This Full House Archive

Tag: this full house

Male Bonding, in a Houseful of Females, is Sticky!

father & son, discussing manly things ~ june 2007

I love this picture for so many reasons, but mostly because my son and husband weren't aware of my taking it (which is a great feat in and of itself, especially for a clumsy dork like myself, trust me on this!) and, in my stealthiness, I was able to capture an intimate moment between father and son.

Don't EVEN get me started on how I just realized that my son still had his baby face in the 2nd grade or how blonde his hair would get by the end of the summer.

Aaaaand, how the kid was (and still is) an absolute magnet for bug bites — look at his poor leg all bitten up and everything.

My husband, on the other hand, could stay out for hours and not have to swat at a single bug — except for gnats, because those little suckers are relentless – I swear, the man is a walking, talking insect repellent.

Aaaaand, he would have you believe it's because of his sour disposition, to which I will gladly call bullsh&t, each and every time AND most of you guys already know, I am married to a saint.

Lately, however, I can't say living with the both of them…under the same roof…has been a slice of heaven.

so close, yet so far

Don't get me wrong, they are wonderful human beings and both have very soft and squishy hearts (which is good, when you live with a bunch of females); it's just that together, well, they butt heads…a lot…like a couple of enraged mountain goats.

As if tensions weren't high enough, with a pre-menopausal mother in a houseful of teenage daughters, right?!?

However, when my daughters and I do battle, it's mostly about their borrowing my clothes without asking or having any intentions of giving them back…cough, cough…HOLLY…cough, cough…or consuming the LAST pod of coffee…cough, cough…HEATHER…cough, cough…and don't EVEN get me started on my youngest daughter's habit of having the last word…WORD, INFINITY!

glen all duded up for the 8th grade dance ~ june 2013

I mean, I get it: it's like an alpha male sort of thing, right?!? RIGHT?!?

[cue pack of hyenas, laughing]

Riiiiiiiiiight.

I can't help it — growing up in a house with someone yelling at someone else, all the time — the butting head thing is making me a little crazy. Okay, crazier than usual. So does the inevitable radio silence, afterwards.

This week?!? Totally nutty — like in, holy crap on a cracker, can we PLEASE have a do-over?!? — the sort of crazy that will keep even a non-pre-menopausal woman up at night…worrying about every little thing she canNOT control…btw, she is also very well aware of that fact…DAMMIT!!!

Aaaaand, then it hit her…I mean me…like a brick upside the head: it's NOT them, it's me!

Or, my stupidly high expectations of wanting to recapture that same intimate moment between the top two on my list of the most important men in my life.

Rather than just enjoy small, fleeting moments of simply being.

"Did you have a good time at the dance?"

Content with understanding that perhaps now they just are NOT meant to include me.

"Yeah, and Dad is a ninja at drop-offs and pick-ups!"

Aaaaand, well, I'm okay with that, too.

"He doesn't curse near as much as YOU do."

Then again, this male bonding thing…highly overrated…don'tcha think?!?

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything!

June 21, 2013
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 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
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
Our Mother/Daughter Weekend, Gone Ugly Cry

I feel extremely lucky to have experienced (what I consider to be) once-in-a-lifetime type moments, via my little corner of the internets and feel very blessed to have a strong online network of friends and peers (yes, they know about it!) most especially, when dissing them during the Type-A Advanced blogging conference in Philadelphia to spend the rest of the weekend, with my oldest daughter.

it's our first mother/daughter weekend away, can you tell?!?

While my friends Amy Clark and Jo-Lynne Shane fed my inner-squirrel…I mean, what I meant to say was…encouraged my love of Pinterest (heh) and Maria Bailey had me pretty much convinced that I really do need to improve my vlogging skills (or lack thereof), my oldest spent the day taking herself on a walking tour of Philadelphia.

We've been to Philadelphia as a family, but it's been a while since our last visit and this time I did not have to worry about maneuvering through the crowds…with a stroller…yeah, it's been a looooong while.

Later, Holly confessed that she was also much more relaxed, not having to worry about keeping an eye on her siblings and, well, she is (and always has been) more like a mother to them…than I am…apparently, I don't have a very good inside voice OR follow cross-at-the-crosswalk-type rules, very well, either.

Kid is a tyrant, I tell ya!

Even later, while I was checking in at work during a break in between sessions, Holly limped back into our hotel room, and, well, The Franklin Institute is about a 50 minute walk from Independence Hall…one way…just so you know.

I know what you're thinking (maybe), but she didn't want to spend money on a taxi, even though she was wearing the wrong shoes, especially for such a looooooooong walk, and, well, I wonder where she gets THAT from?!?

[face palm]

Even later still, I got a text from Holly: poolside 😀

I texted her back, asking if the water was warm: no 🙁

It was an indoor pool, but the hotel had just opened it up the day before, so 🙁 indeed.

Then, the conference came to a close, I headed out to spend the rest of the afternoon exploring Philadelphia with my kid.

We are both BIG fans of early-American history — not to mention historical romance novels – and had LOTS of fun pretending to walk in Poppy Hathaway's unconventional shoes…along the grounds belonging to the roguishly-handsome entrepreneur, Harry Rutledge…an American-born enigmatic hotel owner in London and inventor with wealth, power, and a dangerous hidden life…aaaaaaand…ummmmmmm…what, not a big fan of Lisa Kleypas, eh?

Right. Soooooo, then we got hungry.

left: limoncello and prosecco w/strawberries and mint; upper right: cured meat and cheese platter; lower right: warm pear, cranberry, walnut and gorgonzola salad.

Aaaaaaand, boy did we eat! EVER!!! The great thing about visiting Philadelphia (or any metro-area city, really) is, of course, the food and we found a little hidden treasure in Pizzicato located in Olde City.

mother/daughter weekends: this is how we do it.

Then came the moment we'd BOTH been waiting for: getting back to the hotel, ordering dessert and a movie in, where we cried the ugly cry and blew through an entire box of tissues.

"I love…[snort-snort]…the relationship we have…[choke-choke]…and that we could…[gasp-gasp]…do this, together…[choke-choke]…Mom."

Aaaaaand, considering the fact that she knows, that I know, that she knows, I am a total dork (we're BOTH okay wit-it) that right there, my friends, is my MOST favorite part of this ENTIRE weekend and totally worth the over-inflated price of an in-room movie…YO!!!

[lump, meet throat]

On the way home, I asked Holly what she enjoyed most about our weekend away?

[one beat, two beats]

"Taking a nice, long, hot bath WITHOUT having to worry about someone knocking on the door OR the hot water running out."

Yep, she's my kid a'ight 🙂 She's gonna be a really great mom, one day, don'tcha think?!?

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

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

April 23, 2013
How To Do Make Up Wrong, In 5 Minutes or Less
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 beauty bloggers can make putting on their make up look soooooo easy.

So, I was over-tweezing my eyebrows 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 first in a series of "how NOT to" vlogs.

A few post-production notes:
- I realize that, even after editing (which, for a dork like me, is quite an amazing feat, in and of itself, actually!) the video ran 18 seconds long and, if you sat through the ENTIRE 5 minutes and 18 seconds, well, then I love you MORE than my tweezers!
- For that bitch-slapped look: you heard it here FIRST folks.
- Being fans of beauty bloggers, I gave my teens a heads up of my "how NOT to" intentions, they're down wit-it.
- As long as I do NOT tag them on Facebook or Twitter.
- No, I do NOT blame them.
- Yes, I know, so I spelled caterpillar…phonetically…I live in Jersey…shuddup!!!
- I may or may not have had TOO MUCH coffee, already.
Aaaaand, did anyone ever tell you how pretty you look?!? Today, most especially 🙂

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

New and improved with a fan page on Facebook and everything!
April 12, 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
Who Knew Flashcards Could Be Soooo Funny?!?
The 50 nifty, funny states.

With all the technology available at their fingertips (even our school district started going paperless, two years ago) it is sort of refreshing to see my kids revert to using low-tech, old school study tools.

For example: making up their own vocabulary flashcards.

What's so funny about vocabulary, or flashcards, you ask?!? Absolutely nothing, I say. Unless, I am helping my youngest study for a BIG test on naming the capitals of all 50 states, using flashcards she made up with special keywords (in parentheses) to help her remember and then acts all surprised when I start laughing…real hard…which made it EVEN funnier.

Okay, fine, I'll show you. This is some of what comes to the mind, when identifying the capital city of each state, to my 11 year-old:
- Arkansas: (Arken saw a _______) little rock and it was good.
- California: (Sock sack) don't remember the reasoning behind this one and I sort of don't want to, either.
- Georgia: (Real housewives) SNORT!!!
- Kansas: (Peek at toes) clearly, they're a bunch of toe-peek-ahs, her Jersey is showing.
- Michigan: (I like to sing) lan'sakes, so do I 🙂
- Minnesota: (Holy) sort of like St. Nicholas, only not.
- New Mexico: (Christmas) speaking of Santa, must be his favorite vacation spot.
- Ohio: (Found America) still up for debate, but we'll go with it.
- New Hampshire: (Another word for wire) took me a while to figure this one out, shuddup.
- North Carolina: (Really?) yes, raleigh.
- Virginia: (Bill Gates) he is rich…mon…duh.
Aaaaaand, the one that made me laugh-snort:
- Alaska: (I know) enough said!
[sound of crickets, chirping]

Clearly, I have the sense of humor of an 11 year-old and who knew people in Alaska speak so funny?!?

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

New and improved: with a fan page on Facebook and everything!
April 5, 2013
A Clean House Is a Sign of a Cluttered Mind
Artwork currently displayed in our library (a.k.a. bathroom)

If I had to describe our house to you, in one word, and focusing on the positive, rather than ALL of the other annoying stuff that accumulates, when blessed, as a homeowner <—– that last part was for my husband, Garth (not his real name) —–> who sometimes needs help looking past all that other annoying stuff, bless his hardworking and very squishy heart.

Sooooo, what were we talking about?

[blows bangs out of eyes, stares at yet another big old water stain, on the ceiling above the dryer, don't ask]

Oh yeah. Focusing on the positive. Right. So, I would most likely agree with what other folks have described as some sort of super power for creating: cozy.

[glances at laundry, closes eyes]

Clutter, on the other hand, is my kryptonite.

I was raised in an even smaller house: 6 rooms (including the bathroom) so, we learned to be very creative when hiding stuff; especially, whenever friends and family would come over for a visit.

Of course, unlike me or my children, my mother was MUCH better at remembering where she put stuff. So, after 20 years of raising 4 kids and killer dust bunnies, spring cleaning has become quite the adventure.

Every year, I find stuff like:
- Family photos dating back to about 20 years — you know, the ones I've been meaning to put into that scrapbook I started, 20 years ago.
- School pictures I meant to mail out to family — so THAT'S where they went!
- A couple of years worth of report cards — before our schools went paperless (cue choir of angels, singing)!
- OH LOOK!!! One of my husband's Christmas presents — shhhhhh, I put it away for Father's Day (SCORE!!!) don't tell him, okay?!?
- Pairless shoes, socks and a couple of bras — don't ask!
- Petrified, sometimes unidentifiable, food — see previous bullet.
- Stuff that looks like it may or may not have been alive, at one time.
- What the?!? Never mind. I don't EVEN want to know.
It's at this point, I begin to feel weak and imagine myself as an unwilling participant in some sort of twisted scavenger hunt.

[pausing to allow those with younger kids and/or childless individuals to click away…QUICKLY…while you can]

WAIT!!! All is not lost. There are times when I happen upon a real gem — like a poem, gifted to me by my teenage son:

No matter what happens you are always there,
You make us dinner,
You clean our clothes,
You help us with homework,
You are always there,
No matter what happens we can trust you to help,
When you try and cover up pain we see it,
You do not realize how much you mean to us,
Please know that we will love you forever,
You are an amazing Mother
And you will always be there.

I hung it in our bathroom…I mean, our library…because, I sometimes also need help looking past all that other annoying stuff that accumulates, when blessed, as a parent.

Aaaaand, it happens to hide the hair dye…I mistakenly splashed ALL over the wall…really, really well…too.

Because, I am multi-functional like that.

© 2003 – 2013 This Full House

New and improved with a fan page on Facebook and everything!
April 3, 2013