This Full House

Got teens - it's about time we had a Girl Talk, yes?

I remember the one (and only) time I ever saw my father flat-out drunk.

It was New Years Day in 1978 (I was 14) and we were on our way home from spending the entire night celebrating at The Hungarian Club, but my twin brother and I had to help my mother carry our father to the car, insisting that he was just too "happy" to drive.

We carried him upstairs, sat him on the bed and tried hard NOT to burst out in a fit of giggles, as he tried to pull his turtleneck off his head and somehow managed to twist it into something resembling a straight jacket.

We STILL laugh at that one!

"Um...Mom...have you been drinking, again?"

Being at the wrong place at the right time and Mini-sleepovers!

The Boy (he's 9) had a friend sleepover on Friday and, after his mom dropped him off, I asked for his backpack, pointed out where he and The Boy would sleep (I mean, the couch IS right next to the front door) and then I knelt down real low (I could hear the poor kid's neck muscles straining) and went over our house rules.

"Basically, there aren't any."

What?

He's NOT my kid and it IS a sleepover - he WILL eventually go home and, you know, tell his mother - and it's NOT like I expected them to actually sleep, or anything.

But, he still seemed a little weary - I recognized the confused sort of...WUH-HUH?...way he shook his head, right away - so, I continued.

TGIBF: Stop, look and listen to how I really DO sound like Julie McCoy!

Well, another Thanksgiving has come and gone and it's funny, you know - not like ha-ha funny, but a weird sort of aha - it just hit me that, even though I'm glad that the week is finally over, it's been really, really quiet.

Shhh, just listen for a minute.

This is The Boy - after finding the courage to "volunteer" to dance in front of a whole bunch of, you know, people - this is what a sigh of relief, looks like.

This is Mini-me - after admitting that I was indeed her mom, REALLY - this is what accepting independence, looks like.

These are my girls - each very different from the other - this is what feeling a genuine sense of pride, looks like.

But, I was thinking.

[shudder]

A dangerous habit for someone with a limited amount of usable cerebral space available, already, I know.

[shrugs shoulders]

It's about time I admitted to myself (as well as the rest of the Internets) that, even though I may grumble at the calendar and growl about how crazy-busy our lives can, you know, get.

[bites lower lip]

I really do enjoy playing the role of...um...well, there's so many to choose from, really, but I guess the best way to describe my current position with the family, at the moment, is...uh...wait...okay, I got it...a plucky cruise director.

Especially, when it seems that there isn't a day that something does NOT go wrong and I'm just trying to make believe that it's, you know, all right.

A motherly version of Love Boat's Julie McCoy, if you will, except - instead of regaling romantic and funny adventures - we're dealing with episodes and story lines that...well, if you're a parent...then, you know.

[shudder]

One minute, life is sweet and then...BOOM...the pipes break and a person can't even flush a toilet without having a backup plan, literally.

[cue:  Julie McCoy]

"Your table is ready, captain and there will be 13 joining you for dinner, tomorrow."

I was filling my husband in about our Thanksgiving plans and - after 17 years of marriage - he IS very well aware of the fact that, you know, I'm the one in charge.

"Okay, just remember to tell me what to do, what to wear and what NOT to say."

I know how it sounds - though, both my father and father-in-law happily admit having freely given up their manhood a long time ago - honestly, I don't believe that these men have ever really learned how to deal with all the noise.

I am so done with running back and forth - between this house, and that house - that I've decided to have Thanksgiving here.

All the time.

[collective sigh of...UGH!]

It's just easier, you know?

"Don't worry, nothing new to report at the moment, just sit back and listen."

As most families (I hope!) we all have our little issues and interacting during the holidays can get a little, you know, sticky.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear you feel that way...but...um...HEY!...did I mention that my water broke and that The Boy got up and danced?"

Well, that got the room quiet.

"Yes, I even kept the two oldest girls home from school to watch!"

Funny - yes, like in haha - how FAR people's mind can wonder.

"Yes...hahahah...really and they even took pictures."

Suffice it to say, my family has grown accustomed to my...um...funny ways and everyone pretty much forgot about...well...everything else.

Mini-me and The Boy got a chance to decorate the tree.

Putting on all the pretties they collected, or made in school, over the years.

Sharing a quiet moment with the captain and then, they were invited over to my parent's house for a sleep-over for a couple of days....SWEET!

Of course, I never DID get a chance to show the relatives the other pictures - you know, sharing in those quiet little moments - and I guess they figure we could probably use some downtime and that pretty much explains why the older girls and I don't have any plans...at the moment.

[phone rings]

Until now.

"Attention everyone, there's been a slight change of plans...since, the captain has left for work early this morning and is no longer on board...all remaining passengers are invited to prepare for lunch on the Lido Deck!"

Time to put it in neutral - on the ONE day I really didn't plan on getting dressed, in the first place - 'cause I told my family that we will be home for the holidays and now EVERYBODY knows it!

Black Friday, indeed - you guys ain't got nothing on me - so, if you're not doing anything constructive, want to come over and help hide the laundry?

Soccer/mom bloggers with helicopter parent tendencies, UNITE.

As defined by Wikipedia:

A helicopter parent is a term for a person who pays extremely close attention to his or her child or children, particularly at educational institutions.

Oh, the humanity...I mean, the nerve of some people...expecting to know and control everything their child eats, drinks, learns and watches...hovering over their children, so.

That's what I thought, too - until I had children - and then everything I ever thought I knew about being a good mother sort of, you know, was ripped to shreds on Oprah Winfrey and Dr. Phil.

Having at least one parent home and available for your kids is good...staying home with them is bad...supporting your children and teaching them to be self-sufficient is good...working outside the home is bad...alpha moms suck...beta moms suck poodle...being a good mom is bad...being a bad mom is good...I mean, wait.

Spring forward, jump back two spaces...which is it?...I forget.

So, I was thinking - a dangerous concept for a professional Dork, I know - how about if we (moms AND dads) STOP with all the name calling and goofy monikers (momikers, they call it) and just accept the fact that  - when it comes to raising children - we are ALL a bunch of Dorks!

In my experience, there's always someone ready to prove YOU wrong - and then make up a name for your sorry butt - so, why fight it.

Most likely, it'll probably be one of YOUR...I mean, MY...d'oh...OUR kids are going to think we sucked at it, anyway!

[stepping off of soapbox]

Okay, I admit it.

[pours another cup of coffee]

I am a soccer/mom blogger with helicopter parent tendencies - I drive a 7-passenger car and want to know exactly where my kids are and what they are doing, most of the time - but, the whole reason I started this here blog...in the first place...was to be able to hear myself think...since my kids don't listen to a word I say, anyway!

I'm not perfect and my kids seem to be okay, anyway.

"Um...do you know that Mini-Me's wearing two different cleats?"

[eyes go wide]

"Well, at least THIS TIME she's wearing the right shirt."

Like, a few Saturdays ago, when I mistakenly pulled a green shirt out of the laundry basket (after successfully completing the smell test, of course) and learned that it was actually...um...The Boy's shirt from two years ago!?!?

"Her team's color is green this year, right?"

Her coach nodded his head and thought it was sort of, you know, funny - he's GOT kids, after all - but, ask me a few years ago and I would have probably totally wigged-out!

"Mini-me, stand still so Mommy can take a picture!"

And died of total embarrassment!

"You're going to blog about this, arent' you?!?"

You betcha!

[shrugs shoulders]

Don't worry, she knows - mommy bwogs 'cause it makes her feel better - but, to some people I will always be just another DORK!

Parenting Tip #22,915,002: Never underestimate the power of sustainable housekeeping!

Years ago - before kids and killer dust bunnies took over my brain - my husband and I had dinners and entertained a lot (with real food!) and for the "entertainment" portion of the evening, he used to love to play dirty little housekeeping tricks on me.

"Watch this!"

[places wine glass on cocktail table]

"7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2..."

[places coaster under wine glass and wipes table]

"Can I get anyone, anything?"

[lots of giggling]

"She's nuts, I tell ya'!"

Okay, so maybe I used to be a little overzealous about the cleaning - a domesticated freak show, apparently - but, after years of trying to keep up with four kids - not to mention, their laundry - I've since removed the Swiffer from out of my butt and adopted my own Full House philosophy in house cleaning.

Then my kids got older and they all sort of started needing stuff - like clothes, shoes and lunch bags - to be, you know, clean and...cough-cough...organized, just to get them to school.

This time of year, I'm pretty much done with that, too!

"I need something to make a dessert for a project for my Italian class!"

Watch this.

"When do you need it?"

[biting lip]

"Um...tomorrow!?!"

[looks at clock]

"It's 8 o'clock on a Sunday night."

7,6,5,4,3,2...

"Are you nuts...nope, I'm not doin' this...not this time...I am SO done!!!"

Thing One (a.k.a. Last minute Annie) and her projects have caused more stress on her father and I than, well, all the craft projects we've had to put-together, the last minute, for any one of our children, for the passed month, at least!

"Nope, I am NOT saving your butt, not again!"

So, we're on our way back from Stop and Shop - what? - because, well, I am a DORK and there wasn't any sugar in the house - what, NO SUGAR!?! - wait, I'll let that settle in, for a minute....YES, I take sugar in my coffee, thank you...okay, and I'm pretty proud of myself for not, you know, flipping out.

"Just melt the chocolate chips for about 30 seconds and dip the Stella D'oros in and..."

Watch this.

"Oh, CRAP!"

[grabs forehead as Thing One ducks for cover]

"I totally forgot Little Man's diorama is due, tomorrow!"

7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2...

SNAP!

Now, a few years ago, the much younger, yet freakish me would have taken Little Man to the Hobby Shop, gathered all of the materials, necessary to create the perfect ocean environment and even have him pick out the sea life for his aquatic diorama.

"This is what we've got and we'll make it work!"

Never underestimating the power of collecting and saving an abundant supply of what seems to be useless crud - not to mention, never having thrown anything away since 1993 - see, I knew this crap would come in handy, some day!

Meet Humpty, the humpback whale - he's a handsome-looking mammal (though, it's hard for you to see his fins fashioned from black construction paper) happily blowing his bubbles (saved from a broken strand of Christmas beads) swimming in a sea of blue sidewalk chalk and hiding amongst the crepe paper sea weed.

Humpty was most recently moved from Cape May, NJ...

...and - though, I've been teased and chastised for cleaning my house in heels - ever the shoe box Diva, Little Man had his pick and Humpty gots himself a suburban house of pumps; a real fixer upper, go figure!

Mission accomplished - Humpty's diorama is TIGHT - and on time; we actually had fun and no animals (or, children) were harmed in the making of yet another gosh-darned school project!

Let that be a lesson to us all!

[ring-ring]

"Hello, Mom...um...it's me, Little Man...I forgot my project on the kitchen table, this morning...and could you bring it in the next 10 minutes...or, the teacher's gonna give me a zero!?!"

SNAP!

[Next week:  How to alienate yourself from your child's teacher, and cursing in two different languages, in three easy lessons...or less!]

Mini-Me loves chocolate, Mommy don't...

Actually, I have a terrible crush on anything flavored, dusted and/or dipped in "dark chocolate," unlike that of my children's desires for milk chocolate, plain and don't even think about trying to serve them anything - like, brownies, ice cream and chocolate chip cookies - with nuts!

"I told-did teacher you would bwing bwoo-bewy muffins!"

Huh?

"I thought you didn't like blueberries and when do I need to bring these muffins in, btw!?!"

Yesterday, of course.

"Today, when you come in, wee-membuh?"

Of course - having suffered from a selective memory since, well, having children - it's been a little crazy here, lately, and - though I did remember to invite my MIL and FIL to the Author's Tea with at least, you know, one day's notice - I totally forgot about baking the stupid muffins!

She was so nervous, poor thing, and with good reason - especially, since, you know, she's got me for a mother - coming up on the last week of school, not to mention Mini-Me's birthday (the day before Father's Day) and her kindergarten graduation (the day before Thing Two's 5th grade graduation) I can't help but feel as if all h-e-double hockey sticks is breaking loose and I'm playing goalie!

Especially now, since receiving some more bad news (I'll save you the details, you can thank me later) the likes of which can take the wind out of my sails (which isn't all that easy to do, quite frankly) and now I definitely know what it feels like to get punched in the gut, probably.Seriously, I haven't felt this bruised in a very, very long time!

"I should have let the stupid answering machine get it!"

Yes, I talk to myself...often...and decided that I'd better snap out of it, quick, lest I rain on Mini-Me's parade and totally wreck the day for her, too.

She started to read and - though, her grandparents were visibly surprised, "They're in kindergarten, right?" and kept giggling at barely being able to see Mini-Me's face over the podium - I was amazed at how strong (and loud) her voice was.

She spoke of me, her sisters and all things Corbin Bleu, and a friend of mine (one of the very few mothers who actually knows what I do for a living) glanced back my way and smiled.

"That was a pretty terrific story; she must get it from you!"

Yes, my friend, it was like a slapshot to the groin and this was NOT what I wanted to hear, right now!

"Look, I made Mini-Me's favorite blueberry muffins!"

[eyes go wide]

"No you didn't!"

Huh?

"My fav-o-wit is chocwit and you told-did me you buy-did them at Stop and Shop!"

Why, yes - I nearly died and isn't she just a giggling grab bag of humor!?! - I am very glad it's Friday, thank you, and I am reasonably sure that you'll excuse me, while I go soak my head and won't be answering the phone again, anytime soon!

Blueberry muffin, anyone?

A glance into the world of higher thinking and dirty fingernails.

My 8-year-old son's 2nd grade class hosted a tea and poetry reading, Friday afternoon, that the children have been preparing for, for weeks, and were put to task with having to create their own invitations, for up to 3 people.

It was very cute and I would love to be able to share it with you, only, I can't. Because, I gave it to his grandparents and forgot to take a picture of it - not to mention, show his father - but, I thought that perhaps my parents would enjoy the handwritten envelope marked "By invitation only" and "To Mama and Papa, pleeeeease, come!" and I hand delivered it, personally.

"No, you keep it...really...I've got tons just like it, at home, already!"

I work from home - yes, it's a perk - so, I was an obvious 1st choice on his guest list and the poor kid agonized, for days, over which of his grandparents to invite.

"I chose Mama and Papa, well, because I told a lot about them to my teacher, already."

Little Man's teacher is Ukranian and - being that my parents are Hungarian - well, you know, we are practically kissing cousins, afterall.

"Are these the grandparents who inspire you in your love of history?"

His teacher was being very gracious.

"Yes, and he's the one who was almost shot in the haystack!"

The boy (and his sisters) really does enjoy listening to my father tell of life in "the old country" - especially, having narrowly escaped it, with his life - and Little Man's teacher often allows him to repeat the stories to his class and has also included my parents into his history projects. Like, his oral report on on Dwight D. Eisenhower:

"If it wasn't for people like him, President Roosevelt and Winston Churchill, my Mama and Papa would probably not be here, or been able to escape from the bloody communists!"

Yes, Papa's history lessons can be quite...um...graphic and filled with colorful language and, quite frankly, I was a bit nervous to hear my son's choice of poem, you know, that he finds...GULP...inspiring.

He did great!

What?

Oh, the poem...um...well, I don't remember what the title was - because, I was too busy worrying about whether or not I remembered to charge the stupid camera's battery, okay! - and then I noticed the dirt under my fingernails!

Stupid weeds.

"Wonderful to meet you, finally, and thank you for sharing your stories!"

My son and I are going to miss her and - although, she is Little Man's favorite teacher and this has been his best year - all that homework...not so much!

"I just like to tell my grandchildren, like it is, straight from my heart."

She glanced over at me, but I just smiled and hid my hands in my skirt pockets.

"Not many American children are exposed to such worldly thought, or understand history as much as Little Man does, and thank you, very much, for sharing him, with us."

I was overcome.

"Did you know that European women don't shave their legs!?!"

[eyes go wide]

"But, my mom does."

[glancing down]

"I think."

Yep, the boy is a piece of work.

Just like his Papa.

Although, he and my mom haven't been feeling very well, these days - they do look great, though, don't they and yes, that's Mini-me, she was allowed to sign out of her class to join us and she is wearing her "Brother for Sale" t-shirt, appropriately enough - I understand that having grandkids can be pretty good medicine.

I agree, just not yet!

I'm looking forward to watching him (and the rest of my gang) grow to be, well, very smart and well-versed in the world of higher thinking...and yet...surprisingly very down to earth and a bit hairy, like their mother!