Who's Parenting Who?

Bing translator comes up with some crazy sh*t on Facebook.

Me and my Daddy
My dad and me, as seen on Facebook.

My 3 oldest kids are on Facebook; once my youngest turns 13, I will probably allow her to create a Facebook account, too.

Aaaaand, just like her older siblings, I will also insist that she "friend" me on Facebook, because I believe in being a fair and equally annoying parent to ALL of my children.  

Then, my parents got online and it wasn't long before I introduced my dad to Facebook

It's been fun watching my Dad reconnect with family members (who mostly live in Hungary and Austria) and he really enjoys keeping up with what his grandchildren are doing on Facebook.

Which has proven to be a wonderful filter: don't post anything that would embarrass your grandparents on Facebook.

Apparently, some of my Facebook friends seem to be having lots of fun trying to make sense of the Hungarian to English translation.

I love clicking the "see translation" button on your dad's comments, Bing comes up with some crazy sh*t! The only thing that would make it better is if I knew what he was really saying to compare it to said crazy sh*t it says he said, lol!

Because I am SUCH a people-pleaser, here is the crazy sh*t that Bing said, he said.

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

Dealing with mean girls (and boys) from a teenager's point of view.

2 days into the new school year and my youngest has already had to deal with 7th grade (a.k.a. the birthing ground for mean) girls, who seem to be prepping themselves to be catty women when they grow up (if ever), and it's breaking my heart.

Unfortunately, it's easy for us parents to say things like, "they're just jealous" and "because the new boy talked to you at lunch, first" or "they see you as a threat" because we've ALL been there, right?!?

Aaaaaand, therein lies the rub.

You see, my kids have a real hard time understanding (or even believing) that their parents may or may not have dealt with mean behavior, at some point in our lives, and that at least one other person in the bathroom/class room/gym/hallway/lunchroom imagined it to be really funny, at the time, too.

In this case, calling your name out loud, turning their backs and then giggling their little fool heads off or just walking into a room...

[cue: giggling little fools]

...then casually glancing down at yourself, wondering if you've mistakenly put your pants on backwards or something and, well, as if being 12 years-old wasn't difficult enough, right?!?

So, having lived through a couple of mean moments (or twenty) of their own (dammit), I asked my two oldest girls (they are 19 and 17) and my son (he's 14) for their thoughts on dealing with mean girls (or boys) from a teen's point of view.

Because I am very open-minded, not to mention they are MUCH smarter than me, like that! 

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

Pushing Buttons, On The Facebook

It's official, my parents are now on the internet. Or, at least, the 20 minutes of what I was able to show them Sunday night, because it took my husband Garth (not his real name) 2+ hours to actually get them online, which (to folks older than 20) is 2 hours, too long.

Apu on Facebook
A few weeks back, after introducing my father to Facebook, Apu immediately began sending messages to family in Hungary.

It was not the introduction to the internet my parents were expecting -- especially, after everyone and my brother insisted that my parents really need to be on the internet -- and my father also suffers from "Let's see what happens when I push THIS button" (he's a criminal in elevators) which is pretty much never a good thing, especially on the internet.

First I showed them how email works, although my mother was the director of the purchasing department for a large packaging corporation (a.k.a. my cosmetic hook-up) pre-retirement, so Anyu was already pretty familiar with it.

"What's that button do?"

As far as I know, short of sitting on one's hands, there is no cure for LSWHWIPTB and, combined with the distraction of shiny, pretty, blinkies on sidebars, it can be downright debilitating.

"What else would you like me to show you?"

My father is now on "the Facebook" and, as far as I know, he hasn't broken the internet, which really shows a LOT of restraint on Apu's part and, well, I'm pretty proud of him for that, too.

"Did you show Papa how to leave a comment, or respond and *like* a wall post, on Facebook?"

[blank stare]

Aaaaaand, that is why I don't teach people how to use the internet...for a living.

"Papa also mentioned something about starting a blog, like you, too."

Although, I do suspect it may have been a defense mechanism on my part.

"He said, to tell people when they're not doing stuff right."

I'm not quite sure if the internet is ready for Apu.  Then again, it will certainly keep him occupied -- especially, with winter and cabin fever just around the corner -- and perhaps even keep my father from pushing my mother's buttons, or vise versa, right?!?

I'm sitting on my hands, just in case.

 © 2003 - 2012 This Full House

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

Planes, Migraines and Insensitive Asshats

I don't often go away, heck it's a gosh-darned event just to be able to get out on a date night with my husband....but, when I do...I drink Dos Equis...PSYCH!!!...just kidding, I hate beer.

Aaaaanyway, what was I saying?  

(Looks up at ceiling, blows bangs out of eyes)

Oh yeah, so this week I was traveling....as in, I physically got on an airplane and flew over several states....after double-dosing on Dramamine, of course....but, the last time I traveled....in an airplane, over several states...my youngest kid passes out while visiting Grandpa in the hospital...and, well, now maybe you know why I was seriously second-guessing my getting on an airplane....at all....let alone, tempting the powers of #FUBAR....right? 

(Blank stare)

Long story, short....NOTHING happened....UNTIL I sat down to have breakfast with Busy Mom (don't be jealous) and my cell phone rang.

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

Hey You Guys, Get Off My Kids' Lawn!

I remember walking home from school with my brother (uphill, both ways, bare feet, in the snow, etc...) and both of us running past the abattoir (exotic-like name for slaughter house) as if being chased by zombies.

Living around the corner from a slaught..I mean...abattoir was scary enough (and downright disgusting, in the middle of August, enough said) however, I can't begin to describe the old lady who lived next door without feeling as if I need to get up and run away, real fast, right now, because LOOKOUT!!! SHE'S COMING!!!

Thinking back on on her blood-stained apron and pack of hell hounds (some sort of beagle mix, from hell) I'm guessing she worked next door at the abattoir, at least I hope she did, because the alternative explanation of someone walking around wearing a bloody apron...well...LOOKOUT!!!  SHE'S COMING!!!

We were upsetting her dogs, you see (more likely, walking to close to where the dead bodies were hidden) either way, I hated walking home from school and often times remind my kids about how lucky they are to have their own personal car service (that would be me!) not to mention, NOT having to live around the corner from an abattoir.

Day 1 of Heavy Machinery on My Lawn
Well, good morning sunshine(s)!

According to Melisa, I should have been all...WHAT THE?!?...and, considering we've had plumbing problems since the beginning of summer and they've been ripping up our street consistently for the last two weeks, I was sort of...MEH, WHATEVER!...about it.

Until the kids started waking up:

  • What are those guys doing on our lawn?
  • OMG, can't they fix it right the first time?
  • Hey, they're ripping up the flower bed!
  • We worked TOO HARD for them to mess it up!

It took me a few minutes to calm them all down -- seriously, ALL four of them were ready to go outside (in their pajamas and everything) to holler at the poor guys who, really, were just doing there jobs and, honestly, probably don't give a fig about peonies.

"Don't worry, I'm going to write a letter to the water company and the town."

My 13 year-old son continued to stare out the dining room window for about...oh, I don't know...however long it took me to drain the rest of my coffee mug.

"Nope, I'mma get my baseball bat!"

SNORT!  Talk about role-reversal, seriously, and I couldn't help but imagine my kids wearing bloody aprons.

Doofus-Dawg, however, would make a terrible hell hound -- although, he WOULD lick them to death.

They did eventually put my peonies back, however, the shock of being ripped out of the ground by a bulldozer, I swear I can STILL hear them screaming.  The peonies.  Not the workmen, who were unusually quiet, btw.

Their heavy machinery, not so much.

They DID, however, move their heavy machinery to make way for my kids' car service (me, remember?) and yes there ARE perfectly nice people here in Jersey...dammit!

Day 2 of Heavy Machinery on My Lawn
They're baaaa-aaaack!


Aaaaaand, I'm hiding the baseball bats, just in case (you're welcome).

Stupid plumbing.  Dumbass heavy machinery.

© 2003 - 2012 This Full House

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

Maybe She Knows Something I Don't Know

What do you call the flower that grows between your nose and your chin?  Tulips.  Get it?  Sorry, watched way too much Little Bear when my kids were little-er.

A friend of mine called me yesterday and this is where my father would insist that...NO!...I don't have friends, I just know people AND after having said that would laugh the hardest (yeah, good one, dad!)

Aaaaanyway, her youngest and my youngest are best friends, as of yesterday, as far as I know, anyway (they're 10 year-old girls, enough said.)

"I've been very worried about you."

Long story, short (you're welcome!) she saw our two girls walking together after school and later asked her daughter, "I haven't seen Mrs. Thompson this week, how is she?"

"I can't tell you."

Her mother, as any mother would, wanted to know, you know, why the heck not?

"It's a secret."

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

Like the Little Kidney Stone That Could, I Continue to Serve As a Cautionary Tale for Moms (and Dads!)

  Hospital Room

I told the E.R. nurse I was feeling cruddy for over a week now (give or take a bathroom stop, or twenty) but, I just shrugged it off as the kids sharing a stomach bug, or something, as she continued to draw my blood and nod her head very sympathetically.

I stared at the ceiling (I'm not a very good bleeder) recapping my symptoms, the first of many more times to come:

  • Stomach pain, radiating to my lower back
  • Pressure in lower abdomen, similar to contractions
  • Feeling sick, nausea
  • Frequent bathroom stops

All of which I promptly ignored, coming downstairs the night before to make myself a place on the couch so as not to disturb my husband, thinking this too shall pass.

The next morning, I made an appointment for my youngest daughter's well visit (true story, it's on my Facebook timeline) and then made a mental decision to just continue to work right through the pain.

Until, my oldest walked through our front door and found me, while trying to talk on the phone with my husband, doubled-over and gasping for air.

Continue reading "Like the Little Kidney Stone That Could, I Continue to Serve As a Cautionary Tale for Moms (and Dads!)" »

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