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February 2013

Gold Digger, Noun, Someone Who Picks Their Nose

You know the thing, about how kids say the funniest things?  Wait.  Just wait, until around the time they hit middle school and attempt to use really "expensive" vocabulary words, in as many annoying ways, they can possibly think of.

Especially, whenever you happen to be helping them study for a vocabulary test.

Exuberance.  Part of speech:  Noun.  Use exuberance in a sentence:  "Your lack of exuberance in doing the laundry is obvious."

Ha ha.

Efficiency.  Part of speech:  Noun.  Use efficiency in a sentence:  "Aren't those supposed to be efficiency washers and dryers?"


Or, maybe it's just me. I mean, once my kids hit double-digits, they each pretty much believed themselves to be smarter than most grown-ups (and they're probably right) most especially, me.

On the other hand, my misquoting song lyrics or names of their favorite performers probably doesn't help any, either.

"It's Evan-esc-ence, mom!"

[blank stare]

"That's what I said!"

[heavy sigh]

"Noooooooooo, you said Effervescent."

Same thing.

"No it isn't!"

Seriously, it's like I can't even fake my way through stuff anymore.

"Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiine, WHAT-EVVVVV-VVVVVER!!!!!"

Aaaaaand, I'm going to take this moment to acknowledge ALL of the parents reading this blog post, with a quick apology:  I am NOT helping our cause any and for this I am very, very sorry!!!

"That's okay, Mom!"

Aaaaaand, acknowledge my youngest, as being my favorite child, at the moment.

"I thought gold digger is someone who picks their nose."

[eyes goes wide]

"Beeeeeeecause, whenever you get caught picking your nose, some people WILL ask you if you are digging for gold."

[blank stare]

"Where did you hear the term gold digger, anyway?"

[one beat, two beats]

"Cee Lo Green."

Sometimes, these blog posts just write themselves.

© 2003 - 2013 This Full House

© This Full House 2003-2019. All rights reserved.

Helping Shelter Dogs Find Their Forever Families With Miranda Lambert

I often write about having a REAL special place in my heart for animal shelters and rescues, like our Doofus-Dawg, so I  was invited out to Nashville, TN (along with 5 other animal-loving bloggers, last December) for a very special project with my new friends over at Pedigree to help feed shelter dogs while they wait for their forever homes and, well, how could I say no, right?!?

Continue reading "Helping Shelter Dogs Find Their Forever Families With Miranda Lambert" »

© This Full House 2003-2019. All rights reserved.

No More Wrestling, With Wrestling

His last wrestling match in middle school
#nofilter, just a really bad picture.

This picture is a little grainy -- sort of like our eleventy-hundred-year-old dining room floor -- and kind of cool, too. Looking at it a little closer, it also reminds me a little of my childhood:  watching Lucha Libre on UHF (look it up, youngsters!) and the awful television reception we sometimes had at our house.

Today?  It very well might be an app on someone's smartphone.  Weird, right?

Aaaaanyway, my son's wrestling team had their last meet, so I snapped off a quick pic of the last time the boy would wrestle for the middle school team.

I cannot begin to tell you just how very disappointed he was at the thought of not wrestling for the rest of the school year, and how very unhappy I am about his wanting to tryout for the high school wrestling team, without sounding like a total jerk about it. 

Long story, short (we hope!) my son is over 6 feet tall (that 1 inch really does make a difference, trust me!) and, well, most middle school wrestlers are under 6 feet tall.

Many high school wrestlers are also a lot smaller than my son.

He is all arms and legs (see picture, above) so, he is basically re-learning how to control his limbs and is pretty funny about it, flailing his arms and legs around to make me laugh and possibly forgetting about his leaving a trail of wet towels in his room...AGAIN...dammit!!!

"Do the alien from Independence Day, again!"

Because, when parenting teenagers, we are ALL about referring to movies and sometimes even misquoting popular 80's song lyrics -- Mama don't preach, you're in trouble deep! --  hey, whatever works, right?!?

Aaaaanyway, he wrestled but one real match (that actually counted) and other two (including the one up in that photo) were exhibition matches.

Basically, I watched the boy watch the rest of his wrestling team wrestle.

Still, unless if he was sick (with 4 kids, and the oldest one working in a hospital, chances are YES!) the kid attended every wrestling practice and meet -- even though there was no guarantee that he would wrestle or that there would be time for an exhibition match -- which makes that grainy-looking picture up there...totally me, anyway.

"I knew you and Hopey were watching."

So, when I tell you he happened to actually WIN that wrestling match up there and I'm all, like...YAY!!!...this is how I want to remember wrestling.

"It was like a battle cry went off, in my head!"

Also, the part when my husband asked him how it felt to win his last (and first) match.

"I felt like a Spartan!"

Spartans, tonight, we dine in hell!!!

[sound of crickets, chirping]

300?  Battle of Thermopylae?

[blank stare]

Look, over there, isn't that Gerard Butler?!?

[cue sound of door, SLAMMING!]

Stupid historical fantasies, dumbass Spartans.

© 2003 - 2013 This Full House

© This Full House 2003-2019. All rights reserved.

The Voice (is now most definitely) Male


My 14-year-old son's voice has changed, quite a bit.   He insisted that I allow him (FINALLY!) to change his voicemail, recorded about 4 years ago while he was still in elementary school and I reluctantly agreed.

NOT before vlogging it, first -- with his permission, of course -- increasing my "break curfew and I show this to your girlfriend" arsenal by a hefty margin, because I am an expert multi-tasker, like that :)

© 2003 - 2013 This Full House

© This Full House 2003-2019. All rights reserved.

Winter Photo Walk, Pre-Naptime Moments Edition

Raising older kids, folks sometimes ask me about stuff I miss the most about their know...not so little, anymore.  That's easy.  Naptime!!!

Frozen clothes line

Aaaaaand, those precious pre-naptime moments, when I would take them to the park, or drag them out into our backyard (2 out of 4 STILL hate bugs, me too) and just watch, as they race each other from tree to tree (protip for parents of younger kids:  best distraction tactic ever, works EVERY blessed time!) with little or no fear of their running into a sharp corner...or a wall.


Now, it's me they have to worry about (or the dog, because he too forgets to slow down and look, before turning too quickly, sometimes)  and dang if I couldn't use a REAL good nap, right about now.


Aaaaaanyway, now that they are older (not me, I'm still 19, in my head, anyways) the kids have their own agendas (none of which include me) and, well, snowy weekends were made for pre-naptime activity, yes?

"No one will go outside and make a snowman with me."

[insert sad face, extending lower lip, over upper lip, here]

My youngest, on the other hand, would insist that no one never, ever...NEVER...wants to do anything, with her...EVER!

"I will!"

Judging by the skepticism, written all over her face (protip:  I don't think pre-teens EVER get rid of "the look" until AFTER they have kids) she probably did NOT mean me.

See, it's written all over her face:  seriously, Mom???  YOU???  The woman who would not even be able to bend down (or stand up) without having to take a nap, afterwards?!?

Winter photo walk 1
Fiiiiiiiine, maybe I can't build a snowman worth a lick (stupid sciatica, dumbass herniated discs) however, we CAN go on an awesome wintertime photo walk and catch a few gosh-darned-mighty-fine-pre-naptime moments of our own.

Winter photo walk 2
Aaaaaaaand, guess what THIS weekend's project is going to be...g'head, I'll wait...unless it snows again and then, well, I call naptime!!!  Who's with me?!?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Dumbass-delinquent drain pipe, stupid-ignorant ice.

© 2003 - 2013 This Full House

© This Full House 2003-2019. All rights reserved.

Ice, Ice, #Nemo

We heard it was coming, a few days after experiencing our first earthquake and it was supposedly to be one of the biggest storms to hit Jersey in recent memory:  Hurricane Irene blew in late Summer of 2011, which suddenly sounds like a really long time ago.

Aaaaand, then Superstorm Sandy hit the east coast last October, nearly knocking us back into the stone ages, changing the face of New Jersey, forever.

So, yeah, I was a little nervous when tracking our first major winter storm since even before the hurricanes hit, especially one named after a cheeky fish.

Nemo was much kinder to us than our neighbors in North Jersey, but I'm pretty sure that friends and family in New England are STILL digging their way out.

I spent the first few hours of Saturday morning, peering out our front door, willing the snow to melt, hoping that it would thaw out in time for me to take my oldest daughter to work.

You see, I don't do snow, or at least I don't drive in it very well.  I had a pretty bad car wreck the first year I started to drive (YES, they had rubber wheels back then, be quiet, child!) and, well, I can still hear the CRUNCH in my ears, as my car was being rear-ended and my forehead hit the steering wheel.

I woke up in the hospital to find out that...YES!...apparently, a person can so sprain their esophagus. 

"Do you want me to drive, Mom?"

My oldest is super-soft spoken (no, she does NOT get it from me!) but, I still jumped as if my daughter was talking into a bullhorn and nearly swallowed my coffee mug.

"No, I would much rather you call in sick."

Yeah, great role model...I know...and I realize that she has been driving for over a year now and will need to practice driving in snow, sometime, just not nearly a foot and on her first attempt.

Good thing she wasn't scheduled to work at the hospital until midday, it took all morning for my son to chip away at the ice and snow that Nemo dumped all over our car (another advantage to having older kids, free labor!) and only now do I realize the irony:  the daughter of the world's clumsiest and most accident-prone woman WOULD work in a hospital.

"C'mon Mom, you're just making yourself more nervous, you'll be fine."

Aaaaaaad, that very fine line between parent and child (trust me, it's there) was blurred, once again, by my inability to shake stuff off and get over myself, already.


"Besides, you're the one who taught me how to drive...remember?"

Yes, yes I did and she's a gosh-darned good driver (in spite of it) so I guess there is still a little hope for me, yet.

"Hang on a second, I'll grab my coat."

Besides, the last time I attempted to drive in weather like this, I abandoned my car in the school parking lot and walked home, with all four kids in tow, while snow continued to fall...sideways...and I didn't have a coat.

But, NOT this day.  

"Thanks Mom, I'm proud of you!"

Tell you the truth, having made it there in one piece AND without embedding my fingers into the steering wheel, permanently, I was pretty gosh-darned proud of myself, too.

"I'll see you after my shift!"

Nope, but I didn't bother to tell her that her father would be picking her up, later that night, and I really shouldn't have to explain why...this LATE in the, do I?!?

Stupid ice, dumbass Nemo.

© 2003 - 2013 This Full House

© This Full House 2003-2019. All rights reserved.