This Full House

Please Excuse My Daughter For Being Absent from School Yesterday....My Hormones Were Raging.

I don't scare easily.  I have 4 kids, 3 of whom are teenagers, which simply means, not unlike Wolverine, I have evolved (somewhat) and grown nerves of steel, my friends:  Wolvermom, if you will.

Wait, I lied.

No, not about the having 4 kids part (I have weak stomach muscles and very poor bladder control to prove it, you're welcome) and my toe nails can get freakishly long.  Especially this time of....[blank stare]....uh, never mind.

Aaaaaanyway, what was I saying?

[stares at toenails]

Oh yeah, so my youngest woke up feeling sick the other day (shocking, I know!) announcing that her "stomach feels weird" and these words, my friends, frighten me even more than trying to wake my teens.

[shiver]

So, I called her out of school explaining "her stomach feels weird."   Considering the stomach bug is currently running rampant at (and through) this particular school, enough said, right?

An hour or so later, the house phone rings.

"Your daughter Hope was marked absent, today.  Please send a note explaining the reason for her absence."

Fine.  Okay.  Then, my cell phone rings.

"Your daughter Hope was marked absent, today...."

Fiiiiiiiiiiine, okaaaaaaay.  Then, I get a text.

"Your daughter...."

Really?  Because, I would NEVER have known and feeling a little cranky my ownself I decided this would be a good time to get some work done, opened my email and...

"Your...."

A'IGHT!!!  They asked for it!!!

It's Nothing Personal, It's Strictly B.O.

Imma gonna beat your Axe!

This is my son's second year wrestling for the middle school and even his sisters have pretty much grown accustomed to all the hollering and cris-crossing of bendy parts, hoping their baby brother does NOT break a limb, or something.

Not on their watch, anyway.

"THROW HIM DOWN!!!!"

I, however, have become much better at watching some other kid beat the living Axe out of my almost 13-year-old son.

Because, he hasn't wrestled anyone yet.

His team had a lot of kids move onto the high school and -- taking into consideration that he's nearly as tall as I am -- it seems there just aren't as many kids wrestling in my son's weight class, this year.

On the one hand, GREAT!  There will be NO bloody noses or broken body parts, tonight!

"Maybe next week, bud."

Still, it must be just as frustrating for him to sit and stare at some other guy's backside -- wearing a singlet, no less.

[cue mental etch-a-sketch]

Until, last night.

"THOMPSON!"

Here we go.   I laced my fingers in front of my eyes.  No, wait, that was so last year. 

"C'MON!"

The kid was a lot shorter.  However, in width, he was twice the size of my son.

"GET UP OFF THE MAT, GLEN!"

Try as he might, the boy spent the next 3 minutes breathing through one nostril and his face was purple by the time the match was blessedly called to an end.

"He was a real tough one...eh?"

[frowning]

"No! He stunk!"

I was trying to come up with something else that would help reassure my son that, you know, maybe...

"Literally, I took one whiff of him and I was DONE!"

...next time, he should spray himself with a little Axe before each match or, better yet, wipe a little Vicks under his nose like some medical examinders do, or something.

Then again, perhaps his opponent was just using body odor as diversionary tactic, no?

Don't even get me started on cauliflower ear, ring worm and the bazillion other skin infections floating around out there...ICK!

© 2003 - 2012 This Full House

Eloquence, Thy True Name is Silence

You know what's funny?  Not in a, "What do you call a fake noodle?" an impasta (hahahahahaha!) sort of way, either.

The fact that I have a kid graduating high school (still not the funny part and kind of sad, really, but don't get me started, m'kay?) and everyone is all, like, has she picked a college yet?

No matter how many times I get asked.  I feel funny answering them.

"Um...well...she's not sure...that is...uh...not right now, maybe later...er...what?"

YES!  I am the anti-eloquent.  Articulate people fear me.

Most recently, standing in line at Dunkin' Donuts in the supermarket (the peppermint hot chocolate was mocking me and deserved a good tongue-lashing, okay?) 

"How are you, Liz?"

GAH!

The thing about having 4 kids, going to 4 separate schools, I pretty much can't go anywhere in town without running into someone who has/had a kid going to school with one of my kids.

[eyes go wide]

This time, however, I actually managed to scare the buh-jeez-us out of her with a single word.  And, not a real one at that = I.M. Talented.

"Sorry, perhaps you should consider cutting back...eh?"

Thinking back on it now, I should have played along by telling her I was there for the hot chocolate.  But, we're talking me = Queen of the Afterthought.

"How are the kids?"

Here we go.

"Oh, they're fine, thanks!"

Well, that was easy.

"Your oldest is graduating, right?"

Damn.

"Yes, yes she is."

Phew.  Too easy.

"Has she picked a college, yet?"

Damn.  Also, as if it were THAT easy.

"No, no she hasn't."

C'mon hot chocolate.

"But, my middle girl is going to BU."

[eyes go wide]

"What grade is she in, again?"

[grin]

"She's a sophomore in high school."

She politely nodded her head, I paid for my hot chocolate, we exchanged pleasantries about the upcoming holidays and then each went on our merry way.

Morale of the Story:  When in doubt, don't say anything.  Bring up one of your OTHER kids, instead...or something like that.

Seeing as my middle girl really does have her mind set on going to Boston University, ever since the 5th grade and, well, it's like I told my oldest.

"There is NO SHAME in working your way through college."

Besides, that way, I get to keep them around for a little while longer...but, shhhhh...don't say anything, okay?!?

© 2003 - 2011 This Full House

Keeping Our Options Open, Since 1993

We took our 18 year-old to an open house at one of the local colleges here in Jersey, this afternoon.

Key words, rocking my world at the moment, in that last sentence being:  18 year-old and college.

Yesterday, I became a mother of an 18 year-old woh...woh...WHOA!...man, sorry, but I cannot seem to wrap my head around the fact that my oldest baby girl is 18. 

Today, we visited with college representatives = fuel to the fire for an especially emotionally-gifted person, like me.

Thankfully, I had other things on my mind like:

• Wow, look at ALL these expensive cars!
• Wonder if she would mind driving a minivan to school?
• Oh, look at ALL the pretty trees!
• Are there enough lights in this parking lot?
• Uh-oh, where's the bathroom again?

Okay, that last one?  Too much coffee.  Not enough sleep.  Enough said.

"What course of study would you recommend we follow?"

Aaaaand, by we, of course I meant, our kid (fyi:  when talking about your kid, as long as we have, it's sort of hard NOT to speak in the first person) however, long story, short (you're welcome) that bridge, you know, the one we said we would cross when we came to it?

Not only is RIGHT HERE in front of us.

"Well, taking into consideration the present economy, I recommend all students keep their options open."

That sucker just got way BIGGER.

"Oh, look, let's check out the student center!"

All things considered, we are way excited for her.

"Oh, look, THIS would be the perfect place to sit, have coffee, talk and, you know, maybe even save the world!"

[blank stare]

"Or, maybe that's just me?"

[grin]

"Hey, maybe we could take some classes, together?"

Would you believe:  her words, not mine? 

"Trust me, you wouldn't want me hanging around for long."

Because, in a less than perfect world, we ARE...that is to say...I am a force to be reckoned with.

Or, maybe she was just humoring me.

"Well, obviously, NOT together, in the same room, or anything, Mom."

Aaaaand, I figured that out without a college degree AND everything.

Stupid economy, dumbass bridge.

© 2003 - 2011 This Full House

I'm NaBloPoMo-ing it, this month (first time NaBloPoMo-er) feel free to check out what I've NaBloPoMo-ed, thus far (PHEW!) and let me know how I'm doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!

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So, Yeah, My Kids FINALLY Got Their Supply Lists...from Hogwarts?!?

It's the same thing, every summer, about this time, the kids shake down our mail carrier, desperately awaiting news of their teachers and classes for the new school year.

So, when I heard the SLAM! of our mailbox (our new carrier seems to be a wee bit crankier than usual, I don't blame him) and then Hope's feet running for the front door (she walks/runs like her muh-thuh!) I was hoping that the wait would be over...FINALLY!

[SLAM!...SQUEEEEE!]

I felt it safe to assume that...yep...they got their back-to-school letters.

"It's from....Hogwarts?!?"

They each received a personalized letter, addressed to The Brown House With the Star, sealed with wax and, well, really?!?

Yes, they looked really, really, um, real and, honestly, as self-proclaimed Potterheads, we ALL experienced a little pang of regret...okay, mostly me.

My youngest is graduating from elementary school, this year (SOB!) and has spent nearly her whole life, growing up, right here, on this little blog.

"Wow, I'm as old as the first Harry Potter movie?!?"

Aaaand, well, it's nice to be able to at least pretend like it was September, 2003, when being a mom, who happenend to have this thing, called a weblog, seemed a whole lot easier.

D'oh, alright, fiiiiiiine.

I'll even take 2006 (around the time I blew up my blog and lost 2 years worth of stuff...UGH!) just to be able to blog about all the things I should have (or, maybe shouldn't have) all over again.

"Wonder who sent it?!?"

Me, too!

"Hey, you think maybe J.K. Rowling reads your blog?!?"

So, I can send them the bill...you know...for all the therapy this poor kid is gonna need, you know?!?

© 2003 - 2011 This Full House 

Twinkle, Twinkle Little...SOB!

Hope's 1st Band Concert 2011 from Liz Thompson on Vimeo.

FYI:  Hope is my youngest and only one of all four of my kids to play in the school band.  So, this is a FIRST...for the both of us...enjoy!!!

© 2003 - 2011 This Full House

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

And You Thought Soccer Moms Where Bad

My husband, Garth (not his real name) and I were thrilled to learn that our son joined the middle school wrestling team for a couple of reasons:

• He's got 3 sisters
• It gets him out of the house and away from me and his 3 sisters (okay, mostly me!)
• He's been a big WWE fan since the 4th grade (I think!)
• No tryouts (i.e. everyone makes the team!)
• Refer to first two bullets, above

Watching some other kid try and kick the living Axe out of my son, not so much.

"Isn't that your son?"

[cringe]

"I'm not sure."

Because, I was too busy covering my eyes and, well, cheese and rice, but I thought soccer was bad.

Until, the other team gets a point.

"Yep, that's him."

The boy tries really hard and I tend to wonder if maybe I should be a little more aggressive in cheering him on, like soccer?

"OUCH, you see how that kid's head bounced off the mat!"

Wrestling, however, is much different.

"Throw him down!"

I'm not saying that wrestling parents are any better, or worse, than other sports families.

"Throw him down...HARD!"

It's just not the same, you know?

"OUCH, that must of hurt!"

So, I unlaced my fingers, pulled my hands away from my face, waited the few seconds for my eyes to adjust and realized...yep...it was indeed my son's head they were all waiting for to, you know, explode.

"Get outta there!"

I had my youngest on my lap and felt her startle a bit at, you know, my finally finding my voice (me, too!)

"Like a wiggle worm, bud!"

[eyes go wide]

And, my friend, sitting next to me, punched me in my arm...HARD...and, you know, it hurt.

"Are you trying to get your son beat up?"

Aaaaand, only when my oldest, sitting on the other side of me, started laughing, did I finally realize that, you know, maybe soccer isn't so bad, after all.

"....like a bad-assed, rabid, wiggle worm, bud!"

Or, maybe, next time, I should just stay home and send my husband, instead?

So, I did.

"So, how'd it go?"

Aaaaand, only when my son's frown, turned upside down (whoops, sorry!) I mean, gave the biggest mofo grin, did I realize that, you know, I was totally being faked out.

"I WON!"

[eyes go wide]

Really?  After all these months of my, giving "That's okay," and "Maybe next time," late night, pep talks, driving home from yet another defeat?!?

"DAMNIT!"

[cringe]

"I mean, I'm sorry I wasn't there to see it!"

This is the last week of wrestling season and I can't say that I'm not a little thrilled to, you know, see it end.

[cell phone rings]

Yesterday was their last "home" meet and my friend called to tell me that it ended early (DAMMIT!) and if I wanted her to bring my son home.

"Did we win?"

[pause]

"Uh, no."

[one beat, two beats]

"Yes, please!"

What?  It's not like I forgot to pick my son up, on purpose, or anything, right...oh, and I guess soccer and wrestling are more alike...than I thought...huh?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Stupid sports!

© 2003 - 2011 This Full House

The Maude Squad

WHAT?!?  I know.  But, it's been a looooooooooooong, cold, winter and, well, the novelty of playing in the snow has worn off, two storm systems ago, to the point where my two youngest are actually, you know, playing with their Christmas gifts.

Please understand that I am in no way advocating gun play...for real...my children are old enough to know the difference and, as you can see, they are also wearing protective eye gear.

Okay, now that we're clear, continue making yourself comfortable and let's talk about sex education.

[the sound of many doors, slamming]

Believe me, having had the talk and embarrassing my two oldest children with stories of how my Eastern European-raised parents and I, you know, did NOT talk (about sex, or anything to do with one's body, from the neck, down, I mean) hence, my believing that...OMG!...French kissing WILL get you pregnant...so, yeah, trust me...I know how you feel!

Personally, I sort of like reinforcing the fact that we, older parental-type units have our hangups, too.

It's hard, you know?

On the one hand, I want to be totally open with my children (sort of) then, again, it's hard to decide how much information they really need to hear, or not.  Not to mention, control when, where and who they, you know, hear it from (DAMMIT!)

So, we were watching The Golden Girls the other night.

SLAM!

WHAT?!?  I know.  But, they also enjoy watching the History Channel, along with Broadway musicals on PBS (yes, WITH ME!) and, well, I believe in providing my children with a well-balanced television viewing experience, too (i.e. no iCarly...EVER!)

"What's impotent mean?!?"

Et tu, Golden Girls?

"Go ask Daddy."

WHAT?!?  I already had the talk...twice...YES!...with my son, too! 

It's time my husband, Garth (not his real name) ponied up a little help from his end of the gene pool, too.

His explanation?

"You know how what happens sometimes when you first wake up in the morning?"

Oh, wait, this IS gonna be good!

"Well, when a person is impotent, it sometimes doesn't happen, anymore."

[eyes go wide]

"You mean...THEY CAN'T PEE ANYMORE?!?"

SNORT!

Yes, I mean, NO, I explained it a little better (I think!) after I stopped laughing, long enough to blow my nose, compose myself and, you know, speak, of course!

"Mommy, what's impotent mean?"

My 9 year-old daughter, not so much.

"Something we can talk about...later!"

WHAT?!?  It does NOT get any easier.  I mean, seriously, they don't start teaching sex education until the 5th grade and, well, she IS my youngest and probably knows way more than I do, already.

[sound of crickets chirping]

Wonder what's on Biography, tonight?

© 2003 - 2011 This Full House

Parenting Tip #13,100,785: Anything Boys Can Do, Girls Can Do Better! Unless You Live in Our House Or, Happen to Play the Clarinet!

Hey, look, finally, a post that has absolutely NOTHING to do with the weather (anyone mentions anything about snow and the ground hog gets it!) however, I will say that we're each getting a little sick (and tired) of all the closeness, around here.

"Girls go to college to get more knowledge!"

Especially, my two youngest children.

"But, boys go to Jupiter to get more stupider!"

See what I mean?

"That's not right!"

Thank goodness, the two oldest girls have my back.

"You mean, more stupid!"

Sort of.

"Keep it up and ya'll going to Jupiter!"

Long story, short (you're welcome) at our house, the war of girls vs. boys has been going on for quite some time now and, well, if you ask me, it really doesn't matter (whether you're a boy, or girl, I mean) they're ALL driving me nucking futs, too!

"Smart Alec said that playing the clarinet is stupid!"

Et tu minivan? 

"What did you say?"

Hope's first choice was to play the flute [cringe] but, I told her maybe the clarinet would be, you know, way cooler, considering there really aren't enough female clarinet players in the world.

"I told him maybe he should think about playing the clarinet, then!"

[snort!]

"How many clarinets does it take to change a light bulb?"

Either way, it just occurred to me, that I forgot to ask what instrument Smart Alec plays.

"Clarinets don't have light bulbs, STUPID!"

Then again, I guess it really doesn't matter.

"Hey, you just passed our house!"

Lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala.

"Where are you taking us, Mom?

[blows bangs out of eyes]

"Next stop....JUPITER!"

Stupid ground hog!

© 2003 - 2011 This Full House