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May 2011

Liar, Liar, Birthday Cake on Fire!

I remember, back in the day (way before feed readers and Facebook ruled the interwebz) when my kids were smaller (i.e. NOT able to finish stuff ordered off the children's menu) how cute it was when they'd start planning their NEXT birthdays...the day AFTER...their birthdays.

Then, they got bigger, we started paying full price at the movie theaters and, well, thank goodness for Netflix.

Then, all of the sudden, we were celebrating birthweeks, evidenced by my having to clean the house, more than usual and, well, thank goodness our local super, duper, shop until you drop has an awesome bakery department, too.

Did I mention, my 3 oldest celebrate their birthdays in November, December and January, respectively, in birth order and...SURE...I could tell you, that...YES...we totally planned it that way...OF COURSE...I am still THAT organized (snort!) but, most of you would probably know I'd be lying, right?

Holiday Weekends, Rock!!!

As my kids continue to get older (me, too DAGNABIT!) I've since grown to appreciate celebrating birthweekends and focusing on enjoying the simple stuff, like:

  • Waking up with all my body parts STILL attached. 
  • Sipping a cup of my husband's most excellent coffee. 
  • Enjoying the early morning hours, on our porch. 
  • Not having to go anywhere. 
  • Not having to do anything. 
  • Touching, feeling and actually getting to read the newspaper.
  • Visiting with family and friends.
  • Impressing the kids that...SHYEAH!!! can STILL play a mean game of volleyball.
  • Not to mention, NOT having to clean up, after (the house party, not volleyball, SHEESH!)

These are the things that made MY birthday weekend totally AWESOME, anyway!


Also, best cake, EVUH (thanks, Pam!) you know, I could really get used to this whole birthday thing.

I mean, after 39 years of practice, you'd think I would be, right?

[see blog title]

But, you can call me Matt...DAGNABIT!

© 2003 - 2011 This Full House

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

And I Wonder, As I Wander

This Full House Girls' Room My youngest daughter and I were fighting over radio stations on the way to school, this morning (I'm a little oldies and she's a little bit, you know, LOUD) when it occurred to me that we moved into our starter home, which happens to be THIS house, on Memorial Day 1993!

"Wow, that means, you've been walking the halls for 18 years!"

Okay, so it's STILL a 7 room house and it's not like we have THAT many halls to begin with. 

Actually, only 1, on the way to the bathroom, in front of the girls' room and, well, it can get REAL scary, walking down there!

Then, I got to thinking about it some more (stupid traffic lights) and, well, she was ABSOLUTELY right.

Although, it's more like I wander, as I wonder, after 18 years, why I STILL can't remember where in the heck I put stuff.

However, I refuse to believe it's because I'm old-ish (but, I still LOOK good, dagnabit!) besides, a person's brain can hold only so much information, before it implodes, right?

It's true, I read it somewhere, in a book.

[heavy sigh]

Aaaaand, for those of you skeptics out there (yeah, I see you, way in the back, over there on the left, in the t-shirt and cut-off shorts) who STILL don't understand how a person (like me) can FORGET TO HAVE BREAKFAST, I present to you, yesterday morning:

  • Squints at clock on wall.
  • Dang, we're late (AGAIN!)
  • Grabs coffee cup.
  • Runs back to house (stupid bladder!)
  • Drive to school.
  • Reminded about some school event, in an hour.
  • Runs home to check for email.
  • Checks other emails.
  • Answers emails.
  • More email.
  • Reaches for empty coffee cup.
  • Need more coffee.
  • See box of cereal left on the table.
  • Squints at clock on coffee maker.
  • Oh, yeah, almost forgot to eat breakfast.
  • Also, need more coffee.
  • Dang, got to clean out coffee maker.
  • Looks out kitchen window.
  • Oh, what a pretty bird.
  • Squints.
  • Get off the feeder, you danged squirrel!
  • Dog careens passed to bark at squirrel bird.
  • Spill coffee grinds.
  • Stupid dog!
  • Great, paper towel roll empty (AGAIN!)
  • Starts walking towards garage door.
  • Shuddup, Doofus!
  • Ummmmmmmmm.....
  • COFFEE!!!
  • Walks back to kitchen.
  • Dang, I'm hungry.
  • Grabs cereal box.
  • GAH, it's empty.
  • Go to throw it away, sees coffee grinds on floor.
  • Places empty box on kitchen counter.
  • Gets paper towels, cleans up coffee grinds.
  • Reaches for bowl, banana and where in the heck did that cereal box go?
  • D'oh!!!
  • Throws banana peel into empty cereal box.
  • Stomps off to back door.
  • What's THAT smell?
  • Forgot to switch the laundry (AGAIN!)
  • Checks bathrooms for wet towels.
  • FLUSH!!!
  • I drink way tooooo much coffee.
  • COFFEE!!!
  • Start walking back to kitchen.
  • Hrmph, someone left the washing machine door...oh.
  • Walk back to bathroom for towels.
  • Stomach growls.
  • Start back to kitchen.
  • Bon Appetit, you danged squirrel bird.
  • Grabs cereal bowl.
  • Steps over coffee grinds.
  • Picks up cereal box.
  • Shakes cereal box; looks inside.
  • What, who in the heck put a banana peel...[one beat, two beats]
  • Oh...DAYUM!

So, the next time someone tells you, "I FORGOT TO EAT BREAKFAST," just smile, nod your head and know COULD happen!!!

[sound of crickets]

Or, give them a cup of coffee (or, a banana) then, take them by the hand and show them the way to the bathroom, or something, thanks!!!

[UPDATE:  School nurse at middle school JUST called (seriously!) son is in her office, throwing up and, well, doesn't seem like I'll be eating breakfast, lunch, or dinner...anytime soon...BLECH!]

© 2003 - 2011 This Full House

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

And if you voz to zee my Iriz...

Pardon me, while I tap into my Hungarian roots, here, but I love this time of year, minus the wet.

DSCN5172Some of my favorite flowers are blooming, RIGHT NOW, most of which we adopted from my parent's garden, before selling the house they spent 30+ years, rebuilding, literally, from the ground up.

It was just too much for them.

After 7 years of successfully negotiating dozens of hurdles that life continues to throw at them, my parents are still making beautiful things happen, in the dirt.

It's in their blood.

I've read that there are over 200 varieties of Iris (Irises?) but, that pretty little thing, there on your left, grows right outside our front door and, well, it just makes me smile...BIGTIME.

Aaaaand, that, right there, izzzzz a verrrrry gut ting!

© 2003 - 2011 This Full House

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

"Man"ifest Those Post Its, My Son

Glen is 12, going on boyteen and, being raised in a house, filled with females, he's grown used to navigating through a raging sea of hormones.

Also, rooting through an endless supply of feminine products, because, well, there has GOT to be a roll of toilet paper, in there, somewhere, DAGNABIT!

On the other hand, our house seems to be a breeding ground for random pieces of bar soap and I guess we could always recycle them into something fun and useful...but...EWWWW!

Aaaanyway, all bathroom issues aside (you're welcome!) my son remains light-hearted about growing up in a testosterone-ly-challenged environment...mostly.

Although, I do make a point of reminding him, that he is the ONLY person, in this house, who does NOT have to share a bedroom (doorless, as it is) with anyone.

So, I was upstairs helping my son put away his summer clothes (wishful thinking, I know) the majority of which do NOT fit, so we made a quick job of it, by the way (UGH!) when, a giant dust bunny rolled out from underneath his bed and scared our socks back to their original color.

Apparently, his version of "clean your room," is slightly different from mine, by definition (i.e. picking your clothes up from off the floor is clean enough) I blame his sisters.

One by one, we took stuff off, from on top of some other stuff, moved more stuff and, DANG, the boy REALLY didn't have as much room as, you know, I led everyone, here, to believe....sorry.

"Can we put any of this stuff in the garage sale?"


I know, I hate garage sales, too.  Still.  We need the room and he wants a new skateboard, so on and so forth.

"Sure, if you're ready to let it go."

It's not like when they were younger, when I waited until they were in school to get rid of stuff (sorry guys!)

Besides, I still remember feeling MORTIFIED when my mom found AND read my diary and, well, I really, really don't want to go there.

"Maybe we could move things around a bit, too."

Since, you know, Glen was at school, the last time I changed his room around, by myself...WHAT?...he was still in single digits, at the time (I think!)

FLASH FORWARD:  3 hours later (for real, I checked!)

ManBoy Cave
TAH-DAHHHH...I helped Glen create his very own official man cave...please disregard the hearts and flowers used to be my room...B.G. (before Glen) and, well, life is good, once again...or, at least, this one rainy weekend.

I took some clean clothes up this morning and saw that he's since included a bunch of post its on his mirror.

Upon closer inspection, I realized that it was his version of a vision board and, well, suffice it to say, we got to talking about a lot of stuff, in those 3 hours and, even though I would LOVE to show you, it's not my place to tell you.

Okay, just one:  Stay focused.

I think it's a boy thing, but also admitted that, some adults, even parents (ahem!) have difficulty, dealing with too many distractions, so on and so forth.

[taking an even closer look]

Aaaand, there's this one:  Get more Axe gel and deodorant!

It's okay, anyone who's raising a boyteen already knows why that particular "post it" was being referenced to, in the short term, of course!

© 2003 - 2011 This Full House

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

Life Balance, Take 17

Holly's "Young Girl" at Art Show

Yesterday, we attended an art show, held at a local bank, supporting art in schools, featuring two of Holly's pieces. 

You can't really tell from my cell phone, however the majority of this pen and ink drawing is stippled, with tiny little dots. 

I remember, because I can still hear the, ", dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot..." of her tapping the pen well into the night.

Holly's "Life Balance" at Art Show

The same with this one,", dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot..." which explains the permanent dent in the poor girl's right index finger.

This piece, however, is still her favorite, she says, because it's the first, of many she's created (dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot, dot) taking inspiration from her own life, rather than that of another artist.

It's her vision...of herself...and, well, my inner-17-year-old totally relates to the juggling act going on in her head.

I mean, I am her mother.

As her mother?

To be honest, it made me a little sad to think, man, that still seems like A LOT of pressure, doesn't it?

Even more sadly, I started to over-analyze stuff, in my own head, like:

  • Why is she putting bills above love?
  • She's only 17.
  • Perhaps she meant budget?
  • Great, now she won't want kids.
  • Can I blame her?
  • No, I'm her mother.
  • Should a 17 year old be thinking of this sort of stuff?
  • I never did.
  • Did I?
  • Apparently not, see first bullet.
  • Why aren't there any more foot holds?

I did ask her about the bills thing, considering that she may (or, may not) have read my last post.

That's when....

Warning: you're about to enter a proud mom-type blogging moment and, if this sort of stuff makes you itch, I don't blame you.  However, considering that I am her mother, stuff like this just seems all the more amazing, you know, so indulge me this one time, okay?

....she quickly pointed out that the closest thing to her heart is family.

"Read from the bottom up, not the top."

TAKEAWAY:  Seems we're ALL well passed refrigerator art and graduating into deeper, smarter waters, now.

[second glance]

GAH...quick, someone throw me a dingy, PLEASE!

© 2003 - 2011 This Full House

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


Holy Hannah Montana I Got a Junior in High School
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 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

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

Just Don't Get Me Monologuing, Okay?

I sat down at my desk this morning and, well, you ever have one of those days when your mental to do list is about a mile long (closer to two, even) but, you don't EVEN bother taking the time to find a pen (that works, I mean) because, well, you can't even see the top of your desk, for one thing, until you shuffle some papers around, looking for something to write on (IF you had a pen) only to expose a couple of coffee stains and maybe even a chocolate wrapper (or, twenty) speaking of which, you could probably use another cup of coffee (or, chocolate) right about now, right?

Go ahead, I'll wait.

Better?  Good.  What was I saying?  Oh yeah, so, the weekend was a blur of errands and, well, today, I'm fighting a monster case of procrastination.

Or, what I've come to call...Frankenmonday.


Aaaaand, it's winning.

I should be working.

In fact, if I had started earlier, when I was supposed to, I could have accepted that last minute lunch invitation.

{Sorry, Gina!!!}

Would have even had the time to take a shower for it.

Instead, I sit here, procrastinating, feeling overwhelmed, shuffling papers, pretending I had a pen, oh, hey, wait a minute, what's this?


Well, seems my middle girl thought I would find her interpretation of a Super Mom a bit funny and, at second glance, the broom, purse, heels and canister of wipes prominently fixed on her utility belt, she's right.


Actually, I feel sort of, you know, invigorated.

[cracks knuckles]

In fact, I've got a whole half of the day left and soon ALL will tremble before me.

[blows bangs out of eyes]

Now, if only the dog would quit snoring on the couch, so I could hear myself think...INCREDIBLE...where IS mah super broom?!?

© 2003 - 2011 This Full House

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