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June 2013

Male Bonding, in a Houseful of Females, is Sticky!

Glen and Garth NHRN
father & son, discussing manly things ~ june 2007

I love this picture for so many reasons, but mostly because my son and husband weren't aware of my taking it (which is a great feat in and of itself, especially for a clumsy dork like myself, trust me on this!) and, in my stealthiness, I was able to capture an intimate moment between father and son.

Don't EVEN get me started on how I just realized that my son still had his baby face in the 2nd grade or how blonde his hair would get by the end of the summer.

Aaaaand, how the kid was (and still is) an absolute magnet for bug bites -- look at his poor leg all bitten up and everything.

My husband, on the other hand, could stay out for hours and not have to swat at a single bug -- except for gnats, because those little suckers are relentless -- I swear, the man is a walking, talking insect repellent.

Aaaaand, he would have you believe it's because of his sour disposition, to which I will gladly call bullsh&t, each and every time AND most of you guys already know, I am married to a saint

Lately, however, I can't say living with the both of them...under the same roof...has been a slice of heaven.

so close, yet so far

Don't get me wrong, they are wonderful human beings and both have very soft and squishy hearts (which is good, when you live with a bunch of females); it's just that together, well, they butt heads...a a couple of enraged mountain goats.

As if tensions weren't high enough, with a pre-menopausal mother in a houseful of teenage daughters, right?!?

However, when my daughters and I do battle, it's mostly about their borrowing my clothes without asking or having any intentions of giving them back...cough, cough...HOLLY...cough, cough...or consuming the LAST pod of coffee...cough, cough...HEATHER...cough, cough...and don't EVEN get me started on my youngest daughter's habit of having the last word...WORD, INFINITY! 

Glen all duded up for the 8th grade dance
glen all duded up for the 8th grade dance ~ june 2013

I mean, I get it:  it's like an alpha male sort of thing, right?!?  RIGHT?!?

[cue pack of hyenas, laughing]


I can't help it -- growing up in a house with someone yelling at someone else, all the time -- the butting head thing is making me a little crazy.  Okay, crazier than usual.  So does the inevitable radio silence, afterwards.

This week?!?  Totally nutty -- like in, holy crap on a cracker, can we PLEASE have a do-over?!? -- the sort of crazy that will keep even a non-pre-menopausal woman up at night...worrying about every little thing she canNOT control...btw, she is also very well aware of that fact...DAMMIT!!!

Aaaaand, then it hit her...I mean a brick upside the head:  it's NOT them, it's me!

Or, my stupidly high expectations of wanting to recapture that same intimate moment between the top two on my list of the most important men in my life.

Rather than just enjoy small, fleeting moments of simply being.

"Did you have a good time at the dance?"

Content with understanding that perhaps now they just are NOT meant to include me.

"Yeah, and Dad is a ninja at drop-offs and pick-ups!"

Aaaaand, well, I'm okay with that, too.

"He doesn't curse near as much as YOU do."

Then again, this male bonding thing...highly overrated...don'tcha think?!?

© 2003 - 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything! 


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

My Ability to Confuse People, In Two Languages

Growing up in my parent's house we spoke Hunglish and, even now, my kids have very little trouble following along, as their maternal side of the family tree continues to hold entire conversations, in half Hungarian and half English.

now, my mom and I both spend our sundays trying to remember just when (and how) in the heck our kids got so grown...

The downside being:  my inability to complete a single reprimand, without referring to some Hungarian proverb my parents or grandmother would bust out in similar parenting situations.

Problem being:  my kids have no clue what the heck I am hollering about, in two languages, unless I bust out with a slew of curse words and, well, then they know to duck and cover.

Just the sound of "a fene egye meg", when spat in between "hulye""pofatlan" and "balfasz" is enough to guarantee, at the very least, an awkward silence from the "stupid" "faceless" "sucker", "damn it" (true translation, makes no sense, I know) especially, if you happen to be on the receiving end.

Still, Hungarian expressions like "lofasz a budosh kurva anyad seggebe" are quite offensive and much worse than its English counterpart:  which I cannot even bring myself to type, this early in the day.

Suffice it to say it is quite stinky and most likely very, very painful.


So, what's my point...and EWWWW!!!...right?!?

I received a call from the nurse at the high school that my middle girl attends:  she got in between a boyfriend and a girlfriend being all...[giggle-giggle]...oh, stop it...[giggle-giggle]...and their supposed playful pushing and shoving, which then suddenly turned, YOU stop it...BAM!!!

The girlfriend fell into her locker door (which was wide open) and slammed it into my daughter's head.

I know, ouch!

Unfortunately, it didn't end there.  Heather then slammed the OTHER side of her head into her own locker and, well, OUCH!!!

Long story, short:  she went to the nurse's office, politely asked for an ibuprofen and then proceeded to vomit.

A LOT!!!

Aaaaand she was still vomiting, by the time I got to her school, almost an hour later, earning us an impromptu ride in an ambulance.

It's how we roll.

Heather is the only one out of all four of my kids...[knocking on wood until knuckles bleed]...who has ever gone through surgery...twice...followed by two more emergency room visits for complications from a very invasive procedure on her backside.

In teaching hospitals that happened to be staffed with medical students, each and every time.

Seriously, even I was all like, OH MAN, 20-something year-olds are staring at my 13 year-old's butt, really?!?

She is also my migraine kid.

"There seems to be no cranial damage."

Only, this time, the pediatric physician on staff had a wicked accent and I heard it as her saying:  no anal damage, because I am 12.

"We're going to treat her for migraine with i.v. fluids and meds."

Having been there way too many times, my ownself, I got absolutely nothing whimsical to say about migraines or i.v. fluids.


Aaaaaand, that's when my daughter proceeded to lose her cranium.

"Why DOES IT ALWAYS have to be me DAMMIT?!?"

Not for nothing, but the kid DOES seem to be a magnet for this sort of stuff and I am seriously considering investing in lots of bubble wrap, over the summer.

"Well, you know what your great-grandmother always said?"

 Heather closed her eyes and pretended to be sleeping; didn't stop THIS dork any, though.

"The dog will always choose to pee where there is pee, already."


"Like, you know, when we walk Doofus-Dawg?"

She finally opened her eyes, probably way past bored at this point, wondering where in the heck this was going.

"How he sniffs and then pees on every pole, mailbox or whatever."


"Soooooo, you're saying I'm a pole, that makes total no one."

Ah, a little nugget of sarcasm, it was at this point when I knew that she was beginning to feel a little better and that we (mostly me!) would be okay...SHEW!!!

"Nooooo, I'm saying we're both more like pee magnets."

Aaaaaand, then I heard someone else quietly clear their throat.

"The bathroom is just around the corner, if you need, Mrs. Thompson."

Moral of the Story:  Better to be laughed at than puked on, I always say.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

"Hulye" head injuries, "seggfej" proverbs.

© 2003 - 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything! 


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

I'm Married to a Saint, Literally

Confession:  we're not a very religious family, in the sense that we have not attended church services in a very long while and are, what I often refer to as being, "in between churches" at the moment.

If you were to ask me to give you a reason why we aren't, at the very least, involved with some form of organized religion, it would be a very solid....I don't know.

We used to be.

My husband, Garth (not his real name) served as a deacon, while I taught Sunday school when our two oldest were in preschool and I was pregnant with our son when the church elders asked me to apply as the director of the vacation bible school that same year.


Aaaaaand, it may even surprise some of you to learn that I actually got the job (clearly, when I used to be much more organized and stuff).  

Long story, short:  we left the congregation soon after our son was born and then, a few years later, had our youngest daughter christened at the church where our oldest girls had attended preschool.

We haven't been back since, for what my husband and I now consider to be very boring and undramatic reasons.

The kids?  Well, over the last several years, they have each been either asked to attend various religious ceremonies and youth groups with friends or have participated in church functions...with OTHER families.

I mean, why lay ALL our ecclesiastical baggage on them...right?!?


Soooooo, you can just imagine their surprise when Garth's (NHRN) niece and her fiancee asked him to officiate their wedding, this summer.

No, he did NOT become a minister, since in between those last few paragraphs, or anything that can be even remotely linked back to his college degree:  Garth (NHRN) minored in religion, ironically enough.

My husband was dumbstruck -- literally, he did NOT know what to say -- I, on the other hand, was all like...SURE!!!...Uncle Garth (NHRN) would LOVE to marry you guys...because I am ALL supportive and brave (mostly, for OTHER folks) like that.

Garth (NHRN), on the other hand, is's their wedding...I do NOT want to blow this.

So, this weekend, we were invited out to dinner to discuss the wedding ceremony with our niece and nephew-in-law-to-be and, well, funny how some stuff sort of seems a lot less some folks...when discussed over a pitcher of white sangria.

"So, what do you think Uncle Garth (NHRN)?!?"

Also, I may or may not have started answering for Garth (NHRN).

"SURE...that sounds like a GREAT idea...FUHGHETTABOUT what everyone ELSE's YOUR wedding...yada...yada...etc...etc..."

But, NOT for long.


Aaaaaand, without skipping a beat, his niece pointed out how I effectively managed to reiterate the very reason why she suggested Garth (NHRN) solemnize their marriage. 

"Seeeee, THIS is what WE have to look forward to!!!!"

Not just because he's lived with me for almost 23 years, which qualifies him for sainthood, in some circles...I'm pretty sure...more likely, because he is also smart enough to let me finish my sentence...FIRST.

[sound of crickets, chirping]


Saint Garth (not his real name): it's got a nice ring to it, don'tcha think?!?

© 2003 - 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything! 

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

BEWARE: Guard Dog on Laundry Duty!

Backstory:  I first Instagrammed a picture of our Doofus-Dawg sleeping...sorry, I mean...PROTECTING the laundry, because someone's GOT to guard it from the danged squirrels.

BEWARE Guard Dog on Laundry!

My office also happens to pull double-duty as the laundry room and, upon occasion, Garth's (not his real name) mancave and, yeah, it's not called This Full House for nothing!

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Aaaaanyway, it's sort of hard to work with a 90 lb. Doofus-Dawg snoring behind me and I was all, he could EVEN sleep through ALL the bird chatter and squirrel-squealing going on behind "him".

Here, let me show you:

Stupid birds; dumbass squirrels; friggin' laundry.

©2003 - 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything! 

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

Got Teens? You're Gonna Need a BIGGER Puke Bucket!

Yes, we have a puke bucket.  Actually, it's a very large mixing bowl (HUGE!) and, well, I'm going to stop RIGHT THERE, as the imagery may be way too much for some folks to consider...right now...if ever.

Unless you have teens:  where it isn't a family meal, until someone belts out a fart joke (or twenty) and then my youngest (who is turning twelve, this month, EEEEP!!!) begins a rather graphic discussion on the EXACT origin, destination and natural biography of every bodily function known to man/womankind.

Oh, hey!  Hiya!  Want to come to dinner?!?  BYOPB!!!

Soooooo, aaaaaanyway, I feel it safe to say that there isn't very much left we parent-type folks can't handle...on a physical level, I mean.

On the other hand, emotionally and mentally, I am an absolute train wreck.

I'm talking full-frontal face-wipe, over here:  which starts out as a face-palm, and then you just sort of try to drag your your chin.

G'head, I'll wait.

Aaaaaand, there isn't a font BIG ENOUGH to accurately convey the "WTF?!?" feeling of helplessness...whenever you decide to stand back and NOT do anything...other than allow your kids to know...grow up. 

This weekend was one of those days.

Long story, short:  contrary to what some parenting experts will tell you (I am SO NOT one of them, btw) there is a very, very, very and I mean very fine line (infinitesimal, even) of being able to tell the difference between typical growing pains AND something much more sinister.

Growing pains stink like wet poodle: sinister sucks wet, hairy donkey balls.

[passes puke bucket]

Even longer story, shorter (seriously, this vague-blogging is hard...YO!):  it was a looooooooooong weekend of "WTF(s)?!?" up in here, my friends.

So, last night:  I sat down at my desk in an effort to get a jumpstart on the week, when my oldest daughter walked in from work and all hell broke loose AGAIN!

"Alright, what happened?!?"

Except, this time they were ALL snort-laughing with each other and...YES!!!...along with their penchant for cracking off a joke at the most inopportune moments AND making the mistake of not taking into consideration that maybe NOT everyone they meet is a hugger...they get that from me, too.

"Holly got asked out at work!"

Okay, but how is that funny?!?

"She said NO!"

Okay, still NOT seeing the funny.

"Aaaaaand, when the guy turned to leave the shop, she hollered after him:  but, THANK YOU!!!!"

The really funny part:  her voice goes up a couple of octaves and she then starts to smile this big toothy sort of grin when she's nervous (or angry) which is EVEN funnier...because it totally sounds like you're getting a smackdown from Snow White.

"I was caught off guard, QUIT LAUGHING!!!"

The part where I really lost it:  my son tried to mimick her; his voice is changing.

[throws arms up in the air, closes eyes and SCREAMS]

It's a roller coaster ride up in here, my friends...BYOPB!!!

© 2003 - 2013 This Full House

With a fan page on Facebook and everything! 

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