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November 2009

A Thanksgiving Prank Gone Bad

A Boy and His Dog, Asleep

It was the night before Thanksgiving, and all through the house, not a creature was sleeping, except for the boy and his, well, that's our Doofus Dawg and he is WAY bigger than a mouse.

Shhh, brother is sleeping!

Then, someone suggests, quite innocently,"Wouldn't it be funny, if we painted his toe nails?"

Now, most people would probably think, "Yes, but it wouldn't be very nice." 

Paint HIS tonails, of course!

"Why yes, yes, it would, I'll get the nail polish!"

Then again, we are NOT most people, he IS the only boy in the house and, well, the kid pretty much pranks us...ALL THE, it's all in the name of good, clean, fun, right?

"You're gonna make him cry."

Apparently, my 13 yo did NOT think it was such a great idea, but went along with it, anyway.

"That's just not right."

Neither did my husband, Garth [not his real name] who woke up with his fingernails painted, once, but that time I...I mean...we painted them black and he DID notice before leaving the house for work.

"Shhhh, you're gonna wake him up."

My son, however, slept through it all and it wasn't until sometime, in the middle of breakfast, the next day, that he even noticed!

"GAAAAAH, who painted my toenails?!?"

Aaaand, there was much giggling.

[eyes go wide]

Until, it dawned on him that, you know, someone painted HIS toenails.

"I told you he would cry."

Yeah, maybe we should have listened to Heather (obviously, she HAS more sense than her mother) but, my SIL was a little surprised at how upset he got (having slept over, on the night in question) and, well, she, or I would have let him in on the prank, before anyone else arrived for Thanksgiving dinner.

"I am SO embarrassed!"

Then again, maybe I've grown a little too used to dealing with girls, who cry, just because they can and aren't boys supposed to be all, you know, snakes and snails and puppy dog tails?

"I'm SO sorry, Bud; I really thought you'd think it was funny!"

Apparently, I was wrong...AGAIN!

"Well, IT'S NOT!"

I stood there, watching him, as he tried to wipe the nail polish off with a wet piece of toilet paper, and I wanted to crawl under a rock, and die, probably just as much as he wanted me to, if not more, I'm sure.

"Here, let me do that for you."

I grabbed the nail polish remover and started to, you know, try and clean up yet ANOTHER BIG MESS I'd gotten us into and, well, we each took turns and thanked my son for accepting our apologies, as half-assed as it sounds, at the moment.

"We didn't mean to make you cry!"

Lesson Learned:  Girls are spice and everything nice, until their brother's asleep and there happens to be a bottle of nail polish, near by.

"Besides, you can always stick one of their fingers in a glass of warm water and make them pee their beds!"

Less than smart mothers, like me, however, deserve nothing more than strained carrots and peas, or made to watch the Doodle Bops, until our eyes explode AND our ears begin to bleed.

"No, that would  be mean."

Although, he DID giggle...a, too.

Liz@thisfullhouse signature

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

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

Ghosts of Thanksgiving Past

Bud and Pam 1st Thanksgiving

Bud and Pam's 1st Thanksgiving 2008

Over the years, I've grown accustomed to having family over for the holidays and, as the kids get older, I find myself worrying less about the table setting (nope, it doesn't match) or, the food preparation (yes, some of it comes out of a can) not to mention, I don't bother too much about making lists, anymore (seriously?) or, worry whether I've managed to hunt down each and every dust bunny (they're sort of like pets, really and I've even named a few) or not.

Because, no matter how my husband, Garth [not his real name] and I try, we've come to accept the simple fact that, with a family as big as ours (direct and extended) somethings just don't go right and, before you can say, "Pass the potatoes," someone's puking all over your nice, clean and shiny floors.

Last year?

I pretty much insisted that I would not mind it, in the least, if my brother and his wife, you know, did Thanksgiving.

Because, in our house, it isn't the holidays unless someone in the family is sick or is scheduled for a surgical procedure, like tomorrow.

This year?

Although, my middle girl, Heather (she's 13) is STILL dealing with the same danged creeping crud (WAY better than I have, I might add) it seems to have gone into hibernation.

[knocking on wood until knuckles bleed]

So, the rest of my kids are getting used to learning how to share, rather than compete, for our attention (unfortunately, these days, everything is viral) and my parents, well, they're getting older, too.

Each year, we get to spend together, however difficult, unplanned, or imperfect, IS a gift.

All things considered, along with a few things I haven't bothered to mention (you're welcome) I am very thankful that this passed year wasn't, you know, any worse.

This week?

My brother got some really bad news (cancer can #suckit) and then, with the help of some of our closest Internet friends (yeah, I'm surprised that he friended me on Facebook, too) my brother gave cancer a BIG old-fashioned Jersey bitch-slap, it deserves.


Although, we probably won't be able to see him and my SIL on Thursday (stupid cancer) I am thankful to know that they are, at least, you know, within spitting distance.



I'm pretty much ready to take back Thanksgiving and make that bitch mine.

"Strep test came back negative, but there's a lot of puss on his tonsils and, well, it could be mono."

Glen is home, we're waiting and hoping his fever breaks, before Thursday and well, just remember to call first, okay?

"Mom, it's up to 103!!!"

Um...OH!...look over there!


"Are we still having Thanksgiving?"

Did you happen to notice my nice shiny clean floors?

"Oh yes, there WILL be turkey, dammit!!!"


Have a Happy Thanksgiving -- or a reasonable facsimile, thereof.

Liz@thisfullhouse signature

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

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

Of Cats, Brothers and a BITCH Called Cancer

Glen and the old man

Yeah, the poor guy's got 3 sisters, but all 3 of our pets are boys and, well, that's close enough, right?

Cats.  You either like them, or you don't.  They do have a reputation of being a tiny bit self-absorbed (pot calling the kettle black, I say) and, often times, are considered not very good, you know, people-type pets.


There are those times, during their seemingly endless days of captivity, when a cat can sense that something is off and their owners aren't feeling quite right, or perhaps the planets are out of alignment, the earth's rotation shifts just a tad, and they simply slip out of character.

On the other hand, there is nothing more humanizing than staying up most of the night, taking care of a sick pet.

The Old Man (a.k.a. Pumpkin) belonged to my grandmother.  She moved in with my folks -- 5 years before she passed, when I was pregnant with Glen -- but, left The Old Man in my care.

"Nasty old cat!"

No, I didn't like him.  My husband liked him even less.  Still.  It's been 10 years (I only know, because my son is 10 and 4 pregnancies make for pretty good time lines) and, well, I guess we ALL just sort of grew on The Old Man.

My grandmother called The Old Man home last week and, as hard as his passing was -- I never had a pet, or anything, for that matter, die in my arms, before -- I am VERY thankful that the kids were NOT home to see it.

"Hey, uh, yeah, it's me, so, how you feelin'?"

I called my brother, this week -- he's been going through some pretty invasive tests, lately -- but, my husband and I made a conscious effort NOT to tell him about Pumpkin's death.

"Sorry to hear about Pumpkin."

Apparently, my mother told him.  You see, besides my mother, Pumpkin was the last physical connection we had to our grandmother.

"You guys took good care of him and he lived a very long life."

My brother lost one of his kidney's to cancer, 2 or maybe even 3 years ago (I'm not sure, seeing as I haven't been pregnant in a long while) and, once that bitch (cancer) touches your life, well, it's like my brother's been looking over his shoulder ever since.

Me, too.

"How did those test results go?"

Long story short (you're welcome!) THE BITCH IS BACK!

"I'm having surgery on Monday."

They found cancerous cells in his bladder.  THANKFULLY, the cells have sort of velcro'd themselves to the lining, but have NOT penetrated his bladder.

"They're also gonna give my bladder a good scrub down, too."

Actually, they're "gonna" give him what's called a chemo wash and, well, there's frustratingly little information available online regarding this type of treatment -- besides, the fact that it "buys the patient some time," whatever the heck THAT means, right?

"Good, judging by your feet, it could probably use a good washing!"

Yeah, I know -- feet have very little, if nothing, to do with your bladder -- but, he laughed, anyway.

Believe in Steve 

My kids call him Uncle Bud!

Brothers.  You either like them, or you don't.  They do have a reputation of being a tiny bit self-absorbed (pot calling the kettle black, AGAIN, I know) and, often times, are NOT very good at, you know, calling their sisters.

There are those times, during our seemingly endless days of countless routines, when the planets shift out of alignment, the earth's rotation changes just a tad, and we get the chance to feel comfort in each other, all over again.

On the other hand, there's nothing more dehumanizing than being the twin who does NOT have cancer.

Rest in peace, Pumpkin.  We're sure gonna miss you and your catherapy sessions, too!  Oh, and if you get the chance, tell Mamama to send some good juju this way, okay?  Bud could sure use some, right now.

Oh, and as for you...cancer...


Don't worry, my bruh-thuh, I love you (and your smelly feet, too) give her hell, Bud!

Liz@thisfullhouse signature

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

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

Mothers Working Against Guilt Need Not Apply

Liz@thisfullhouse Working Out

Behind every successful woman, is a basket of dirty laundry...Sally Forth

Except, in my case, it IS a "pile" of "clean" laundry and, well, success is a relative term, isn't it?

According to some members of my family (especially, those who are, you know, mostly, women) I should consider myself lucky, whenever my husband, Garth [not his real name] is brave enough to come home and "actually" gets out of the car, at night.

I get that.

Still.  Why are we women (mothers or non) so gosh-darned hard on each other?

Continue reading "Mothers Working Against Guilt Need Not Apply" »

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

Mom Sends the Msg: Never Drive Faster Than Your Mom (or Dad) Can Text

MomsMsg.comIf you were to ask me to list the scariest words in the English language, a few years ago, it would have looked something like this:
  • Strep throat
  • It's probably viral
  • Check E. Cheese
  • Parent-teacher conference
  • I couldn't find any clean underwear (don't ask)

Then, I picked up my oldest daughter (she turned 16, last week) and she laid 6 more on me, right in the middle of the high school parking lot:

"I started driver's ed, today!"

I knew this day would come.  Dreaded it more than anything (even hot flashes) actually.

[the sound of brakes, screeching to a halt] 

Then, she showed me the Parent Resource for Teen Driving Safety manual she received and I was all, like:

"You wanna drive home?"

Continue reading "Mom Sends the Msg: Never Drive Faster Than Your Mom (or Dad) Can Text" »

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

Bittersweet Sixteen

Holly Sweet Sixteen

Happy Sixteenth Birthday, Holly!

Today, you are sixteen.  Sixteen; how is that possible; I mean, wasn't it just yesterday, I blogged about how frightened I was about becoming a mom of a teenager?

I still remember blogging about the year you turned ten!

Today, you are sixteen and, well, I'm still waiting for someone to invent a special time machine.  You know, something we can simply strap ourselves into and travel back to a time when, I don't know, life seemed a whole lot easier.

Remember when you and Heather would come home from preschool and how the three of us would spend the rest of the afternoon, curled up on the couch, watching television and pretending that we lived in a small cottage, in the woods, like Little Bear's grandmother?

How about the times we would visit Mama and Papa, when they still lived in the house I grew up in and how we would spend hours and hours playing in Mama's vegetable garden, or playing hide and seek behind Papa's grape vines; remember that?

Yeah.  A time machine would be fun.  Then again, what is it that my grandmother would always say?   You remember how you used to call her, "Mamama," right? 

Anyhow, Mamama would say:

"Spend all your time looking behind you and you will almost always end up tripping and falling to your knees."

Your great-grandmother never made it passed the 3rd grade and lived in a time when only "rich people" educated their daughters.  Still.  The woman had a very simple way of making other people feel good about themselves and, well, I still think she was the smartest person I ever knew.

I see a lot of her old world wisdom in you.


Because, even though I knew that you would have loved a BIG birthday, with princess gowns and lots of glitz and glitter (deservedly so) all you asked for was a sleepover.

"I invited 5 girls and said that you would take us to the mall; is that okay?"

Yes, it is more than okay. 

You ARE the oldest of four -- I realize it is not always easy to be the first in line -- but, your father and I will always remember you as the sweet little baby girl, who couldn't pronounce her L's and would tell people her name was:


Now that you're grown (almost) I truly hope that you will, one day, look back and know that, even though we may have tripped up a couple of times (or, twenty) your father and I are very proud of you and love you very, very much.

Even though, sixteen years ago, I already knew that you would, one day, grow up to be the kind, beautiful and sweet person that you've become and that it would also happen...WAY TOO FAST.

Because, I'm smart like that.

Happy 16th Birthday, my sweet baby girl.


Liz@thisfullhouse signature

[a.k.a. Mommy]

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

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

Veteran's Day Project: Children Give Thanks

Veteran's Day Project

Her 3rd grade class was asked to create posters, giving thanks to a soldier, for the Veteran's Day Parade, today -- she chose her Uncle John.

Veteran's Day Poster

Each of her classmates has a poster, just like it.

A special thanks to ALL of our troops and big HOOAH to my twin brother, SFC Kat, who has dedicated each and every one of his medals to our parents -- they risked their lives for the promise of freedom and love America more than anyone I know!

Liz@thisfullhouse signature

© 2009 This Full House - All Rights Reserved.

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