MOTY: Fughetaboutit, I'm going for Mother of Two Decades!

If 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
  • Chuck E. Cheese
  • Parent-teacher conference
  • I couldn't find any clean underwear (don't ask)

Today, although we are way out of the Chuck E. Cheese demographic (blessed be!) and conduct our parent-teacher conferences via email, the list is still pretty much the same.

Which leads me to believe that this house does IN FACT eat underwear AND regurgitates socks in the strangest places, sometimes.

Trust me, you do NOT want to know.

Unfortunately, my teens also still get sick, it IS most probably viral AND parents still send their kids sick to school, too. I know, because I am one of them.

Long story, short: my 15yo son (he's a freshman in high school, btw) has been home sick all week; on an antibiotic since Monday; but feverless for the last two days.

So, considering he's been working so hard on keeping his grades up (most especially, in his math class), I insisted he go back to school TODAY.

"But I really don't feel well."

Just so you know, Rule 1 of the Teen Handbook dictates: you should NEVER feel well enough to go to school.

"It's okay, your father will drive you." 

Not for nothing, but Rule 2 of the Teen Handbook also dictates: you should run as late as possible, the closer you live to the school.

Even longer story, short: we're using every laundry basket in the house to block Doofus-dawg from getting up on the furniture (he fractured his foot and, as of yesterday, is wearing a splint, because OF COURSE!) and, well, there just isn't any room on the couch, dagnabit!

[phone rings]

"Hi mom, it's Glen."

Fun fact: my kids still feel the need to identify themselves, most especially to me, on the phone.

"I'm in the nurses office."

Oh, and I just thought of another phrase to add to my "scariest words in the English language" list -- see above.

"I've got a 103 fever."

[eyes go wide]

Here's the part where I solidify myself as a forerunner to being awarded the Mother of the Year crown: I actually considered his messing with the thermometer, in some way.

I know, the friggin'...D...right?!?

Until, I'm sitting in the front office and then watch...with WIDE the nurse assists my son as

I could NOT sink into the metal chair, deep enough.

"Hi, you Glen's mom?!?"

[one beat, two beats]

"Nope, I'm his Aunt!"

Honestly, all you other mother of the year candidates, you guys should just go home now. I GOT THIS!!!

©2003 -2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything!   

I'm NaBloPoMo-ing it, feel free to check out what I've NaBloPoMo-ed, thus far (PHEW!) and let me know how I'm doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!

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

No longer THAT mom, but about THAT crazy lady, at the grocery store.

If given the choice ten years ago: I would rather push an old-fashioned reel lawn mower through a field of sticky spend half the day dodging other shopping carts at the supermarket, while simultaneously attempting to put ALL the stuff my kids threw into OUR cart...accidentally on purpose...back on the shelf.

Now that my kids are older? I still hate...Hate...HAte...HATe...HATE food shopping. Unless I am with my husband (date night at the supermarket, FTW!) and most especially if I happen to be shopping with one of my teenagers.

"Are you Facebooking, again?!?"

Facebooking in the grocery store, FTW!





The kids were off on Friday (the winter daze have sort of melded together, I forget why) so I asked my son to go food shopping with me (he lives with 3 sisters, enough said!) and, now that he's getting older (me too, DAMMIT!) I'm beginning to realize that not ONLY is my son the spitting image of GarthNHRN, the kid rolls his eyes at me....just like his dad...too.

"Put your phone away, Mom!"

Long story, short: raising teenagers can be sort of fun, sometimes.

"Can you load the conveyor belt, while I go ahead and bag?"

Aaaaaand, very in, almost we experience any drama at the check-out line, unless I'm shopping with my youngest (who NEVER seems to have ANY gum in her pocket, because I am the meanest mom EVER) and especially if:

  • The store you normally shop in is wicked-busy
  • So you head to the one across the street
  • Where there are only two cash registers open EVER (don'tcha HATE that?!?)
  • And you happen to pick the teenage cashier with an attitude
  • (see previous parenthesis)
  • Who clearly heard "I'll go ahead and bag"
  • As "You just go ahead and scan ALL that stuff, REAL FAST" dammit!

Because, of course!

"Gah...the bread...the eggs...GAH!!!"

I don't do ANYTHING, real fast...but I do tend to drop stuff, OFTEN...especially when I'm expected to do stuff...REAL FAST!!!

Oh, and shopping bags that tend to tear...REAL NOT help.


And hollering at your 15yo son, after YOU were the one who just dropped AND spilled an entire bottle of juice...most definitely does NOT help...NOT ONE BIT.

"Don't just stand there, PICK IT UP!!!"

In my defense, it was an expensive bottle of juice that happened to be on sale...dammit...but my poor son was clearly too embarrassed to acknowledge know...he was actually shopping with me...and NO!!!...I do NOT blame him...but would you believe that the cashier just stood there and watched it GLUG-GLUG-GLUG all over the floor.

Okay, I lied. She crossed her arms and then started popping her gum.

"Clean up at register 2!!!"

Good thing this was NOT my first rodeo...or juice spilling, for that matter...oh, and I was wearing my glasses, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to holler out which aisle was now drowning in juice...REAL FAST.


Now, to keep the rest of this blog post short and sweet, here's the bulleted version of what happened next:

  • I picked up the almost-empty juice bottle
  • And then dropped it again
  • Because, wet juice bottle
  • And then kicked the now even-more-empty bottle of juice
  • Creating two rivers of juice
  • So I asked my son to move the shopping cart closer
  • Okay...fine...some SCREAMING may have been involved
  • While he calmly continued to load the belt
  • And tried NOT to slip on the river of juice
  • That had now formed between us
  • But he forgot about the second river of juice
  • And did a real crazy side-step
  • Because he is almost 7 feet tall
  • Or something
  • And kicked over the even-more-empty bottle of juice
  • Which then spilled, again
  • Creating a friggin' ocean of juice
  • With the juice bottle cap floating right in the middle
  • So I bent over to pick it up, because that is a law suit just waiting to happen
  • But I kicked the cap
  • Which then ricocheted off the now empty bottle of juice
  • And slid across the floor
  • Right into the bank kiosk
  • Which caused the woman
  • Who was woman-ing the bank kiosk
  • To laugh, hysterically
  • And then start to look for a camera
  • Insisting that my son and I were punking the store
  • Or something
  • Because NOTHING like this EVER happens
  • Not in real life, anyways
  • And this is when the cashier started bagging stuff
  • Because she wanted us to get out of there, REAL FAST, too! 

Aaaaaaand then we left, end scene. The real kicker to this story?!? One of the reasons why I even bothered to stop at this particular store, in the first place?!? Was because...



...their juice was on sale.

[rolling eyes, like a GarthNHRN]

Thinking on it some more, we never DID get out replacement bottle of juice, which also means we paid double the price, for one bottle of juice, dammit.

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Stupid food shopping, dumbass easy-tearing plastic bags.

©2003 -2014 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook, a way for you to subscribe to receive This Full House blog post by Email and everything!   

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

Open mouth, insert foot, antagonize a phlebotomist.

Standing room, in the waiting room, onlyI am NOT a big fan of needles and I absolutely HATED taking my kids for their shots...EVEN fellow needle phobia sufferers (a.k.a. trypanophibia) can well imagine, yes?

If no, it's okay, it simply means I closed my eyes, counted one alligator, two alligators and then cried, right along wit-em.

My son is on a specific type of medication, that requires a monthly blood test, which means I have to take him to a lab and have his blood drawn he refers to as...the place where he bleeds, on purpose...every month.

Continue reading "Open mouth, insert foot, antagonize a phlebotomist." »

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

Kids Grow Up, Leaves Continue to Fall, You'll Get Over It (Okay, now you tell me!)

Pool in Autumn

I was never a big fan of daylight savings time -- especially in the spring, when my kids were younger and they would run around at 8:00 p.m., their bodies insisting that...NUH-UH!!!'s not bedtime, because it's really 7:00 p.m.

On the other hand, I could always come up with a way to put that extra hour we'd get in the fall to good use.

Autumn 2013

Today, my husband tackled lots of little p.i.t.a. jobs around the house (that multiply quicker than dust bunnies, if left unattended) while my son and I hit the backyard...HARD!!!...and raked the daylights out of all the leaves that seemed to have dropped overnight.

Glen 2000
Glen in Autumn of 2000

Now that my kids are older, I can't help but think back to the days when stuff like raking the leaves was actually fun and it doesn't take me very long before I get all...MAH BAYBEEEEEEEES...when did they get SO GROWN?!?...and stuff.

Glen Autumn 2013
Glen today, raking the daylights out of our backyard.

Then, it's time to drag the tarp filled with wet leaves to the compost pile behind the pool and...DAAAAAANG...if I don't get over the...MAH BAYBEEEEEEEES...pretty quick, too.

Aaaaaand, with snow-shoveling season just around the corner...I'm pretty sure I will continue getting over it...well into springtime ;)

 2003 -2013 This Full House with a fan page on Facebook and everything!

I'm NaBloPoMo-ing it, feel free to check out what I've NaBloPoMo-ed, so far (PHEW!) and let me know how I'm doing (I mean, 30 posts, in 30 days, really?!?) when you have time, of course!

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

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

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

Tell Them About My Name

My kids love hearing the stories behind their namesakes and each still pretty much like their given names, except for our youngest:  while playing a name game at a friend's baby shower, Hope insisted she wanted to be called Robin.

"How come my name doesn't start with a H, like the girls?"

For two reasons:  naming your children with the same letter sounds harmless enough, until you try hollering for one of them, and can't seem to remember their names, without sounding like an idiot...each and every blessed time...because, I'm smart like that.

There is also a pretty neat and totally goosebump-worthy story behind the reason why we chose to name our son, Glen.

One of my husband Garth's (not his real name) earliest childhood memories was from the summer when he was about 4 years-old:  he fell into a rose bush, ten times his size (as he remembers it) when a really big boy from the neighborhood ran over and, without hesitation reached in through the thorns, lifted him out, brushed him off and then walked him home.

The really big boy was a 19-year old, his name was Glen Bates -- a few months later, he was killed in Vietnam.

But wait, my story is about to get a whole lot goosebump-ier.

Continue reading " Tell Them About My Name" »

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

A Clean House Is a Sign of a Cluttered Mind

Always There
Artwork currently displayed in our library (a.k.a. bathroom)

If I had to describe our house to you, in one word, and focusing on the positive, rather than ALL of the other annoying stuff that accumulates, when blessed, as a homeowner <----- that last part was for my husband, Garth (not his real name) -----> who sometimes needs help looking past all that other annoying stuff, bless his hardworking and very squishy heart.

Sooooo, what were we talking about?

[blows bangs out of eyes, stares at yet another big old water stain, on the ceiling above the dryer, don't ask]

Oh yeah.  Focusing on the positive.  Right.  So, I would most likely agree with what other folks have described as some sort of super power for creating:  cozy.

[glances at laundry, closes eyes]

Clutter, on the other hand, is my kryptonite.

I was raised in an even smaller house:  6 rooms (including the bathroom) so, we learned to be very creative when hiding stuff; especially, whenever friends and family would come over for a visit.

Of course, unlike me or my children, my mother was MUCH better at remembering where she put stuff.  So, after 20 years of raising 4 kids and killer dust bunnies, spring cleaning has become quite the adventure.

Every year, I find stuff like:

  • Family photos dating back to about 20 years -- you know, the ones I've been meaning to put into that scrapbook I started, 20 years ago.
  • School pictures I meant to mail out to family -- so THAT'S where they went!
  • A couple of years worth of report cards -- before our schools went paperless (cue choir of angels, singing)!
  • OH LOOK!!!  One of my husband's Christmas presents -- shhhhhh, I put it away for Father's Day (SCORE!!!) don't tell him, okay?!?
  • Pairless shoes, socks and a couple of bras -- don't ask!
  • Petrified, sometimes unidentifiable, food -- see previous bullet.
  • Stuff that looks like it may or may not have been alive, at one time.
  • What the?!?  Never mind.  I don't EVEN want to know.

It's at this point, I begin to feel weak and imagine myself as an unwilling participant in some sort of twisted scavenger hunt.

[pausing to allow those with younger kids and/or childless individuals to click away...QUICKLY...while you can]

WAIT!!!  All is not lost.  There are times when I happen upon a real gem -- like a poem, gifted to me by my teenage son:

No matter what happens you are always there,
You make us dinner,
You clean our clothes,
You help us with homework,
You are always there,
No matter what happens we can trust you to help,
When you try and cover up pain we see it,
You do not realize how much you mean to us,
Please know that we will love you forever,
You are an amazing Mother
And you will always be there.

I hung it in our bathroom...I mean, our library...because, I sometimes also need help looking past all that other annoying stuff that accumulates, when blessed, as a parent.

Aaaaand, it happens to hide the hair dye...I mistakenly splashed ALL over the wall...really, really well...too. 

Because, I am multi-functional like that.

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