This Full House Archive

Tag: this full house

This One Time, At Camp Poopy

Kids are on spring break, this week (note to spring: feel free to show up, anytime, now, thanks) and Hope, who has been looking forward to staying with her godparents, to work their iris farm, ran from the car, suitcase in hand and excitedly announced her arrival.

"I'm ready to spread manure!"

Yes, the kid loves nature THAT MUCH and I am not even kidding, when I tell you, it's ALL that we, her teacher, the kids in her class, our next door neighbor and the mail carrier, have been hearing about, for weeks.

Unlike her older sisters, she is not afraid to get dirty and I tease my son that she is actually a lot like what I imagine having a younger brother would be like, too.

Much to the delight of her godmother, who raised two boys and also happens to be a little bit crunchy…even before crunchy was cool…and often joked about not knowing what to do with a girl.

So, in my eyes, it sort of fits that fate bring these two together and, truth be told, makes my heart feel a little squishy, knowing that, when all else fails (i.e. my attempting to convince some therapist that my youngest daughter's childhood wasn't really all that bad) Hope will remember this one time, at Pittsgrove Farms.

When she helped spread manure and really, really liked it. Actually, I'm not sure what is on her hands and was, at the time, reassured by her godfather that they're really not going to make the kid spread manure…shhhhh…but, don't tell her, okay?

"Aunt Cheryl made applesauce pancakes, this morning!"

Uh-oh.

"You lucky goose!"

Wait for it.

"Mom made us ALL eat granola."

Yes, but we're having waffles…for brinner!!!

Note to spring: don't bother, I got this!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

April 20, 2011
Spring Break Day 1: Chocobeast Vs Cheesecakemonster

I don't know about you…but…scaring the pudding…out of MY KIDS…like this…to the point where they will be up…fighting for leg room…IN MY BED…for the rest of the night?

You know, there better be a FREAKISHLY LARGE piece of ricotta cheesecake…waiting…just…for…me.

Just sayin'!

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

April 18, 2011
Where the Earth Meets the Sky
(YES, in Jersey!)

When my kids were younger, I used to love to take them to Monmouth Battlefield State Park and not because it's just down the road from the best gosh-darned apple cider donuts made in New Jersey, either.

Although, I do not miss those double-stroller days (okay, maybe just a little) I was a bit taken aback by bittersweet moments (okay, more like suffering a major heart squeeze) as they each fondly remembered the museum to be a little, you know, bigger.

I felt the same way (sort of) but, for many different reasons…four of them, to be exact.

Still, it was a good day and there's something about the openness of "the battlefield" that makes my kids want to go all, you know, feral.

To run free. Unrestrained and out of focus, yet knowing that they are well protected from the highways, that run within a stone's throw, on either side.

Oh, I'm not saying that every day is this pretty, or promise that the road ahead isn't filled with tons of goose poop, either.

There was this one time, however, on the battlefield, when we found the exact spot where the earth meets the sky.

And, well, I just love that, you know?

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

April 4, 2011
Mom Blogging Pain Scale

My mom and I were talking and both happened to glance outside her kitchen window and watched, as my 9 year-old tried to get her 15 year-old sister, who was reading a book at the time, to play with her.

Judging by her stomping off and kicking her brother's scooter, it was pretty clear to the both of us that her attempts were, you know, unsuccessful.

"I think she caught us looking."

Because, the kid quickly turned and thought better about leaving the scooter in the middle of the cul-de-sac.

"She's going to kill me, that one is."

Okay, I know, yes I was being overly dramatic (sort of) but, after 17 years of raising kids (and killer dust bunnies) I'm pretty tired at this point in the game.

Does it show?

I fully expect that they (i.e. non-parental units living in my house) will figure this out, soon enough, especially once I finally get those iron bars mounted to their bedroom window(s).

"It's never easy, no matter how old your kids get."

My mother was right, of course (just like with most other things, as I've learned over the years) I swear, she's got this sixth sense about her.

It's like the woman knows what I'm thinking, or, at least, what she thinks I need to hear.

"Nope, you never stop being a parent."

How DOES she DO that?

Then, it hit me (as the most obvious things tend to do) like a smack to the forehead.

"Moooooooom, can you PLEASE do something about her?"

It's called validation and pretty much the reason why I started contributing to the blogging community, almost 8 years ago, in the first place.

"What would you suggest…hanging…crucifixion?"

My 15-year-old suggested that a burning at the stake to be more than sufficient.

Contrary to the latest blogging statistics and demographics, I chose to go outside and scooter, instead!

"Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!"

Un-motorized, even.

[sound of crickets]

Silly mom bloggers.

Edited to Add: I drew the Mom Blogging Pain Scale (not bad, eh?) but, the photo was taken by my 15 year-old and she doesn't know that I used it (yet) but, she will be okay with it, once she sees that I gave her full credit.

[heavy sigh]

Blogging used to be a lot easier, you know?

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

March 28, 2011
The Writing on the Back Door
You know when stuff you read, or something someone says, makes you think so hard, that your eyes begin to cross with concentration and then you clench your jaw in absolute frustration, until you finally give up and go all:

"Look, you trying to tell me something, or what?"

Me, either.

Quite frankly, I try not to read into stuff…too much…because, well, with 2 teens and 2 tweens in the house (yeah, I know, right?) my head hurts enough, already.

Like most of my mom friends — especially, those of us raising a bunch of raging hormones, that walk and talk, but refuse to tell you ANYTHING and dang if a person couldn't go blind, rolling their eyes like that — I have become somewhat of an expert at dodging emotional grenades.

Until, one of my kids drops the h-bomb.

"I hate my life."

It doesn't matter which kid says it, really, because the sad truth of it is, each of them have said it, at least once and did I mention my youngest is 9?

"Don't you dare slam that…"

SLAM!

She's got a wicked arm, that one, which reminds me, I should really look into signing her up for softball.

What?

I mean, she is the youngest and, well, empathizing with a mom friend, whose daughter recently turned hormonal, "Welcome to the dark ages."

I quickly reassured my friend that the black cloud will indeed lift, around the time our kids turn 12.

[knocking on wood until knuckles bleed]

I didn't bother mentioning the fact that they then become teenagers, because, heck, what do I know and the poor woman looked as if she needed a Tylenol, already.

SLAM!

I'm not even sure that their bedroom door is going to hold up (related: all 3 share 1 bedroom, enough said!) it's been a loooong week, you know?

Then, I walked into the den/laundry room (mostly, laundry room) and noticed the writing on the back door (Hope likes to make lists) and, well, I fully expected to find myself at the TOP of her s-list:
- Live your life your way not how someone tells you how to live
- There is a whole world everybody can see right in front of our faces
- Our planets can be very interesting things. Like love is one of the most important things in life.
- I have a dream that we will have peace in the world.
- You can have fun one day. You don't need a special electronic. Just be creative.
- When the sun sets and rises it goes up and down almost like life. Sometimes life can get bumpy like a road.
Okay, I may not be the brightest crayon in the box (more like a dusty gray, really) but, DAYUM, if my kids aren't trying to tell me something?

Or, maybe they're just trying to drive me crazy?

[crosses eyes, clenches jaw]

Yeah, right, anybody got any Tylenol?

© 2003 – 2011
March 25, 2011
Sundays in My City:
Springtime at the Jersey Shore

I love this time of year, here in on the Jersey coast, when my kids and I feel very lucky to have quick access to some of the prettiest beaches, like our favorite at the Gateway National Recreation Area in Sandy Hook, NJ.

The parking lot fills up pretty quick in the summer. Friday, however, was the perfect day to celebrate all the good things that living in a shore town has to offer.

Like, exploring the jetty.

Or, playing chicken with the breakwater.

Getting lost, for hours, hunting for sea glass and mermaid toe nails.

Having the beach, all to ourselves, is a luxury and a perfect time for private contemplation.

Aaaand, much silliness.

Yes, Friday was a good day. In fact, seeing how this weekend is going, I'm still there…lalalalalalalalala!

Happy Sunday!!!

To see other scenes from around the world, check out Unknown Mami’s Sundays in My City.

Oh, and feel free to clean off a chair, sit down and visit my Flickr photostream.

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

Freshly-Brewed Review & Also Sharing: Staples MiniMate Shredder

March 20, 2011
WWMSD?

If you were to ask me to sum up this entire winter, using just one color, I would paint you a less than prettiful picture and describe the feeling as being similar to the consistency of pea soup.

Seems like we've had a sick kid in the house, every weekend, since Christmas break and maybe because, you know…we have…had a sick kid…in the house…since Christmas break.

This week, it was my youngest's turn (she's 9) which, considering she is the youngest (i.e. been there, done that, easily entertained) a case of strep throat doesn't sound like such a big deal, really.

Unless, she is the kid who NEVER gets sick.

Aaaand, then, she'll spike fevers (always at night) and nearly drown in her own mucus (ditto) thick enough to plaster the walls, twice, to the extent where I am actually afraid of leaving her alone, or even bother with getting dressed.

"I'm bored!"

"Why don't you paint something?"

"But, I can't find a paint brush."

Then, finally, a glimpse of normality and, well, although our lives are not always perfect (okay, more like never) and I won't be voted the bestest, most craftiest mom, anytime soon (if, ever) I can at least try and focus on the beauty of simple, little things, again, or today, anyways.

Like, being thankful that I did NOT throw away that old glass vase…afterall.

Or, this one. Even if we still can't find a dagnab paint brush, to save my gosh-darned life…dagnabit!

Gee, I wonder what Martha Stewart would do?

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

March 3, 2011
You Say Bribery, I Say Schmibery
Either Way, It’s All UPPERCASE To THEM!

My youngest loves to make lists; this one from the day after New Year's, when my husband came down with another mancold.

Living in a houseful of girls, who insist that shoving stuff into corners and hiding dirty clothes under the bed is, you know, cleaning, I sometimes forget that we have a son.

I don't mean, like, I forget to pick him up from school (which is a good thing, seeing as my kids go to four different schools) or, that he's not listed on our tax forms, or anything.

It's just that, you know, boys are different.

Although, I really DO have trouble remembering which is which.

Whose idea was it to pick girls names, all starting in the same letter, anyway? Oh, wait. that was me, never mind.

Aaaaanyway, what was I saying?

[watches dust bunnies dancing in the sunlight]

Oh, yeah. The boy's room is almost always clean and WTH is it with Ladies Rooms, anyway, RIGHT?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

So, raising 2 teens and 2 tweens, I seem to have also picked up the annoying habit of, you know, SPEAKING LOUDLY!

"What's for dinner?"

"Pork chops and apple sauce."

[5 mins later]

"What's for dinner?"

[sigh]

"Pork chops."

[10 mins later]

"What's for dinner?"

[heavy sigh]

"Pork."

[one beat, two beats]

"What's for…"

"I DON'T KNOW!"

[covers ears]

"Ooooookay. Why you hollerin'?"

See, no wonder kids think parents are weird, or, maybe it's just me (shuddup!) but, I'm happy to say, that I have recently happened upon a brand new parenting tactic.

Long story, short (I know, too late, thanks for reading and has anyone ever told you how pretty you really, are?) bribery was not involved.

"What's wrong with Heather?"

"She's sick."

Then, my 17 year-old woke up with a migraine.

"What's wrong with Holly?"

"Sick."

Then, my 12 year-old son got down on his knees and began to beg.

"Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze, I've only had one sick day!"

To save time, I didn't even bother waking up the 9 year-old (you know, what's her name, kinda short, sort of looks like me, likes to make lists?) and instituted a "mental health day," at the beginning of this week, with one proviso:

"You will have to clean your room and I mean holiday clean!"

Aaaand, I didn't even have to use UPPERCASE!

[cough, cough]

"What's the matter with Glen?"

The kids have a 4-day weekend.

"He's sick."

And, were all supposed to sleepover my parent's house.

"But, we still get to sleep over, right?"

To save time, I didn't even bother to get dressed.

"Where's Glen."

"Oh, he's home, watching pay-per-view, waiting for me, some chocolate donuts and a medium-sized coolata, DAMMIT!"

My parents didn't even bother to ask why I was still wearing my pajamas.

Morale of Story: Why, yes, I am totally full of pork chops…AND APPLESAUCE!

Stupid 4-day weekends.

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

Freshly-brewed Review: Breaking the Silence of Abuse, Depression and Suicide

February 19, 2011
Parenting Tip #93,018,833:
Perfect Hindsight is 20-20
Give or Take a Lifetime

PhotoCredit: HeatherrMarie

I have been accused of being an emotional person upon occasion, or twenty (I know, act surprised anyway, okay?) which means that I absolutely suck at Texas Hold 'Em.

[eyes go wide, hands begin to shake, sweat beads form on upper lip]

I'm ALL in, before all the cards are dealt, even.

"CALL!"

Which, of course, also means that I cannot fake my way through a situation, even if my insurance rates depended on it.

"Why no, officer [hands being to shake] I didn't realize [sweat beads forming on upper lip] that my taillight was [GAH!!!!] yes, yes, I'm sorry, my left headlight is out, too!"

My husband, Garth (not his real name) on the other hand, well, he has this philosophic calm about him and the way he handles confrontation.

Which, of course, also means that he says totally nonsensical, idiomatic stuff, like, "It is what it is," and, "Can't ask a leopard to change its spots," or, my favorite "Six to one, half a dozen to another," NOT!

Unless, you make me cry.

[eyes go wide, hands begin to shake, sweat beads form on upper lip]

Then, my friend, he is not above reading the riot act, to anyone, not even the Queen herself, as quick as you can say Jack Robinson, in the 3rd person, even.

"All persons, being assembled, shall immediately disperse and peaceably depart to their habitations or to their lawful business on the pain of being guilty of an offense for which, on conviction, they may be sentenced to death by idioms, for life."

[blank stare]

"All-uh-yuhs, just get off her back, will yuhs!?!"

Morale of the Story: May you have the hindsight to know where you've been, the foresight to know where you are going and the insight to know when you have gone too far.

Short Version: Don't make my husband have to go all Jersey on your sorry ass!

God Save the King of Idioms, Garth (not his real name) thanks for having my back, yesterday!

Love always,

The Queen of Dorks (herself!)

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

February 14, 2011
Feeling Squirrel-y?

I have issues (don't we all?) and, if you were to ask me to list, oh, I dunno, at least 5 of them, off the top of my head, they would be as follows:

Dirty dishes in the sink: especially, when the dishwasher is dirty. Drives me nucking futz, to the point where even my neighbors know when, "THE DISHWASHER IS DIRTY…DAMMIT!

Silent treatments: are like nails ripping into chalkboard (you're welcome!) the absolute worst form of torture, right?

Wet towels on the floor: especially, when the washer is empty (see dirty dishes, above.)

Doofus-Dog on the couch: makes me itchy.

Squirrels: ransacking the bird feeders (see picture above) I hate, Hate, HAte, HATe, absolutely freaking HATE squirrels. Aaaand, they don't like me, either. How do I know?

This morning, I was able to address 2 outta 5 of said issues, to my complete and total satisfaction.

[blank stare]

The fact my husband, Garth (not his real name) doesn't seem to have these sort of issues, is just plain weird, don'tcha think?

© 2003 – 2011 This Full House

February 11, 2011