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February 2007

If you can’t decide which dog is best, get them all … adopt a doofus!

My husband and I grew up with dogs, but decided to wait to get one until our youngest rugrat was out of diapers. We did the research, asked our family and friends, and finally attempted to adopt a beautiful basset hound through animal rescue, which turned out to be a disappointing experience that left our kids heart-broken.

Not that we're bitter (MUCH!) but, we decided to try our hand at finding our family's first pet through our local animal shelter.

Though believing that investing in "a breed" would be best and having family and friends owning a lhasa-schnoodle-doodle-poo-something-or-another, our economic situation led us on a more...um...mutt-led path.

We got ourselves a doofus-dog!

No, really - I mean the dog is so dumb, he'd be standing right beside you, turn to leave the room, forget there was a wall there, and bonk his head...each...and...every time...earning him the nickname, Pinhead!

[sitting at front door]

"Doofus...dinnertime!"

[turning too quickly]

BONK!

"Pinhead!"

Don't get me wrong, he is lovable (and has never, ever suggested otherwise, as evidenced above) and that's the rub.

Oh, yeah - here's another thing, the dog thinks he's...a cat!

Every night, doofus-dog tries to curl up on my lap and does that, you know, kneading dough (or in my case, muffin top) thingie with his paws.

[roll it, pat it]

AIEEEEE!

"Knock it off, Pinhead!"

Can you imagine going through cabin fever with a 90 lb. doofus-dog?

Me either - so, I took him along with me and the kids to the park on Saturday because, you know, the sun was shining. A dad spotted me walking doofus-dog next to the playground and just far enough away from the woodchips because, you know, if it doesn't walk, he'll eat it.

"Is that a lab?"

[looking down]
"Mostly."

[frowns]
"Oh, I only asked because we have a 1-year-old lab at home and, well, he's just such a nutty dog, you know, that we're seriously thinking about getting rid of him."

Oh, the things I could have told him.

Spending months cleaning up garbage, picking up tons of (yes, that many) torn-up pieces of paper, tissues and used feminine products (EWWW!) not to mention spackling holes in the wall, he wanted me to tell him whether or not, you know, owning a doofus really worth it!?!

.

Yes, I believe he is - today, anyway.

Life is like a box of chocolate labs, you never know what you're gonna get - unless you adopt a doofus-dog!

© This Full House 2003-2017. All rights reserved.

Why did God make Mothers - will there be a multiple choice?

Yep, it's Monday and yet another child is sick, again - I can hear them typing another letter, as we speak - stupid school!

So, my friend Stacy sent me this cute email and I'm thinking...hey!...this is a good time as any, to share.

WAIT!

I mean a laugh, of course!

Why God made Moms - BRILLIANT answers given by 2nd grade school children to the following questions:


Why did God make Mothers?

1. She's the only one who knows where the scotch tape is.
2. Mostly to clean the house.
3. To help us out of there when we were getting born.


How did God make mothers?


1. He used dirt, just like for the rest of us.
2. Magic plus super powers and a lot of stirring
3. God made my Mom just the same like he made me. He used used bigger parts.

 
What ingredients are mothers made of?
 
1. God makes mothers out of clouds and angel hair and everything nice in the world and one dab of mean.
2. They had to get their start from men's bones. Then they mostly use string, I think.


Why did God give you Your mother & not some other mom?
 
1. We're related
2. God knew she likes me a lot more than other people's moms like me.

 
What kind of little girl was your mom?

1. My mom has always been my mom and none of that other stuff.
2. I don't know because I wasn't there, but my guess would be pretty bossy.
3. They say she used to be nice.


What did mom need to know about dad before she married him?
 
1. His last name.
2. She had to know his background. Like is he a crook? Does he get drunk on beer?
3. Does he make at least $800 a year? Did he say NO to drugs and YES to chores?

 
Why did your mom marry your dad?

1. My dad makes the best spaghetti in the world. And my Mom eats a lot.
2. She got too old to do anything else with him.
3. My grandma says that Mom didn't have her thinking cap on.

 
Who's the boss at your house?
 
1. Mom doesn't want to be boss, but she has to because dad's such a goof ball.
2. Mom. You can tell by room inspection. She sees the stuff under the bed.
3. I guess Mom is, but only because she has a lot more to do than dad.

 
What's the difference between moms & dads?

1. Moms work at work and work at home & dads just go to work at work.
2. Moms know how to talk to teachers without scaring them.
3. Dads are taller & stronger, but moms have all the real power 'cause that's who you got to ask if you want to sleep over at your friend's.
4. Moms have magic, they make you feel better without medicine.

What does your mom do in her spare time?

1. Mothers don't do spare time..
2. To hear her tell it, she pays bills all day long.

 
What would it take to make your mom perfect?

1. On the inside she's already perfect. Outside, I think some kind of plastic surgery.
2. Diet. You know, her hair. I'd diet, maybe blue.


If you could change one thing about your Mom, what would it be?
 
1. She has this weird thing about me keeping my room clean. I'd get rid of that.
2. I'd make my Mom smarter. Then she would know it was my sister who did it and not me.
3. I would like for her to get rid of those invisible eyes on the back of her head.


Hey, I resemble those remarks - when you stop laughing, pass it on to another mother (or anyone) who needs a good laugh, or else...um...I'll hold my breath and have Mini-Me sneeze on you!!!

© This Full House 2003-2017. All rights reserved.

Picture Perfect Thursday: Chill Out!

[Photo essay: by Thing One, age 13
Song credit: Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol]

...I don't quite know
How to say
How I feel

...Those three words
Are said too much
they're not enough

...If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

...Forget what we're told
Before we get too old
Show me a garden that's bursting into life

.

...All that I am
All that I ever was
Is here in your perfect eyes, they're all I can see

.

.

...I don't know where
Confused about how as well
Just know that these things will never change for us at all

.

.

.

...If I lay here
If I just lay here
Would you lie with me and just forget the world?

[Win, lose or draw - sometimes, you just gotta know when to chill - thanks for the reminder, Thing One...I love you.]

© This Full House 2003-2017. All rights reserved.

Like prawns on anabolic steroids, these are the lobsters of our lives.

One of the few things I look forward to about Mondays - okay, about the ONLY thing - is settling in with a chilled glass of my favorite white wine and lusting over his majesty and master chef, Jacques Pepin.The man has the most gorgeous set - filled with very lovely kitchen appliances, knives, pots and pans - I have EVER seen!

Seriously. The man can cook the heck out of anything, especially on a weekday evening. He's fast, entertaining and cooks in a way - with that French accent of his - that can even make the simplest pizza look sexy.

Me, not so much.

Oh, I used to cook. Real food. But, you know. After kids - not to mention copious amounts of fish sticks, hot dogs, macaroni and cheese served with chicken nuggets - I've since lost touch with my inner-chef.

Imagine my surprise when the hubs brought home a lobster - about the size of my youngest daughter - and said:

"Happy Valentine's Day, sweetie...if you need me...I'll be outside, shoveling!"

Nothing says, "I love you," like lobster and has to be, like, the ultimate in take-out food, I thought.
"Wow, it's like raining pop rocks and skittles out there, and you went and bought me dinner!?!?!"

Then, the screaming started.
"Ewwww, grooooss, it's still ALIVE!"

It took a moment, but, once they were able to calm me down, the kids insisted that they would take care of dinner!
"Just like that cooker man on t.v., with the funny accent, you know, just like Papa!"

[raises eyebrow]
"Papa's Hungarian."

[four sets of shrugging shoulders]
"Same thing."

So, as today is Friday - no cooking on pizza and movie night - I would like to share with you some of the highlights of a very romantic Valentine's Day dinner, prepared and served by my children, their way.

.

This is Mini-Me and -- because she does NOT do lobster -- is the official "flower-holder-upper" and is hostess with the mostest , tooo-nuht!

.

Chef Little Man is put to task, right away, and prepares the lobster by petting it and giving it a name - Sebastian.

Thing One - being the oldest and having had the fortunate opportunity of having to dissect one during science class, just last month - gives a quick lesson on which parts of the lobster a person should (and should not) eat and is reminded exactly it is why she, too, does NOT do lobster.

Chef Little Man is put to task, once more (it's good to have a brother) and attempts to remove the bands of Sebastian's restraint.

He finds it a bit more slippery and rather difficult to, you know, hold the sucker and quickly seeks assistance from Chef Thing Two.

ASSISTANCE...ASSISTANCE!

Enter sous chef Mommy with her makeshift lobster mitts!

Oh no, the lobster's too big, it does NOT fit!

No matter, or Jacques would say, "Iz purr-fec-tally fiii-nuh, jus git aye-nutter pot!"

Then, after a bit of screaming (because I am a WIMP!) I was able to, somehow, throw the lobster in the pot, because, you know, I closed my eyes, and then ran away, really fast. After about, oh, seven meenuts or zoh, Chef Thing Two and Chef Little Man decided it was time to check if Sebastian had, you know, ceased to exist.

He hadn't.

Not until 5:59 p.m. (est) officially.

I've always heard that giant lobsters (those weighing over 2 lbs.) tend to be tough - it was, let me tell you, preparing for this meal was hard! A lot like Silence of the Lambs, really. I think I can still hear the screaming. Eh, but the kids did a great job - didn't they set a simply lovely table? - and it's like what another favorite chef of mine Anthony Bourdain always says:

"You're slower than me. You're stupider than me. And you taste good. I will eat you!"

TGIF and happy cooking!

[Edited to add:  It's Tuesday, already and would you believe, with the long weekend plans ahead of us, I wrote this on Friday and FORGOT to hit publish.  Yes?  Of course you would, because I am a DORK!] 

© This Full House 2003-2017. All rights reserved.

Hump Day Diddy Dumbs - Another stupid winter fashion tip in one hundred pounds, or less.

Mini-me pretty much dresses herself, these days, and - being raised a hybrid in a house filled with women with distinctively different tastes - like her sisters, she spends a painfully long time getting ready in the morning.

Not today.

Because the one thing they all agree upon (including my son) is that there is no other fashion tip more important than knowing how to wear your winter...um...innerwear?

All the cool kids are wearing their pajamas inside out and backwards.

Especially the ones living in my house and in the event of a winter storm warning!

Perhaps you haven’t heard - or simply do NOT have a school-aged child living with you, at the moment - but, wearing your pajamas inside out and backwards is more than just personal choice, it’s a moral imperative.

If you're a mom - like me - then perhaps you'll be happy to learn this method works surprisingly well with hooded sweatshirts.

Especially for teenagers - and especially during those not-so-lovely moments (once a month) - the backwards-effect is an attractive alternative to...well, you know.

Economically sound and gender-friendly, this trend truly transcends all antecedent boundaries - especially those enforced by hand-me-downs and/or 8-year-old boys with little or no fashion sense who typically refer to girls as “icky” - just watch, as we blaze a trail in believing that there is a difference between form and function.

Although, getting his attention and turning away from the television may prove a bit, you know, tricky.

Yes, as you can see, wearing pajamas inside out and backwards really does work - a little too well - because it's raining freakin' skittles over here!

Seriously, it sounds like poprocks going off over our heads and it's totally freaking me (and the kids) out!

I mean, the lights are flickering (read: must end blog post before power outage) it's deadly cold and everything is freezing...solid!

Oh, well...at least they had the good sense to cancel school and we all - with the exception of daddy - are home safe and sound.

Now, excuse me while I call my husband, remind him to be careful, tell him how much I really do love him and then proceed to drill a hole into my head and bury my face deep into a box of chocolates.

Did I mention the kids are all home from school, today - what was I thinking - and they can't even go outside. Stupid ice!

Happy Valentine's Day, sweetie!

No worries - even if the kids beat it outta me - I'll try and save you at least a little bit of lovins' and perhaps even a lovely coconut-creme, somewhere easily found on my pale-white-dead body.

© This Full House 2003-2017. All rights reserved.

Be careful when killing two birds with one stone, you might miss the birds!

My mother-in-law called, the other night (I think it was Thursday) to catch up on how the children and I have been feeling, lately - since our latest battle with bubblegum fatigue and phlegm - and, balancing the phone receiver with my left shoulder, I continued to time my son (while he completed 100 math facts in less than five minutes) reached for the safety scissors and began clipping the dead leaves off the geraniums on the window sill, and chatted away:

"Uh-huh...yes...they're all better...nuh-uh...no...I'm not busy."

I wasn't being, you know, sarcastic (really!) and besides, I owed her a phone call. Okay. Perhaps two or three, even.

Make a long story, you know, less long (I know, probably not) I had to cut the phone call short, when Mini-me ran into the dining room, stood in front of me and covered her hand to her mouth:

"Yes...in fact, your son is..."

[gag]
"Ulgck...looks like Mini-me's gonna get sick, again...gotta go...call you back!"

[click]

In one quick move, to the baker's rack and back, I grabbed for the puke bucket (what, you don't have one?) placed it under Mini-me, closed my eyes and braced myself for the worst.

Did I mention I was a joiner?

And why not? Because, I swear, it's moments like this that I can't help but wonder...um...what in the hell was I doing.

No, really.

That's the trouble with multi-tasking - although, some mommybloggers don't seem to have a problem with this - it requires lots of, you know, focus.

[wiping the spittle from my eyes]

And I've seem to have lost mine, at the moment.

No matter, I'm on my time now - good time to hit 'ye blog, yes? - the kids'll be home soon and I'm sure I'll be right back at it, again.

The trouble is, I'm having a really hard time getting passed all the negative conotations that comes with me having to explain to people:

"Why, yes...I'm a writer...call me a mommyblogger, if you'd like...but, I'm sorta just trying to, you know, work it all out."

[blank stare]

You know.

It's not always about the phlegm - it's about connecting to other parents (yes...dads, too) who, having dealt with a whole slew of crud I didn't even know about, perhaps can relate to all the crap that goes along with it, too.

Heavy sigh.

Helps me look at phlegm in a whole new way, you know.

For some parents, blogging comes naturally, but - for reasons I won't get into, at the moment [insert your tears of joy, here] - carving out a living at it is like trying to make a dent in the laundry.

For me, anyway.

That's where mommybloggers like Anne-Marie Nichols (a.k.a. A Mama's Rant) come in quite handy, especially when giving interviews and quotes like these:

Don’t treat mommy bloggers like a bunch of dumb housewives and blogging as our “cute little hobby.” Many of us were professional writers and marketers before we stayed home with our kids. We blog because we have a brain and need to reach out to people and share our stories.

I'm not one of them - professional writer/marketer B.C. (before children) - but, she made me think that perhaps there was a place for "my stories" and given me reason to, you know, chill out and re-visit another favorite hobby of mine; a love that both my mother-in-law and I shared, besides her son.

Birdwatching.

It was a beautiful sunny day, today

Tomorrow, not so much.

So, I grabbed the camera and settled in by the birdfeeders outside the backdoor.

You see, even when I'm alone...

I'm never really, lonely.

Yes, I believe that blogging has been good for me and that I have finally found a comfortable niche, but - sitting in the quiet sun, playing with your cat and ignoring the dust kitties - sometimes there are things that are better left alone.

And, if you wait long enough, perhaps you'll get a glimpse of that elusive cardinal...

...or, snap that woodpecker that's been keeping you up at night.

With patience - and even a little luck - perhaps things will become, you know, a bit clearer...

...and the cardinal will see you, too...

...as something shiny and - prehaps even a little pretty - suddenly, before you even know what's happening, you cross paths and it flies straight for your...um...WAIT!

WHUMP!

Due to technical difficulties, we interrupt this bird story and bring you a blogging tip:

Be careful when killing two birds with one stone, you might miss the birds.

You, your kids and perhaps even your mother-in-law will thank you, one day!

And for heaven's sake, do NOT clean your windows - doing housework can kill - trust me!

Stupid bird!

© This Full House 2003-2017. All rights reserved.

Warning - mommy playdates can make you look crazy - Dude, the eyes, they’re crazy!

Two of my mommy friends asked me to stop by and help them out with a craft project and after spending a rather loooong evening putting together nine cute little tropical girlie-type costumes - yes, liquor was involved - I woke up with a bad case of crazy eyes.

Although this used to happen to me while I worked full-time and tended bar at night - when I was at least two sizes smaller, survived on absolutely no sleep and loooong before I had kids - I don't think it was the mommy playdate, alone, or the lovely chardonnay from Australia, that did me in.

The headache, yes.

So, I quietly walked into the house - even though the stupid dog knows it's me and he still barks - and must have startled my husband, because he looked as if he'd seen, well, something really icky.

"What?"

[still with the icky-face]
"I'm not THAT late."

I put my keys down, headed towards the couch and...believe it or not...the dog just stared and I think I even heard him growl, a little.
"No, it's not that...um...it's the eyes."

Now, they both had me scared.
"Oh crap, what?"

Truth be told, I was feeling a little yucky and my eyes were sort of beginning to, you know, itch.
"I hope it's not pink eye, or something."

[looks in mirror]
"What...okay, they're way red...but, I don't see..."

There was a quick flash and I saw these little white floaty things making pretty little circles all around my face and soon my reflection was covered in bright white lights.
"Uhhh..."

I reached inside the medicine cabinet, swallowed two of my migraine pills (actually, they just kind of dissolved, you know, in a icky sort of way) and knew exactly what caused my bad case of crazy eyes.

 

 

These crazy eyes.

 

 

 

One hundred of them, two be exact.

 

 

 

The crazy things we do for our kids, huh - not as crazy as waking up, the day after a mommy playdate, with strange marks on my body!?!

 

 

 

Isn't that bizarre, aren't you just...like, going "Ooo!"?

Apparently, mixing crafts and cocktails is not such a great idea, either - just be glad you don't have to sleep with me - Happy Friday and 100th day of school, everyone!

 

© This Full House 2003-2017. All rights reserved.