Why TV is Bad and Some Other Stuff, by Elise Haynes

First, the Other Stuff:
Here is a picture of us in the snow. It snowed in St. George. I am not a fan of the snow. I would like to gift wrap all of the snow that we have received in the last two weeks and mail it to president-elect Obama. And that's all I have to say about that.

Here is a sample of the dialog from our family dinner about a week before Christmas:
DJ: "What did you girls do today?"
Olivia: "We went Christmas shopping at the Bambi store (Sportsman's Warehouse)and bought a puzzle for you."
Me: "We didn't buy you a puzzle. Seriously, we didn't buy a puzzle for you."
Macey (whispering loudly to me): "Yes we did, Mom!" Merry Christmas, DJ.

Now, Why TV is Bad:

I feel like I always confess to my blog. Today is no exception. In the above photograph you see my three children and my niece, Annie Bananie, in their bathing suits in my bathtub eating ham straight from the package and laughing about it. Naughtiness. So here's the confession: my brother-in-law loaned us the first four seasons of the tv show "24" and one thing led to another...yada yada yada... I found the kids in the bathtub with the ham. I blame television for my bad parenting. With the exception of this one year period in which I was addicted to The Office, I am not a huge TV watcher. We don't have cable. But I cannot stop watching stupid 24. So there you have it, everyone, I am not as perfect as you suspected.

We are rednecks, as it turns out. Huh.

Just to prove that we're still alive I am writing this brief post and I'm even going to attach a picture as evidence that we haven't headed for the hills or anything. That was one gigantic run-on sentence, huh? Well, it's late. I just spent the last hour and a half folding laundry that has been clean for at least five days. I made venison for dinner. And when I was at the fabric store with my three children today (the definition of insanity) they tipped an entire shopping cart over sideways onto themselves. Things have been a little wacky over here. And here are the pictures to prove it. (This is me browsing through pictures to post.) Holy crap. We did head for the hills. We ate DEER for dinner. And I can't even explain that picture of me with the elk head, I just thought I should get that out in the open before DJ tries to use it to blackmail me. Speaking of blackmail, I'm pretty sure that our Christmas tree is a Blue Spruce. Our state tree. Thank goodness we cut it down in "Arizona", right? If the Christmas tree police come knocking on our door, I'm going to know who sent them because I think only three people read this blog. So don't even think about it. Welp, until next time...

Move over, Rachmaninov.

This is my little Schroeder in the making. Baby DJ loves to play the piano like neither of my girls ever have. I think it's the promise of loud noise without punishment. We'll see how long that lasts. Can't you just see the little microscopic naughtiness waves coming off of him in this picture? Here's what I guarantee you he was thinking, "well, this sure is fun, but do you know what would be really fun? Emptying the trash onto the kitchen floor! Or hiding more of my mom's make up! Or eating potting soil! Or splashing in the toilet!"

And the award for Most Hilarious Bum Shot goes to...

Who doesn't love free candy? Halloween is a big part of why I love America. I'm not really into the skeletons and witches and all of that, but free candy... come on! We had so much fun with our kids. Can't you see it on our faces? I think that looks says it all. Specifically it's saying, "IF YOU KIDS DON'T HOLD STILL, SO HELP ME...". And this was taken BEFORE any candy was consumed. We didn't take any after pictures because my kids were a totally unrecognizable blur of synthetic costume fabric and Smartie dust. I think you seasoned parents out there will immediately recognize mine and DJ's costumes. Exhausted Pregnant Mom and Exhausted Red Sox Fan. Classic, huh? I thought my ponytail and no mascara look were a nice touch. I really got into my character. I was totally nauseated the entire evening. I can't really take credit for the no mascara look, though. I gave my mascara to baby DJ to keep him busy one morning and I haven't seen it since.

And the award for Most Hilarious Bum Shot goes to Macey, who delighted her parents with this little display about every other house or so. My only regret is not sewing a little sign onto her heinie saying, "How's my trick or treating?" with a 1-800 number. That little fuzzy blob in the corner is my niece Annie who was dressed as a chicken and every time Macey would bend over to fix her boots (hence the repeated bum shots) Annie would try to steal her candy. All in all, I'd say the evening was a success, wouldn't you?

and the redneckiness continues...

Is it just me, or does everyone else spend more time chatting with long lost acquaintances at Walmart than they actually do shopping? Here's a list from this week, because I spent an unusually huge amount of time grocery shopping. (I don't want to talk about it.) Here's the list-- my senior year English teacher, my bishop from when I was a teenager, my visiting teaching companion, three people who were in wards that I have since moved out of, my actual MOM, and this one's my absolute favorite--I ran into the lady that teaches the spin class that I've been going to in the COOKIE AISLE! That's right. I said, "hey lady, you can pretend you don't know me, but we both know what you're doing here. I know what I'm doing here." And then I put my my one week supply of Oreos (two boxes) in the cart and walked away without another word.



A little sidenote: Here's what I'd like to happen one of these times: I would love it if I would run into my visiting teaching companion, and then while we're chatting have the people who we visit magically walk past. Wouldn't that be the BEST? I'm totally going to start taking my Ensign to Walmart just in case.



And I don't even LIKE Walmart. Every time I shop at there I swear I'll never go back but the Always Low Prices get me every time. I can't stand it. Sometimes when I'm feeling saucy I'll go to Albertson's and use my Aunt Cathy's phone number to get her Preferred Savings discount. And then the other day (confession time) I was awarded a 5% Off Your Next Shopping Trip coupon for having attained so many shopping points on my aunt's card. Now I have a moral dilemma. Do I do the "honest" thing and give my aunt her coupon, or do I do the "crappy niece" thing and use the coupon for my selfish self? It might save me a trip to Walmart. On the other hand, being honest might get me into heaven. Like I said, Moral Dilemma. What I'll probably do is give the coupon to my aunt and just suck it up and go to Walmart so that I can get caught up on my visiting teaching.

P.S. DJ got me a camera for my birthday! As soon as I figure out how to get the pictures from the camera to the cord to the computer and then finally to the blog, you will all see how much we haven't changed.

P.P.S. I haven't been going to spin class in the cookie aisle, my spin class instructor was in the cookie aisle. This is why I will never write for the New York Times.

I've got friends in low places...

You may have been wondering where all of the pictures have gone. I know I have. My camera is broken, folks! Nothing to see here! Literally! So anyhoo, I've been subtley hinting to DJ that I would like a new camera for my birthday. I'm not sure whether he's caught on yet. I may have to do the unthinkable and actually ask for one. Yikes. Here's what made me think of this, though-- I was scrolling down through my blog and I noticed with alarm that a lot of my more recent pictures, which I ripped off of the internet, are a tad REDNECK for my taste. That's right... REDNECK. And it got me thinking...am I a redneck? ARE WE REDNECKS?! I broke into a cold sweat. There's a picture of my unshaven husband posing with a "monster elk", a PREGNANT BELLY, a wrecked minivan... How did I let this happen?!


So here's what I'm thinking. I'm going to compose a little list here of our non-redneck qualities to see if I can give myself a little comfort. We'll see. Here goes, wish me luck.


1. I like to play classical music on the piano, especially Chopin.

2. My family listens to me play Chopin on the piano. Kind of against their will, but whatever.

3. We live in a subdivision in which we are not allowed to have cars on blocks on our lawn.

4. We wear shoes most of the time.

5. I have never seen DJ in a sweat-stained white tank top. Thank heavens.

6. I only have a few country music CDs but they are the good ones.*

7. While I do enjoy a good rodeo, I have no idea what is going on most of the time.

8. We all smell fairly decent. Right?

9. We don't have an accent. Except for DJ, who insists on saying theater "theATE-r".**

10.We can't sing "Eighteen Wheels and a Dozen Roses" by heart (okay, maybe the chorus).

11. I am a terrible bowler.


12. We get our workout at the gym. Not tipping cows.


13. To the right you'll see a picture of the barbershop quartet that DJ paid to sing to me for Valentines Day. Note that they are wearing actual tuxedos. Disregard the handlebar mustache. (It was the classiest picture I could find. It was either this or something from Disneyland.)



I'm not even going to go into a list of our redneck qualities because I'm sure it would frighten me. Not that there's anything wrong with being a redneck. I'm sure they are nice people. Just like I'm sure there are plenty of nice Wells Fargo customer service representatives. They are out there...somewhere.


So my birthday in is a week or so. Here's hoping that I get a nice shiny camera so that I can document how classy we are in real life.


*Garth Brooks Greatest Hits

**He also says the word sit "set". It's cute. His mom did it, too.

What's in a name?

1.YOUR ROCK STAR NAME (first pet, current car): Bubbles Tahoe
2. YOUR GANGSTA STAR NAME (favorite ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe): Chubby Hubby Flip Flop
3. YOUR NATIVE AMERICAN NAME (favorite color, favorite animal): Red Duck
4. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME (middle name, city where you were born): Elise Salt Lake
5. YOUR STAR WARS NAME (first three letters of your last name, first two letters of your first name): Hayel
6. SUPERHERO NAME (2nd favorite color, favorite drink): Yellow Cherry Limeade Generic Brand Crystal Light
7. NASCAR NAME (the names of your grandfathers): Willis John or John Willis
8. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME (your 5th grade teacher's last name, a major city that starts with the same letter): Smith Sacramento
9. SPY NAME (your favorite season/holiday, favorite flower): Summer Wildflowers
10. CARTOON NAME (favorite fruit, article of clothing you are wearing right now): Watermelon Stained T-shirt
11. HIPPIE NAME (what you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree): Kashi Sycamore

Copy and paste it. Everyone needs a laugh once an a while.

Life comes at you fast...

So I was at the park with my three kids enjoying the sunshine and the perfect temperature this morning. It really was perfect-- the sky was clear, the sun was shining, 73 degrees. My kids weren't whining. Aahhh... In between making sure DJ didn't fall down the stairs and Macey didn't sit on anyone, I turned around to see this mysterious '93 Honda Accord (I'm pretty sure it was a '93 because my first car was a '92 and they are almost identical, also I am an automotive expert) creeping down the shoulder of the road suspiciously. "Suspicious," I thought to myself, so I kept an eye on it. I don't know how long I was watching the car before I finally realized that there wasn't actually anyone driving it. Once I realized it, the car was also gaining momentum and heading into traffic so I began yelling, "HEY! Whose car is that?!" People were looking at me like I was insane. Cars were swerving out of the way of the driverless Honda. I continued yelling "WHOSE CAR IS THAT?!" and people continued to look at me like I was nuts. Until they heard the crash. The car had rolled down the block and into a Dodge Durango that was parked at the rec center on the opposite side of the street. "Bummer," I thought to myself as I pictured the poor lady who was probably in the rec center, running on the treadmill, thinking about buying herself a new outfit when she was done. That's just bad luck, huh?

Last week I felt just like the owner of that Durango. Life comes at you fast. I took a pregnancy test on Wednesday, for the usual reason. DJ and I were doing what we could to prevent a new baby from joining our family, if you catch my drift, but I took the test anyway just to be sure. Just be sure because we had already decided that we weren't quite ready for another baby, even though we wanted one. So we were going to wait a little while. And everyone in heaven is laughing at us right now. (I think this is a common theme for us.) I still cannot believe that that second pink line showed up. One minute I was making lunch, wondering what was going to be on the next episode of The Office, and the next minute I was yelling, "what the hey?!" and thinking about how I will possibly take four kids to the grocery store, the oldest of whom will only be five. Thinking, "that's why I've been craving pepper jack cheese!" Thinking about having yet another c-section, how I will chase after three other kids in the meantime, how I REALLY need to get serious about potty training Olivia. And then I thought about it some more. I am so totally excited! I LOVE babies! Sure, they turn into two-year-olds eventually, but they are so cute and soft and sweet before that! I'll sleep when I'm in my thirties-- I can handle another baby right now!

So now a week has gone by and I've had a chance to let the idea become reality. I can smell everything (including the cigarette smoke of the person two cars away from me), every calorie I eat is clinging to my body like a plecostomus, and I feel like I'm dragging soggy beach towels around with me on my feet. I'm pregnant! Only seven and a half months to go!

Ugh...

Okay. Holy crap, everyone. My ten year high school reunion was this last weekend. You may be thinking, "Elise, how can it possibly be your ten year reunion? You don't look a day over 21!" Well..heh hehh...thanks, but it's true. For the record, I didn't attend the reunion dinner-- not because I was afraid but because DJ was boiling his elk head. But that's a story for another post. When I think of high school I think of three awkward years of bad clothes, bad hair, and times that I really am not dying to remember. You may be thinking to yourself, "Hmm...not a lot changes..." Trust me-- it used to be a lot worse. I think I have an above-average number of embarrassing memories. My mind chooses the most inopportune times to remind me of these moments. Like I'll be sitting in the doctor's office, already feeling insecure, and then I'll remember the time when we were at a taping of the Price is Right and they called my name so I "went on down!"... but it wasn't really my name they had called. To be fair to myself-- they called MY name, just not my last name. And the girl sitting next to me, who was a stranger, and who I will curse until the day I die, was telling me, "It's you! Go! Go!" Thankfully I didn't actually make it on stage. (I have to say, though, it would have been cool to meet Bob Barker, just not under those circumstances.)


I have so many memories like that. My family and few remaining friends love to remind me about them, because for some reason they find my tragedy hilarious. I recently participated in one of those e-mail forwards where your friends do a survey and tell you about yourself. Ugh. One of the questions on the survey was, "What is the funniest memory you have with me?" or something like that. EVERY reply came back with a story about how I humiliated myself in one way or another. Like, "Hey, remember the time at Lake Powell when you ran into the glass door on the houseboat because you thought it was open?" (I was, like, eleven! Come on!) or "Hey, remember that time we were tracting and you slipped on the ice and your skirt came up over your head?" Yes, thank you, "friends"-- I remember all too well. I can't remember my own address most of the time, but my mind can recall these moments with stunning clarity.


So thank goodness DJ had an elk head to boil, right? I cannot even imagine the horrifying memories that would be drudged up by spending two hours in the company of people who knew me at the peak of my awkwardness. So, let's all hear it for DJ's barbaric elk head boiling ritual! Wherever that elk is--scampering around in the meadows of Elk Heaven, or whatever--I hope he knows that I appreciate his sacrifice.

Viper Venom Shmiper Shmenom

I only have two items to discuss today. One is an amusing anecdote. The other is a complaint about grout. Let's start with the anecdote, shall we? So my middle child Olivia has been doing this thing lately where she asks us the gender of everything in sight. For example: "Mom, is Elmo a boy or a geeoh?" and "Mom, is grandpa a boy or a geeoh?". She then added to the options: "Mom, is Barbie a boy or a geeoh or a kid?" I think that she thinks that when you're under the age of 12 gender doesn't apply. Fine by me. The biggest surprise came a few weeks ago. She's going through this Wall-E phase and she asked me, "Mom, is Wall-E a boy, or a geeoh, or a kid, or binoculars?" I love kids.

Item number two: why is grout so FRIGGIN' HARD TO CLEAN?? I promise to keep this brief. The former occupants of our new house were apparently people who cooked a lot of greasy food and then ate it directly off of the grout. This made moving in really gross for me, but thanks to Clorox and my trusty yellow cleaning gloves we can walk on our floor without feeling the need to be vaccinated. Anyhoo, this afternoon I pulled out this dusty bottle of grout cleaner that a friend gave to me. It's called Viper Venom. Sounds like a scum and filth KILLER, right? Like, you sprinkle that stuff on the floor and you expect to hear a hissing, bubbling sound and envision a microscopic Lord of the Rings-style battle going on in the grout. I think whoever named that stuff must have been reading a lot of science fiction novels or inhaling a lot of fumes. I was a little underwhelmed by it's performance. I spent longer than I care to admit scrubbing my grout this afternoon. That's time I could've spent eating cookies. Reading books. Learning French. After working up a sweat and probably burning 300 calories, I came to this conclusion: Do I really want to look back on my life and remember a lot of cleaning? Do I want my children to remember me as someone who was bent over the tile, cursing under her breath like a truck driver? NO! I'm getting off of this computer, I'm loading my kids in the car and we are going to do something REALLY memorable! Like go to Target and eat a soft pretzel!

We moved!

So, after living on the prairie for a whopping four months we decided it was time to get back to civilization. Actually, the people whose house we were leasing decided it for us. Actually, to be even more accurate, the bank of the people whose house we were leasing decided that it was time for us to move. I'll spare you the gory "Hi, I'm your landlord. Nice to meet you. In six months the house you are living in will be owned by the bank" details. I miss the prairie and the wonderful friends that we made there but my-oh-my it's nice to get back to the big city. Let me tell you, folks, being a three minute drive from a Hot 'n Ready pizza drive through does have its perks. I will never cook dinner again. I'm kidding. I'll cook at least once a week. Like on Sundays. I can't very well pull through the Hot 'n Ready line on a Sunday. Can you imagine explaining that at the Pearly Gates?



Speaking of perks (I was--it's up there somewhere), our new subdivision has a swimming pool AND a hot tub! Do your research the next time you move, people. It pays off. (It may also prevent you from renting a foreclosing house.) We took my sister Carrie, her husband Manny, and her Chilean in-laws for a dip tonight. (I think you officially have to call it "going for a dip" if it's after 8 PM.) It was nice and peaceful for a while and then a gaggle of teenagers showed up and it got a little High School Musical and we got the heck out of there. We are interested in going swimming again, though, for those out there who are interested. Open invitation! The cheap pizzas abound and the entertainment is adequate. Give us a call!

Butta' Yaki!

Confession time: my family is addicted to fried food. Our latest addiction is this blessed stuff called Butter Yaki, which was introduced to us by our neighbors, Lopaka and Mandy. Here's what it is: you take a bunch of foods that start out healthy, like zucchini and halibut--then you fry them in butter. And then you dip them in this amazing sauce which is composed mostly of sugar and salt. Oh, and fat. It's delicious. It's just like eating at Samurai 21 for dinner, only no one throws a shrimp at you. And you don't have a bunch of weirdo srangers at your table, although I'm sure you could arrange that. Why do they insist on throwing the shrimp at you, anyway? Is it to prove that they are amazing chefs? We know that. I think that it's a Japanese inside joke. Like they're all sitting around sipping their sake going, "stupid Americans. Ha ha. Here-- catch shrimp!" I have both eaten the thrown shrimp and dodged it. To be honest, I feel better about myself when I dodge the shrimp. Sometimes I try to catch it if it looks like the chef doesn't have it in for me. I like it when they ask. "Would you like me to lob this flaming hot, butter-covered shrimp into your face in front of a restaurant full of people?" Why, YES!!

So we made Butter Yaki for our friends Chad and Rachel the other night and Rachel suggested that I post the recipe on my blog. So here it is. Lopaka, if this is a family recipe that has been a secret for the last five generations, I'm sorry. You can take comfort in knowing that only two people look at my blog.

Butter Yaki

1 cup soy sauce

1 cup sugar

3/4 water

1 T sesame oil

3-5 drops Tabasco

1 quarter-sized piece of ginger, peeled

2 T toasted sesame seeds

Bring first three ingredients to a boil. Add last four ingredients. Turn heat to low. Serve with rice and all manner of meats and vegetables fried in butter.

Be careful, it goes right to your Butta. Tee hee...

Fez

You can't give your four-year-old daughter a nickname like Fez and expect her to be completely normal. The other evening, after we had sent our little blonde-haired blue-eyed creatures to bed for, like, the 37th time, Fez dramatically descended the stairs wearing her Most Pathetic Face. She pulls this face out on rare occasions when she wants to eat frosting straight from the can or drive our car. Maybe not so rare. So she says, in her Most Pitiful Voice, blue eyes blinking, "Mommy...can I trouble you for a drink of water?" *sniff* To which I replied, "NO! Get back in BED!" To which Fez replied, "But my tummy is saying, 'I'M THIRSTY! I NEED A DRINK!'" Apparently her stomach sounds exactly like the monster people in I Am Legend. No wonder she is such a slave to her appetite. Her excuses in the past have been, "I need a drink or I'll be a flat banana," and (my personal favorite), "If I don't get a drink I'll be a smashed tomato." She seems to have a very graphic, produce-related self-image. Don't get me wrong, I do not want my first-born to turn into a smashed tomato. I wish only the best for her future-- I was thinking more along the lines of her becoming a doctor or New York Times Bestselling author. Becoming a smashed tomato--or flat banana, for that matter--were not how I envisioned my daughter's future. Nevertheless, I denied her request for refreshment, and sent her--crying--to bed. She awoke the next morning, with her original Swedish/German genes intact. No bananas or tomatoes, much to my relief. So am I a bad mom?

Animal-Style Cheeseburger

Is there anything else in this world so mouthwateringly delicious? DJ and I drove into town tonight...yes, we left the prairie...and took the kids to In 'n Out for dinner. Feeding a family of five for thirteen dollars is such a miracle. It's like the loaves and fishes but with fried food and paper hats. Anyhoo, I've been itching for an animal-style burger for a few weeks now and I guess the stars were aligned tonight. I left DJ alone with the children this afternoon. I was only gone for an hour. When I returned I found DJ in my kitchen up to his elbows in venison. I say venison because it sounds so much less vomit-inducing than "dead deer meat", which is what it really was. Stinky, bloody, dead Bambi meat all over my kitchen counter. I do not know how he managed to produce so much carnage in under sixty minutes. And what were my kids doing? I contemplated the idea of cooking dinner for about three seconds and came to the conclusion that tonight was the PERFECT night for my long-lost friend, A.S.C.B. (Animal-Style Cheese Burger). It was a wonderful reunion.

p.s. I'm including a photo with this blog, because let's be honest-- a blog without pictures is just words.

Let's hear it for Lisa and Paige!

Until she starts her own blog, I've decided to include updates on my sister, Lisa, and her four-year-old daughter Paige for your enjoyment. Lisa and Paige live in Ohio, which is really far away from where they are supposed to live--Utah. As of our last conversation Lisa had approximately 100 pages to go in the book Breaking Dawn. Paigie was swimming in her grandma's pool. Here are some noteworthy and fun things about Lisa and Paige: Lisa is probably the most generous person I know. She loves giving gifts to people (I'm not 100% sure that she loves it, but WE love it). Also, Lisa is a very good mom. She should write a book about it when she's done with Paige. Paige has one of the strongest spirits of any little kid I've met. She could go on Larry King and make LARRY cry. Paige is very smart and fun-loving. And she has a really cool deep voice. I wish I had one of those. I also wish I could remind myself to finally get around to flipping all of my pictures that are sideways. I apologize to those of you who are getting taco neck as a result of my laziness.

Annie Bananie fo Fannie

Isn't she cute? This is one of my nieces, Annie Bananie fo Fannie. I like to think that she and my son DJ are best friends and so I decided to take a minute and let the world know about Annie. Annie is 1/2 Chilean, 1/4 American, and 1/4 American who wishes she was Chilean (that's my sister, Carrie. More on her in a future post.) One of the coolest things about Annie is that, to show the world how much of a Stephenie Meyer fan she is, she grew out her vampire top teeth before she grew out her front top teeth (you know, the ones that are important for biting off bits of hot dog. That's just how devoted a fan she is.) Some of Annie's talents: taking a few steps, yelling loud (and I mean LOUD), smiling really big, and last but not least, flirting. Annie and DJ love to crawl around my house, playing and leaving a path of destruction similar to that of an F5 tornado. We sure love you, Annie Bananie!

Nomm...nommm....nommmm.....

That's what it sounds like when a one-year-old gets his first real taste of chocolate cake. We celebrated baby DJ's first birthday on the 30th. This was one of his delicious dirt-covered cupcakes. I decided to go with a dirt theme in my party planning because A) it's DJ's favorite thing besides milk and B) it's easy to make a dirt cake. Just a few Oreo cookies and a little elbow grease, baby. I think we're going to have a lot of dirt-themed parties in future. Dirt anniversaries, dirt bridal showers...you get the idea. Anyhoo, DJ seemed to really like it (who's surprised? That kid's idea of a delicacy is freshly watered potting soil). He was spoiled rotten and got to eat an entire cupcake. What more can you ask for?

Well, I finally did it.

That's right. After months of telling myself, 'Elise, you have no time for such nonsense. You don't even do your hair anymore. You are not going to start a blog." I have started a blog. I don't care if I'm the only one who ever sees it. It's there and I look forward to wasting a lot of time posting on you, my little bundle of blog-joy. Until next time.