Disclosure: with many thanks to the American Cancer Society for sponsoring and compensating my writing about ways in which we can help give cancer the virtual bitchslap it deserves!

I love this picture of my twin brother and me:  it was our birthday (yesterday!) and this is where I would joke about our age, insisting that we were actually celebrating another anniversary of our 29th birthday.

I've never  been very comfortable with numbers, most especially when used as the "only" tool in defining a person's worth, but today I am putting all thoughts of vanity aside and outing myself:  

Confession:  I am a DIY fan girl (not to mention, pretty gosh-darned fond of acronyms) and I may or may not have openly admitted to having a slight crush on Mike Holmes.

By openly, I mean blogged about my crushing on Mike Holmes, maybe more than once.  

Aaaaaaaand, by slight I mean, just short of tackling the poor man in public and demanding that he sign my good knee.

Which, these days, would not ONLY get me arrested (rightfully so, because, you can't just go tackling people in public, especially strangers who make a lot more money than you do, seriously), but then I'd have to convince my husband...my back DID SO give out, I just couldn't get off of the man...aaaaaaaand...try explaining THAT to the nightly news.

Aaaaanyway, what were we talking about?

[blows bangs out of eyes, look at ALL that dust on the television]

Oh yeah, sorry Mikey, adorable as you are, I am SO OVER earring-studded Canadians wielding hammers and such.

The Property Brothers: because I am a dork and can't seem to embed the ding-danged pin http://pinterest.com/pin/162481499028515009/

Not to mention, double-handy and equally-adorable renovating genius twins like the Property Brothers, Drew and Jonathan Scott.

You see, for all your talk about...ummmmm...I'm not exactly sure what it is you're saying, because I may or may not be too busy being annoyed with the whine-y homeowners, wondering whether or not Jonathan (the muscle behind the redo) will be able to produce the real estate equivalent of a flipping miracle, in the time it takes me to make the simple decision between choosing regular or decaf, while hollering "WHAT IS WRONG with YOU PEOPLE?!?" at the television.

My husband, Garth (not his real name) doesn't like watching television with me, either (especially, on Wednesday nights) and, well, don't even get me started on how Pinterest makes DIY look so gosh-darned cut, paste, let dry for 24 hours and...VIOLA!!!...check out this easy DIY upcycled pergola!

Fibbers.

Because, you know what DIY-ing really means, don't you?!?  Would you like to know what I think it means?!?  EXCELLENT!!!  For starters:

• Do-It-Yet?:  as it is most commonly used in our house, the most probable answer being, next summer.
• Don't-Injury-Yourself:  especially, if I am in the room and am mistakenly trusted with wielding heavy and/or sharp objects, then, oh yes, there will be blood.
• D'OH-I'm-Yakking:  as in incessant vomiting, because...OMG!!!...all the blood.
• Damn-It-YES!:  after asking my husband, for the eleven-teenth time, whether or not he remembered to charge the screw gun while adding "get new screw gun" onto the list on our twentieth trip to Home Depot.
• Dyson-I'm-Yours:  *drooling* clean up in aisle...ummmm...wherever it is they keep the vacuums, this week.
• Damn-It's-Yellow:  who knew there could be SO MANY shades of white?!?
• Daddy-Is-Yelling:  he's not very fond of white-yellow.
• Demolition-Is-Yucky:  although, dang if Mike Holmes doesn't make a hot mess look good.

Aaaaaand, the #1 reason why I seem to continually mis-pronounce or type it as DYI:

• Do-Yourself-In:  enough said.

Are you feeling me?!?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Stupid DYI shows, dumbass acronyms.

© 2003 - 2013 This Full House 

With a fan page on Facebook and everything! 

Some parenting-type experts will agree:  most teens have no idea how to have real conversations, because they are too busy texting on their cell phones.

I am NOT one of these parenting-type experts:  in fact, I really do wonder if any of them...you know...actually live with teens and I'm just going to embrace this moment (sorry, I'm a hugger) and share a little parenting-type secret with you, okay?

Wait. For. It.

Teens do NOT talk:  sometimes, even when they are spoken to, and I most humbly suggest that you just go ahead and not expect any serious eye contact, anytime soon, either -- it'll be easier that way, trust me.

However, most parents also own cell phones and, well, messing with your teens just got better.

For example-type purposes:  my oldest daughter went out with a bunch of girlfriends to celebrate one of their birthdays, after work.

No biggie, right?

I'm going to add some key pieces of information missing from that sentence:  

• My oldest daughter is 19
• As are her girlfriends
• It was teen night, at a dance club
• My daughter's shift ended at 8 p.m.
• She got home at 9 p.m.
• It took her until sometime around 10:00 p.m. to figure out just which shoes goes best with which top

All "yeah, but she's an adult now" and "she's got a good head on her shoulders" arguments aside (because, seriously, with a houseful of teenagers, the line for questioning my parenting abilities forms to the right) I suspect any attention she does get will most probably NOT be kept, above the shoulders.

• Text me, no maybes!

Long story, short (I know, too late, but we're already too deep into brain vomit, you're welcome) I pretty much did the same thing at her age (YES, I still remember and never mind just HOW long ago it was) and, well, only really important people walked around with briefcase phones.

Aaaaaand, my parents never slept.

Today, my husband and I insist that our kids remember to, at the very least, text us:  but STILL we are NOT sleeping.

• 10:03 p.m. -- at Snooki's house (not her real name and don't EVEN!) I'll text when we leave
• 1:29 a.m. -- Heading to get food now then back to Snooki's (seriously, JUST STOP IT!) house!  All safe and sound 
• 2:19 a.m. -- change of plans, I am sleeping over Annie's (not her real name, either and this would be funnier, if she had red, curly hair, which she doesn't, whatev!) I'm there now

She did stop home long enough to tell me some quick and amazingly funny stories from last night (seems guys have NOT changed, AT ALL!) and then I got this text after she got into work:

What?!?  Alright, fine, I don't expect everyone will get the 80's movie reference, but my kids are pretty used to my busting out into Broadway show tunes, too...aaaaaaand, YES!!!...this IS the part where you should start feeling a little bit better about yourself :)

You know, thinking on it some more, I never DID hear back from her.  Maybe she's just too busy Googling "fly dance moves" right?!?  RIGHT?!?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Stupid parenting-type experts; dumbass 80's catchphrases.

© 2003 - 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything! 

Working in social media, I get to watch a lot of "how to" videos (YES, it's a job!) and I have learned some really interesting stuff along the way: like, how some parenting sites can make raising teens (and tweens) sound sooooooo...I don't know...wash, rinse and repeat.

So, I was undermining my teens' privacy the other day and started thinking to myself; you know, maybe it would be a whole lot easier if someone showed me what NOT to do...and...HEY!!!!...wait a minute...I can do that!!!

So, I present to you, the second in a series of "how NOT to" vlogs.

A few post-production notes:

• I am, and have NEVER even claimed to be, in no way, shape or form a parenting expert...clearly.
• If, however, by posting these silly little videos, I can make you feel even just a little better about your parenting skills, then my job here is done.
• That being said, do NOT try this at home, I am a professional dork.
• My husband, kids and even the dog know and they seem to be okay wit-it.
• I also realize that the audio does not match the video.
• You've just witnessed a professional dork "workin-it".
• With SUPER heavy duty and totally teen-induced eye baggage, even.
• Wil Wheaton is awesome.

© 2003 - 2013 This Full House

New and improved with a fan page on Facebook and everything! 

Our youngest daughter is turning 12, next month -- pausing to allow for the "OH, BUT HOW?!?" and the "MY BAYBEEEEEE?!?" to come through, okay, I'm good now, thanks!!! -- and, as fourth in line, MY BAYBEEEEEE (whoops, that one slipped right through, sorry!) she's learned to sit back and observe, as her older siblings get grounded for one reason (or twenty), so that she knows EXACTLY what she can or cannot get away with.

Aaaaaand, she will test us...in theory...just in case.

I'm just beginning to get used to her turning eleventeen

Long story, short:  not only have we deluded ourselves into believing that this kid would most likely be the easiest one to raise, we NEVER had a chance.

Oh, but she's soooooooo cute, right?!?  YES!!!  Also, to her advantage, she's smart and presents a list of reasons why she should be allowed to [enter whatever it is her siblings were NOT allowed, here] which, more often than not, leaves me snort-laughing and, well, when I say we NEVER had a chance, I mostly mean...me.

For example:  my insisting that she does NOT in fact need to get one of those $$ binders, this late into the school year and then finding an email (sent to my business account, btw) outlining the reasons why she does so need to get one of those $$ binders:

REASONS WHY I DO SO NEED TO GET A $$ BINDER

1.) I would be way more organized throughout the year.

2.) We would save more money with just buying one big binder rather than two smaller ones.

3.) They have more space and it will allow me to have easy access to everything in my binder.

4.) As you can see my binders right now are falling apart.

5.) It would allow me to have more space for every subject, have space for my writing materials, and it would be 1 binder.

6.) With this binder I won't have to use a book bag.

7.) This binder would take a lot of weight off of my shoulders, I would carry the binder and my lunch, that’s it!

8.) You would not have to worry about it breaking because they are really good, and it may even last until 7th grade that saves even more money!

9.) And did I mention that it saves money???????!!!!!

10.) All of these reasons make up the binder of my dreams.

Aaaaaaand, then she included "here are some pictures" with her closing statement:

I hope you choose to buy this binder with me and as you can see I'm leaning towards the purple color.

Sinceriously,

How could I say no, right?!?  RIGHT?!?

Riiiiiiight, but what if I told you that she ALSO copied her list of reasons why she does so need to get one of those $$ binders and then shared it with me in a Google doc?!?

You see what I mean?!?  We...okay, fine...I NEVER HAD A FRIGGIN' CHANCE, with this kid.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Aaaaaaand, you are NOT helping.

[blows bangs out of eyes, drains coffee mug]

She had me at number 8 (don't judge!) and, now that she has one of those $$ binders (yes, it's purple, dammit), it IS one less thing I can √ off of my list for next year, right?!?

[what IS it with ALL these crickets, anyways]

Stupid school supplies, dumbass Google docs.

© 2003 - 2013 This Full House

New and improved with a fan page on Facebook and everything!

You like?  I made this life list, myself, with many thanks to the American Cancer Society for sponsoring and compensating my writing about ways in which we can help give cancer the virtual bitchslap it deserves!

The American Cancer Society is celebrating their 100th birthday this month (5/22/13) and, in honor of the many brave battles being fought (and/or lost) by way too many of my family and friends, I have the extreme privilege of partnering with the ACS in helping to amplify their most recent effort in helping us to celebrate MORE of life's special moments, like:

Not unlike most days, her morning does not start out very well:  in fact, she cannot remember the last time she did not have to holler at someone:

• GET UP!!!
• GET READY!!!
• HURRY UP!!!
• ARE YOU ABSOLUTELY SURE YOU HAVE EVERYTHING?!?
• DON'T FORGET YOUR LUNCH!!!
• YOU'RE GOING TO MISS THE BUS (AGAIN!)
• WAIT, SO WHOSE BACKPACK IS THIS?!?

Then her phone will ring; she immediately recognizes the number and begins to feel the first pangs of regret when wondering, "What now?!?"

Another migraine; she will listen and then she will silently nod her head, as the nurse asks for a verbal approval, knowing very well that she did so send in the paperwork, twice before, because all she ever wants is for the pain to stop.

She hangs up the phone and mentally begins to plot out her day, which may or may not include a 90 minute drive to pick up a sick teen.

She hollers (once more) to her kids, to make sure they wear comfortable shoes, because she will NOT be driving them to school.

Then her phone will ring (again) and now she begins to wonder, "Could this day get ANY worse?"

Yes, yes it could and if she had a dollar for each time she's hollered, "AREN'T THOSE SHORTS A LITTLE TOO SHORT?!?" she'd be able to afford to keep up with her children's growth spurt(s).

At this point, she begins to wonder if her kids are trying to kill her, and she may or may not have said it, out loud.

She will then sit in the cold metal chair, where thousands of others (very much smaller than her, btw) have waited for disciplinary actions, mentally willing herself to sit straight-backed and sure, when she swears she feels as if she is beginning to melt from all the disapproving glances, feeling as if she were 12 years-old, all over again.

Her almost 12 year-old daughter will walk into the office, her head down in a futile attempt to hide the streaks of dried tears (seems she did in fact, say it out loud) and she will feel as if yet another small piece of her has died.

She will then hand her youngest child a pair of pants, along with her science book, stroke the back of her head, look straight into her chocolate-colored eyes and say, "See you later, sweetie."

She drives home in silence, wiping away the tears at every stop light, hoping that she does not pass anyone she knows.

A car blows its horn; she waves and smiles.

Then her phone will ring (for the third time, this morning), but this time she tells the nurse that she will be there in about an hour.

She will then take a few minutes, to herself, and write it ALL down.

She grabs her purse, puts on a pair of sunglasses and, for the first time today, will begin to forgive herself for being that mom.

© 2003 - 2013 This Full House

New and improved with a fan page on Facebook and everything!