fact, I was happy for the opportunity to write about my favorite vacation spot, here in Jersey (is, too!!!)

Still, leaving home, without my kids, is always hard.

However, I did not expect my youngest daughter to cry and hug me, as hard, as she did, or to make my son feel as if I were never coming back home, ever again.

Then, about halfway into the 2+ hour car ride it dawned me.

"Hi mom, we need the password for Netflix."

My kids were sad, beeeeeecause, they weren't allowed to, you know, come with me and, well, the fact that they probably would be fine, without me (for the next few days, at least) just made my time away from home a little easier.

Then, I came home, gave them each their presents (don't judge) and we ALL settled in to catch up on Season 2 of Glee (thank you, Netflix) when it hit.

"Mom, we need to practice parallel parking!!!"

A wave of nausea, when realizing that my oldest daughter is taking her driving test on Tuesday and…for those of you who have been reading along…for the last 8 years (you know who you are!) and my many new friends I've met over the internets…I hope you understand when I repeat this, all in UPPERCASE:

HOLLY WILL (or will not) BE ISSUED A NEW JERSEY DRIVER'S LICENSE, TOMORROW!!!

Oh and, one more thing:

HOW IN THE H…E…DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS DID THAT HAPPEN, ANYWAY?!?!?

[takes deep breath]

So, Garth (not his real name) and I traded cars, since she'll be road-testing in it, anyway.

Also, the hand break is in the center console, where instructor can reach it, if need be, but I hope not, still, you never know, it is supposed to rain, like buckets, okay, pour actually, ugh, moving on.

Late this afternoon, Holly and I headed over to the high school and, seeing as I grew up about 25 minutes outside of New York City, while my husband grew up with head on parking (ONLY!) I instructed my 17 year-old in the fine art of parallel parking.

Phase 1: wasn't very successful and I suspected it was because the poor kid couldn't see the back of the first pretend car.

"This is no use, Mom, I can't see the garbage can in the front!"

See, I told you, because, I'm smart like that.

Phase 2: I found the pair of slippers, from Christmas, that don't fit Garth (not his real name) in the trunk, so I balanced it right on top of an empty box of garbage bags and, viola!!!

Almost, not quite, but I just stood there, taking pictures, all quiet like (which is very, very hard for a Hungarian, just so you know) and let Holly get a feel for her.

Well, seems like she's ready and close enough to the curb for Mr. or Ms. DMV Instructor, even, right?

"I'm gonna pass this suh-cuh!"

Yep, to me, it sounds like she's more than ready to drive, in Jersey!

"Even if you don't, no biggie!"

Seriously, we live in Jersey, either way, she parks like her muh-thuh.

"Can I blog this?"

So, you know, I could remember what in the h…e…double hockey sticks I did…for the next 3 times, I mean.

"Can you believe that Hope's turning double-digits this week, too, Mom?"

Because, you know, they don't stay little for long…DAGNABIT!!!!

UPDATED TO ADD: She passed. I did NOT puke. Aaaaand, now it starts…

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

June 13, 2011
Liar, Liar, Birthday Cake on Fire!
I remember, back in the day (way before feed readers and Facebook ruled the interwebz) when my kids were smaller (i.e. NOT able to finish stuff ordered off the children's menu) how cute it was when they'd start planning their NEXT birthdays…the day AFTER…their birthdays.

Then, they got bigger, we started paying full price at the movie theaters and, well, thank goodness for Netflix.

Then, all of the sudden, we were celebrating birthweeks, evidenced by my having to clean the house, more than usual and, well, thank goodness our local super, duper, shop until you drop has an awesome bakery department, too.

Did I mention, my 3 oldest celebrate their birthdays in November, December and January, respectively, in birth order and…SURE…I could tell you, that…YES…we totally planned it that way…OF COURSE…I am still THAT organized (snort!) but, most of you would probably know I'd be lying, right?

As my kids continue to get older (me, too DAGNABIT!) I've since grown to appreciate celebrating birthweekends and focusing on enjoying the simple stuff, like:
- Waking up with all my body parts STILL attached.
- Sipping a cup of my husband's most excellent coffee.
- Enjoying the early morning hours, on our porch.
- Not having to go anywhere.
- Not having to do anything.
- Touching, feeling and actually getting to read the newspaper.
- Visiting with family and friends.
- Impressing the kids that…SHYEAH!!!…mom can STILL play a mean game of volleyball.
- Not to mention, NOT having to clean up, after (the house party, not volleyball, SHEESH!)
These are the things that made MY birthday weekend totally AWESOME, anyway!

Also, best cake, EVUH (thanks, Pam!) you know, I could really get used to this whole birthday thing.

I mean, after 39 years of practice, you'd think I would be, right?

[see blog title]

But, you can call me Matt…DAGNABIT!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
May 31, 2011
And I Wonder, As I Wander
My youngest daughter and I were fighting over radio stations on the way to school, this morning (I'm a little oldies and she's a little bit, you know, LOUD) when it occurred to me that we moved into our starter home, which happens to be THIS house, on Memorial Day weekend…in 1993!

"Wow, that means, you've been walking the halls for 18 years!"

Okay, so it's STILL a 7 room house and it's not like we have THAT many halls to begin with.

Actually, only 1, on the way to the bathroom, in front of the girls' room and, well, it can get REAL scary, walking down there!

Then, I got to thinking about it some more (stupid traffic lights) and, well, she was ABSOLUTELY right.

Although, it's more like I wander, as I wonder, after 18 years, why I STILL can't remember where in the heck I put stuff.

However, I refuse to believe it's because I'm old-ish (but, I still LOOK good, dagnabit!) besides, a person's brain can hold only so much information, before it implodes, right?

It's true, I read it somewhere, in a book.

[heavy sigh]

Aaaaand, for those of you skeptics out there (yeah, I see you, way in the back, over there on the left, in the t-shirt and cut-off shorts) who STILL don't understand how a person (like me) can FORGET TO HAVE BREAKFAST, I present to you, yesterday morning:
- Squints at clock on wall.
- Dang, we're late (AGAIN!)
- Grabs coffee cup.
- Runs back to house (stupid bladder!)
- Drive to school.
- Reminded about some school event, in an hour.
- Runs home to check for email.
- Checks other emails.
- Answers emails.
- More email.
- Reaches for empty coffee cup.
- Need more coffee.
- See box of cereal left on the table.
- Squints at clock on coffee maker.
- Oh, yeah, almost forgot to eat breakfast.
- Also, need more coffee.
- Dang, got to clean out coffee maker.
- Looks out kitchen window.
- Oh, what a pretty bird.
- Squints.
- Get off the feeder, you danged squirrel!
- Dog careens passed to bark at squirrel bird.
- Spill coffee grinds.
- Stupid dog!
- Great, paper towel roll empty (AGAIN!)
- Starts walking towards garage door.
- BARK-BARK-BARK-BARK-BARKITY-BARK-BARK!
- Shuddup, Doofus!
- Ummmmmmmmm…..
- COFFEE!!!
- Walks back to kitchen.
- Dang, I'm hungry.
- Grabs cereal box.
- GAH, it's empty.
- Go to throw it away, sees coffee grinds on floor.
- DAGNABIT!!!
- Places empty box on kitchen counter.
- Gets paper towels, cleans up coffee grinds.
- STARVING!!!
- Reaches for bowl, banana and where in the heck did that cereal box go?
- D'oh!!!
- Throws banana peel into empty cereal box.
- GET OFF OFFAMY BIRD FEEDER!!!
- Stomps off to back door.
- What's THAT smell?
- Forgot to switch the laundry (AGAIN!)
- Checks bathrooms for wet towels.
- FLUSH!!!
- I drink way tooooo much coffee.
- COFFEE!!!
- Start walking back to kitchen.
- Hrmph, someone left the washing machine door…oh.
- Walk back to bathroom for towels.
- Stomach growls.
- Start back to kitchen.
- Bon Appetit, you danged squirrel bird.
- Grabs cereal bowl.
- Steps over coffee grinds.
- Picks up cereal box.
- Shakes cereal box; looks inside.
- What the…now, who in the heck put a banana peel…[one beat, two beats]
- Oh…DAYUM!
So, the next time someone tells you, "I FORGOT TO EAT BREAKFAST," just smile, nod your head and know that…you know…it COULD happen!!!

[sound of crickets]

Or, give them a cup of coffee (or, a banana) then, take them by the hand and show them the way to the bathroom, or something, thanks!!!

[UPDATE: School nurse at middle school JUST called (seriously!) son is in her office, throwing up and, well, doesn't seem like I'll be eating breakfast, lunch, or dinner…anytime soon…BLECH!]

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
May 27, 2011
“Man”ifest Those Post Its, My Son

Glen is 12, going on boyteen and, being raised in a house, filled with females, he's grown used to navigating through a raging sea of hormones.

Also, rooting through an endless supply of feminine products, because, well, there has GOT to be a roll of toilet paper, in there, somewhere, DAGNABIT!

On the other hand, our house seems to be a breeding ground for random pieces of bar soap and I guess we could always recycle them into something fun and useful…but…EWWWW!

Aaaanyway, all bathroom issues aside (you're welcome!) my son remains light-hearted about growing up in a testosterone-ly-challenged environment…mostly.

Although, I do make a point of reminding him, that he is the ONLY person, in this house, who does NOT have to share a bedroom (doorless, as it is) with anyone.

So, I was upstairs helping my son put away his summer clothes (wishful thinking, I know) the majority of which do NOT fit, so we made a quick job of it, by the way (UGH!) when, a giant dust bunny rolled out from underneath his bed and scared our socks back to their original color.

Apparently, his version of "clean your room," is slightly different from mine, by definition (i.e. picking your clothes up from off the floor is clean enough) I blame his sisters.

One by one, we took stuff off, from on top of some other stuff, moved more stuff and, DANG, the boy REALLY didn't have as much room as, you know, I led everyone, here, to believe….sorry.

"Can we put any of this stuff in the garage sale?"

[shiver]

I know, I hate garage sales, too. Still. We need the room and he wants a new skateboard, so on and so forth.

"Sure, if you're ready to let it go."

It's not like when they were younger, when I waited until they were in school to get rid of stuff (sorry guys!)

Besides, I still remember feeling MORTIFIED when my mom found AND read my diary and, well, I really, really don't want to go there.

"Maybe we could move things around a bit, too."

Since, you know, Glen was at school, the last time I changed his room around, by myself…WHAT?…he was still in single digits, at the time (I think!)

FLASH FORWARD: 3 hours later (for real, I checked!)

TAH-DAHHHH…I helped Glen create his very own official man cave…please disregard the hearts and flowers border…it used to be my room…B.G. (before Glen) and, well, life is good, once again…or, at least, this one rainy weekend.

I took some clean clothes up this morning and saw that he's since included a bunch of post its on his mirror.

Upon closer inspection, I realized that it was his version of a vision board and, well, suffice it to say, we got to talking about a lot of stuff, in those 3 hours and, even though I would LOVE to show you, it's not my place to tell you.

Okay, just one: Stay focused.

I think it's a boy thing, but also admitted that, some adults, even parents (ahem!) have difficulty, dealing with too many distractions, so on and so forth.

[taking an even closer look]

Aaaand, there's this one: Get more Axe gel and deodorant!

It's okay, anyone who's raising a boyteen already knows why that particular "post it" was being referenced to, in the short term, of course!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

May 23, 2011
Life Balance, Take 17
Yesterday, we attended an art show, held at a local bank, supporting art in schools, featuring two of Holly's pieces.

You can't really tell from my cell phone, however the majority of this pen and ink drawing is stippled, with tiny little dots.

I remember, because I can still hear the, "…dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot…" of her tapping the pen well into the night.

The same with this one,"…dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot…" which explains the permanent dent in the poor girl's right index finger.

This piece, however, is still her favorite, she says, because it's the first, of many she's created (dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot) taking inspiration from her own life, rather than that of another artist.

It's her vision…of herself…and, well, my inner-17-year-old totally relates to the juggling act going on in her head.

I mean, I am her mother.

As her mother?

To be honest, it made me a little sad to think, man, that still seems like A LOT of pressure, doesn't it?

Even more sadly, I started to over-analyze stuff, in my own head, like:
- Why is she putting bills above love?
- She's only 17.
- Perhaps she meant budget?
- Great, now she won't want kids.
- Can I blame her?
- No, I'm her mother.
- Should a 17 year old be thinking of this sort of stuff?
- I never did.
- Did I?
- Apparently not, see first bullet.
- Why aren't there any more foot holds?
I did ask her about the bills thing, considering that she may (or, may not) have read my last post.

That's when….

Warning: you're about to enter a proud mom-type blogging moment and, if this sort of stuff makes you itch, I don't blame you. However, considering that I am her mother, stuff like this just seems all the more amazing, you know, so indulge me this one time, okay?

….she quickly pointed out that the closest thing to her heart is family.

"Read from the bottom up, not the top."

TAKEAWAY: Seems we're ALL well passed refrigerator art and graduating into deeper, smarter waters, now.

[second glance]

GAH…quick, someone throw me a dingy, PLEASE!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House
May 20, 2011
I.O.U.

Our oldest is a junior (I know, still not sure how THAT happened) so, my husband, Garth (not his real name) and I attended a financial aid workshop at the high school, last night.

Because, you know, she's a junior, in high school and, well, this whole, "Holy Hannah Montana, I got a junior in high school," thing really didn't seem like such a big deal…when she was in kindergarten.

Long story, short (as of now, anyway) and 6 hand-written pages worth of notes, later (old school, I know) our best takeaway from the night?

We can now continue to talk about our kids, continuing their education, without throwing up.

Good thing, too, seeing as we'll be very, very busy, filling out paperwork, for the next 16 years.

Yes, I know, we have 4 kids and, yeah, this is EXACTLY the sort of stuff expert-types tell us we should have…you know…talked about…sooner.

Aaaand, it's totally what I expected the very expert-looking dude to tell us, last night, too.

Although, we kind of sort of, you know, already knew.

Still, the workshop was free and I was thankful to get any advice, coming from people, who get paid good money, to tell other people, you know, they don't have any money.

So, I sat there, kept my mouth shut (which, anyone who knows me, knows, quiet makes me itch) watched the expert-like dude fire up his power point, "Helping Students Pursue Their Educational & Career Goals," and cringed in anticipation

"It's never too late to start planning for college."

[heavy sigh]

I should have known, better. He wasn't wearing a tie!

Morale of the Story: "Remember, an expert is a person who tells you a simple thing in a confused way to make you think the confusion is your own fault" ~ William Castle (producer of Rosemary's Baby, so, yeah, he should know!)

Thanks, I.O.U. one, expert-like dude, along with everyone else, for the next 16 years.

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

May 18, 2011
The Gift of Nothing

I woke, like most mornings, with extreme dry mouth, the ability to breath through my right nostril (ONLY!) a major case of bed head and the deep, roasty smell of a freshly-brewed pot of coffee.

Aaaand, against ALL laws of this mother's nature (i.e. no one, who knows me, can call me a morning person, EVER!) I allowed myself to be escorted to the breakfast table, eyes shut tight (stupid allergies) and well, I couldn't help but giggle when my youngest daughter announced:

"I was going to pick you some flowers, but the bees are a little cranky, this morning."

Regardless of how hard jewelry stores try to convince us, it's the little things that keep me going, as frazzled, frantic and frequently frustrated by poorly manufactured zippers, as I am.

Not to mention, less than supportive bras.

Don't EVEN get me started on stray facial hair.

Oh, and what rocket scientist thought it would be a good idea to put adhesive wings on sanitary napkins?

Seriously.

Mother Nature can be a real witch, sometimes…um…where was I…oh, yeah…these days, doesn't take much to make my heart go all, you know, squishy.

Like, finding my plate surrounded by freshly-picked blossoms from one of our neighbor's azalea bushes…kidding, it's on our side of the property line…I think.

Or, one of the treasures from our latest beach-combing excursions carefully crafted into a pretty reminder, for my desk.

Well, unlike me (DAMMIT!) this sort of stuff just never gets old, you know?

[bites lower lip]

My 12 year-old son, however, would beg to differ.

"What's with the face, Bub?"

Never one to let sleeping dogs lie…which reminds me…GET OFF THE COUCH YOU BIG DOOFUS-DAWG!…sorry about that…so, where was I…oh, yeah…nothing.

"Nothing!"

Warning…morale parenting dilemma ahead.

"Glen helped pick the flowers…yeah, and he helped me decorate the shell…yep, and he helped me cut the fruit…"

[frowning]

"No, I didn't!"

Phew! Dilemma avoided. Although, I'm not happy my daughters felt the need to lie…for my son. Still. Even my husband, Garth (NHRN) thought it was sort of nice that, you know, the girls were indeed covering for their brother.

"I did nothing."

The gift of guilt, however, lasts a lifetime, no?

"Yes, but nothing is EXACTLY what I asked for, isn't it?"

[one beat, two beats]

"Heh, you're welcome!"

Forgive me for feeling all meh about Mother's Day.

Especially, all of you new moms, out there, with your adorable little mini-selves and even though I really do miss that fresh new baby smell, sometimes.

Quite frankly, I want nothing.

Except, for a little peace.

Also, quiet.

Or, for the person who found my tweezers and forgot to put 'em back to, you know, put 'em back.

Oh, and maybe even a second cup of coffee.

Now, THAT…cough-cough-Heather…would be REAL nice.

Little things like that, right there.

But, mostly, nothing, thankyouverymuch.

"Well, then, you're gonna LOVE what I got you for your birthday!"

Yay, as long as it doesn't have a zipper, I can't wait…NOT.

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

Freshly-Brewed Review: Honor a Mom & Give the Gift of Hope
Freshly-Brewed Elsewhere: 5 Simple House Rules for Scheduled Playdates

May 9, 2011
I Heard it Through the Grapevine

My husband, Garth (not his real name) and I planted grapes about two years ago (I think) when I was sort of toying with the idea of channeling my Hungarian roots and making my very own, you know, homemade wine.

Until, last summer, when the grapes died, along with most of our tomatoes, cucumbers and whatever else the stupid ground hog missed, before the rains came and washed his furry little butt away (out to sea, I hope) along with half our neighbor's yard and, well, I would have been happy with a small jar of jelly, really.

Then, the birds ate the rest and, well, got to love nature, right?

Still. I refuse to give up, DAMMIT. So, last weekend, my husband Garth (not his real name) unlocked the tool shed and not because he's afraid of the kids hurting themselves, or anything.

Seriously, even my almost-ten-year-old knows that giant, ferocious, probably child-eating sort of bees live in our shed and, well, she may, or may not, have heard it from a somewhat reliable source, in an effort to keep kids from touching MY stuff, don't judge!

Aaaaand, there was this one time, during summer vacation, when I nearly electrocuted myself so, well, oh, look…up there…is that REAL raspberries?!?

Okay, not yet…but, soon (I hope) along with a crop of blackberries we planted, last weekend, on the other side of the shed (not shown, because, you know, bees live there) and look what else Garth (NHRN) helped me build.

Like it? It's my first. What do you mean, what is it? Why, it's a…uh…well, not quite a shed…um…more like a peaceful place to pot things in.

Not to mention, hide the stuff we've recycled, from other people's yards.

YES, with their permission, of course, sheesh.

SHEESH!

It took us all day, last Sunday, but, you know what?

It felt, really, really good, too.

Okay, so maybe not in a, "Oh, look, I'm saving the world, ya'll" sort of way, I admit.

But, dang it to h-e-double-hockey-sticks if we can't, at the very least, teach our kids to help make the world, look just a wee bit prettier, right from our very own backyard, either.

"Wow, YOU made this, mom?!?!"

Yes, yes, it's my first, and I did it recycling a couple of grape vines, dead as they are.

"Ewwwwwwwww!"

[eyes go wide]

"Oh come on, it's not THAT bad, is it?"

Seriously, seeing as she is the only one, of all four of my kids, who likes to be outside, on purpose, I thought that at least my almost-ten-year-old would appreciate the effort.

"No, look, you're bleeding!"

So, yeah, I'm NOT the greenest mom on the planet.

"Ewwwww, and what's that on your nose?"

Aaaand, I seemed to have misplaced my gardening gloves (AGAIN!) good thing I also happen to look better in red, anyway.

[blank stare]

I know, still, you'll never be able to convince me there's a global benefit to allowing poison ivy to grow, all over the danged place, EVER, either.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Oh, look, up there, is that a REAL grape vine wreath!?!?

[SLAM!]

Happy Mother's Day weekend, everyone and don't forget to lock up your power tools…oh, and for heaven sakes, wear gloves…I hear poison ivy is quite the mood killer, trust me…also, will someone PLEASE tell Garth (NHRN) we need more wine, thanks!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

Freshly-Brewed Elsewhere: The Perfect Mother's Day Gift Idea for Dads
Freshly-Brewed Review: Absolutely the Last Possible Minute Mother's Day Gift Idea, I Promise!

May 6, 2011
Blogged in the Year of Lord-Only-Knows

I've been spring cleaning the garage (okay, for the last 15 years, but who's counting?) and, as it turns out, I'm also a little behind on updating my kids' baby books.

This is where you ask me, "So, how far behind are you?"

Seems, my last entry was in 2002, when my youngest daughter took her first steps at 10 months-old.

Hope is turning 10 years-old, in June.

However, I started blogging in 2003 and have been consistently posting my family's milestones, since then, so, there's that, right?

[sound of crickets chirping]

Like, yesterday was my husband, Garth's (not his real name) birthday, just don't ask me which one (I quit counting sometime around 2004) since, you know, in the end, it's not the years that count, it's the mileage, right?

[welcome to cricketcon'11]

So, while Garth (not his real name) and I were out trolling our favorite garden center, yesterday (stupid rain) Hope made this birthday card for her father — HAH!

Our 12-year-old son made him this one and not only does he have his father's sense of humor (28 my left foot!) Glen also appreciates the value of money and its depreciating effects on one's bank account…DAMMIT.

My 15-year-old, however, seems to have inherited her Hungarian grandmother's affinity for making people cry…especially, on their birthday.

My 17-year-old daughter drew this brilliant caricature of her father (HAH!) and, now that I blogged about it, I can reflect back and remember what my husband looks like (stupid extended banking hours) also, after uploading the pic, I just noticed that she signs her name to look like a butterfly, too.

I just love that!

"Honey, do you remember when we bought the water heater?"

In fact, I recently found myself referring back to my blog's archives for non-fluff and totally tax related purposes, only.

"Uh, no, but…wait…I blogged about it…um…okay…back in 2009!"

Too bad my husband, Garth (not his real name) didn't ask me that question, last year, right?

Stupid crickets!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

April 26, 2011