14 Ridiculous Resolutions

Here they are, World Wide Web--some of my resolutions for 2010! The rest of them are too serious for this silly blog and I have them hidden away in my heart, safe from your mockery. These are some things that I've been meaning to do forever. This is my year, I can feel it!

1. Stop hating cats.
2. Stop loving things that aren't good for me (i.e. Oreos, crappy books, crappy movies, the word 'crappy', etc.).
2. Stop allowing people to fill me with rage, including people who barf their opinion all over me and people at Walmart.
3. Stop hiding in the pantry to eat cookies so that I don't have to share. I wish that was a joke.
4. Run faster; fast enough to outrun the rapists. How fast do rapists run? Do you think they can do a seven minute mile? That's my goal--lofty, I know. I really don't want rapists to get me.
4-a. Stop wearing my nasty rapist-repellent sweatpants when I go running.
5. Find something to love about everyone, including the people at Walmart but excluding the rapists.
6. Use my time wisely.
7. Potty train DJ.
8. Stop making Warm Winter Lemon cake because I eat the whole thing and then DJ asks me where it went and it's really embarrassing.
9. Cultivate rock solid abdominals.
10. Stop buying 80/20 ground beef.
11. Don't get pregnant.
12. Water my houseplants that survived the drought of 2009.
13. I was going to write "organize my closets" but instead I'll go with "stop caring that my closets are disorganized until my kids are raised".
14. Figure out what's causing that smell in my laundry room.

A Weary World Rejoices

Today, I've decided to follow Daring Young Mom's lead by describing our Christmas in haiku form. For your Japanese literary delight, I present:

Christmas Haikus, 2009

Knock knock on the door

Wrapped, shiny presents for kids

How can I thank you?

and

When money is tight

I'll forever be grateful

For ding dong ditchers

If you couldn't tell from my masterfully crafted poetry, we had some unexpected holiday visitors bring much-appreciated gifts for our kids. One of the things that I hate the most about people doing nice things for me is when they do it sneakily and I don't have a chance to thank them. So, thank you, people who did nice things for me! From the bottom of my heart, THANK YOU!

And now, following the lead of a blogger that I can't remember, I offer you Christmas by numbers:

Number of times I burned the crap out of my mouth taste-testing the gravy: 2

Number of potatoes it takes to make mashed potatoes for my entire family: 19

Number of times I superglued the heads back onto our Nativity scene figurines: 6

Number of ding dong ditchers offering holiday cheer in the form of presents: 3

Number of miles I ran to make up for my gratuitous pie consumption: 4.5

Number the little hand on the clock was pointing to when we fell asleep on Christmas Eve: 12

Number the little hand on the clock was pointing to when Macey woke us up Christmas morning: 5

Number of times DJ ran away screaming from the growling, battery operated dinosaur toy that Lisa sent out from Ohio: 1

Number of stray cats that started living in our back yard and I told my kids that Santa sent it because he knew that I would never in a million years buy a cat (no offense, cat lovers): 1

Number of pictures I took with my broken camera: 0

I'd like a different card, please.

Macey failed her first test at school. FAILED. She bombed this test with such flair that the woman who administered the test sent a letter home in Macey's Tinkerbell backpack. It was in a sealed white envelope with the words "To the parents of Macey Haynes" in serious elementary school cursive on the front. When Macey handed me the envelope my stomach dropped down around my kneecap region. I had the same nauseated feeling that I used to get when I didn't have my homework done (read: most of high school). My hands trembled as I tore the letter open and read the following:

Dear Parents, (breathing into brown paper bag)

Your child's vision was recently evaluated...

Whew!

I let out a huge sigh of relief. Thank heavens it's not her BRAIN. It's just her EYES. She failed a vision test.

According to the person who administered said eye exam, Macey's vision is 20/50 in her right eye and 20/70 in her left. [Sidenote: I have NO IDEA what these numbers mean.] Since my vision is *perfect* and the idea of Macey's vision being impaired has not once crossed my brain, you can imagine the frenzy of highly accurate, mom-administered vision tests that ensued. ("Hey Macey, which number is the big hand on the clock it pointing to?" Macey, squinting her eyes and inching closer to the clock, "Three? Nine? Can I have some candy?")

After I finished my battery of vision tests, I gave Macey some candy and began some serious thinking, the kind of thinking that can only be done whilst eating fudge made by your sister's boyfriend Frank. [Another sidenote: If your sister doesn't have a boyfriend named Frank who makes you fudge, how do you get any thinking done?]

Here is the nutshell version of my thoughts: In life, we're all moving our pieces (I'm the silver tophat) around the board and sometimes we land on the square that says to draw a card. Sometimes the card is good ("You won a beauty contest. Collect $50."), sometimes the card is crappy ("Your daughter inherited your dad's terrible eyesight. You must schedule an eye exam and will probably have to buy glasses that will be cute but that you can't afford. Pay $400 to the nearst optometrist who is already wealthy and doesn't need it.") I'm going to sneak my card back under the pile and hope that I win the beauty contest.

Which brings us to the nostril hair...

Once, when I was laboring away as a missionary in South Royalton, Vermont, the temperature didn't top ten degrees for the entire month of January. It was so frigid that my nostril hairs (yes, I have them, let's try to be adults here) froze and when I pinched my nose they made a little crunching sound. Gross, but true. Moral of the story: Don't live in Vermont. Or have nostril hairs. Or pinch your nose. Or any combination of the preceding.

Why am I relating tales of frozen nostril hair, you ask? No reason. It just came to my mind. I've been thinking a lot about spiritual things** lately. Naturally, when I am waxing spiritual, I have thoughts of my mission. Which brings us to the nostril hair.

Thank you for joining me today.


**I've been thinking a lot about the pride cycle in the Book of Mormon, and how DJ and I are experiencing it first hand. From what I've gathered thus far, it is infinitely more enjoyable to be on the "flocks and herds and gold and silver and precious things" end of the cycle than it is to be on the "death, terror, famine, and pestilence" end. Just an observation. I am going to try to remember to be humble instead of prideful next time. Maybe I'll get to stay on the "flocks and herds" end a little longer (here's me wink-winking heavenward).

Bull. HONKY.

I would like to take a moment to address the people who built the house that I live in. Actually, I only have one thing to say to you: I will see you in hell. Because surely that is where all builders go who put carpet in a bathroom. They convene there with other builders--the ones who decided to position the A/C filter at the top of a vaulted ceiling.

(You may be wondering what I will be doing in H-E-double hockey sticks. As I was scrubbing the entire tube of toothpaste that DJ squoze* onto my bathroom carpet out of my carpet, I unleashed a string of profanities that would make Ralphie's dad proud. I'm not excited about going to hell, but it will be worth it when I get a chance to slap that builder in the face.)

Also, a note to those of you who told me that boys are easier to raise than girls: bull. HONKY.

On the bright side, my house smells minty fresh!

*Squoze is a word. I dare you to challenge me on this today.

Not a fingah!

We cut down a Christmas tree this weekend. It's a pinion pine and I think it's either an alcoholic or has inner ear problems because it keeps falling over. Yesterday morning it fell down twice. The first time it fell down my back was turned and this is what I heard:

CRackPOP!KsshPOP!"AAAahhhh!Mommmmy!POP!Aaaaaah!

(Chancho was under the tree when it came down. Suspicious? As Macey would say--I think, YES. It was actually the second time the tree fell on little DJ.)

I yelled for big DJ to come help me wrestle the tree off of our two-year-old. I was truly relieved to find that the ornament that my mom gave me when I went into the MTC had not shattered. Whew. That little glass ball had made it through two cross-continent flights, three transfers, and SIX MOVES without breaking. Oh, and Chancho was okay. We brushed the glass and pine needles off of him and he seemed fine.

DJ and I mopped up the tree water, swept up the needles and ornament shards, and went back to our Frosted Mini Spooners, when what to our wondering ears did we hear?

CRackPOP!KssshhPOP!CRACCK!POP!

That's right. It fell again, without DJ's help this time. And my MTC ornament finally shattered. Also, in a moment of perfect irony, my Christmas Story leg lamp ornament broke. (Did I forget to mention how classy my decorations are? I also have a sombrero-wearing snowman.) I've never felt a stronger inclination to yell, "Not a fingah!" than I did in this moment, with my Christmas tree lying on the tile, my MTC ornament shattered, and my leg lamp ornament broken in half.

And that, ladies, is the perfect excuse to dump your soggy Mini Spooners down the drain and eat pumpkin pie for breakfast.

(In case you were looking for one.)

(You don't need one. Pumpkin pie is healthy.)

P.S. For those of you who are concerned about my son's safety, DJ secured the tree to our house using a complex system involving fishing line and screws and that will require some post-holiday spackling. But what doesn't?

P.P.S. Here's a cute picture of Tess:

My Lucky Charm

If you have any respect for me--or if you have a sensitive gag relfex--you should stop reading and continue to think of me as the charming, refined, hygienically diligent person that I appear to be. For those of you who have no respect for me, enjoy. I present, for your reading enjoyment slash disgust...

My Lucky Charm

On Friday night I remembered this ad I saw for the Turkey Trot 5k which is held annually at the Seegmiller Historical Farm to benefit the Dixie Care and Share. So I said to DJ, "Hey DJ, whaddya say we do the Turkey Trot 5k tomorrow? There's no entrance fee, we just have to donate canned food." After applying a bit of the aforementioned charm, I talked DJ into walking the mile with my kids in the stroller while I ran the 5k.

We woke up bright and early Saturday morning, filled an old Walmart bag with nonperishable, tuna packed in oil that I bought on accident-type items, and drove to Washington. And I (really, you can stop reading any time) didn't shave my legs. And it had been quite a while since I had shaved, to be totally honest. And I wore shorts. (Aaaaand there goes my last shred of dignity.)

Where was I? Oh yeah, running. So I ran the race and it was great, but that's not where the lucky charm comes in. After the race they have a little raffle thing where they give away massages and t-shirts and frozen turkeys and things of that nature. Get this-- DJ and I totally won a 12 piece meal with a 1/2 gallon of A&W root beer from Kentucky Fried Chicken! A thirty dollar value! I know. AMAZING.

As we sat at under the gazebo at the park snarfing our fried chicken and cole slaw I was feeling very grateful, so, clutching the bucket of chicken, I stood and made the following speech:

"I have so many people to thank for this award. DJ, who snores away while I go running every morning and yet is very supportive. My children, for providing me with the baby fat that inspires me to run. And especially, my leg hair. I usually hide you under pants. However, today you have proven to be my lucky charm and I will no longer be ashamed of you! Thank you! Thank you!"

I bowed and waved to the crowd that had assembled. And then I had to go find my children, who were off trying to pretend that they belonged to a different family.

JewwDUSS!

Yay! I got tagged for one of those games where you post a random picture and (WHEW!) it's not an embarrassing picture! Let the fun begin! The rules are...

*Open your first photo folder.

*Scroll down to the 10th picture. (if you dont have 10 in that one, then go to the next folder that does).

*Post that photo and the story behind that photo on your blog.

*Tag 5 friends to do the same

It's Chancho when he was five months old. I think I took this picture because it was the first time I put gel in his hair but you can't tell because his hair is translucent. Trust me, it was cute.

I'm not going to tag five friends. Instead I've decided to do this: "HEY! FIVE OF YOU! POST A PICTURE OF YOURSELF!" Now we'll see who responds the fastest. What fun.

I'm feeling so special this week! Not just because I was tagged in a fun picture game but because I was asked to participate in a CDC survey about birth defects. I know, right? How could I not feel special? It was actually really cool. If your definition of 'cool' includes doing an hour long phone survey about your eating habits from June 2008 through May 2009. Cool, huh? Nothing spells humiliation like someone asking you how many servings of chocolate you eat in a week, on average. And then having to answer honestly. I had to tell her about my Marshmallow Mateys addiction in horrifying detail! She actually asked about my cold cereal habits and the specific brands I ate. And how many times I ate them per week. Good thing she didn't ask about the size of bowl I used.

Participating in that painfully embarrassing survey reminded me of high school. I took this statistics class my senior year and we learned all about surveys and what makes them meaningful and margin of error and correlation and blah blah blah... But what I remember most from the class was this guy, Richard, who sat behind me the whole year. He had this bizarre habit of saying, "JUDAS!" whenever something irritated him. You know... Judas. Only he said it, "JewwDUSS!" with a heavy St. George accent. Like Mr. Ward would give us a lot of homework and I'd hear Richard behind me: "JewwDUSS!" Or the power would go out: "JewwDUSS!" Or the air conditioner would kick on: "JewwDUSS!" You get the idea. All year long.

So all through the survey I could hear Richard in the back of my head.

Survey lady: "Ms. Haynes, in the three months prior to becoming pregnant and the first three months of your pregnancy how many times would you say that you ate Marshmallow Mateys cereal? Once a month, once a week, more than once a week, twice a week, three times a week, four times a week, five times a week, six times a week, once a day, or more than once a day?"

Me: (thinking) "JewwDUSS!"

Me: (responding) "Umm...at least once a day."

It went on that way for an hour. On the bright side, they are giving me twenty bucks for participating. You know me, there's not a lot I won't do for twenty bucks.

Throw out your dead!

When DJ and I entered into this bwessed awaingement six years ago, I never EVER would have envisioned the following scene:

The curtain goes up and we see the Haynes living room. Swine Flu, Day Nine. All six members of the family are crowded and sprawled out onto two couches, their hair matted to their heads. Tissue wads and and used dishes are everywhere, Baby Einstein is on the TV on repeat.

DJ: "Macey! Quit digging your toes into my back!"
Elise: "Why does it smell like feet in here?!"
Macey: "Can I do Barbie dot com? Can I do Barbie dot com?" (Repeat 400 times.)
Olivia: "UhhhhuuUUUUuuuuhhhhhh............" (That's Olivia melting.)
Chancho: "Happy birtday, Mommy." (He's still celebrating my birthday, sweet boy.)
Tess: "............" (Tess screamed herself hoarse on Day Seven.)
Elise: (thinking) "Why is everyone BREATHING so LOUDLY?! And it still smells like feet!"
DJ: (thinking) "Maybe I should open a fishing lodge in Alaska...YEAH! I should!"
Elise: (hearing DJ's thoughts) "No, you shouldn't!"
Chancho: "Happy birtday, Mommy."

I am so DONE with this flu. We had bacon and Halloween candy for dinner the other night. And if I have to watch Baby Einstein one more time, so help me, I will rip my own eyeballs out with a rusty fork.

The End.

Or is it?

P.S. I promise, this is my last flu-related complainy post--cross my heart, hope to die. No, really. HOPE to DIE. See ya next time!

Do you think...

Do you think if I made fun of a billionaire that I'd wake up tomorrow morning with a box full of money on my front porch?

Do you think if I made fun of George Clooney that I'd wake up tomorrow with him on my front porch?

Do you think if I made fun of a big gooey cinnamon roll with tons of frosting that one would magically appear?

Probably not, right?

However, that seems to be the case with swine flu.

I made fun of it.

I got it.

Alanis Morrisette was right. It IS ironic.

---UPDATE TIME!---
A special thank you to my wonderful neighbor, Tawny, who has made all of my gooey cinnamon roll dreams come true. I found a nice pan of thickly-frosted cinnamon rolls on my porch with a note that read, "Because sometimes when you make fun of it, it happens. Feel better soon!" Don't I have rad neighbors? Anyway, if anyone wants to follow Tawny's lead I'm still hoping for a box of money and George Clooney. Anyone? Anyone?

H1N1: The Truth Exposed

When infected with swine flu you will experience fever, sore throat, runny nose, fatigue, and perhaps the following:

You can sleep for hours and hours without your wife shoving you off of the bed.

You can smell like you desperately need a shower (sorry, DJ).

You may experience the desire to watch idiotic hunting videos on YouTube.

You can eat a Big Ed and drip melted ice cream all over your shirt.

Your wife may bring you a warm bowl of alphabet soup and a big hospital mug, left over from one of four c-section hospitalizations, of ice cold water.

At least, these are the symptoms that I've observed in DJ who, according to the doctor, is 'suffering' from H1N1. Don't misunderstand me, it doesn't look pleasant. However, from what the news programs have described I was expecting something a little more Black Plague-ish. This Swine Flu has been grossly disappointing. What a lame pandemic.

I have quarantined DJ to our bedroom with the instructions to stay in bed and try not to touch anything. (This is mostly for my benefit. Having him home during the day has totally thrown off my groove.) I'm also trying to keep him a safe distance from Tess. I don't know why. Tess has pretty much been living the H1N1 lifestyle from day one--laying around, fussing, being fed on demand. Maybe I'll try to catch the swine flu.

29 Gumwads of Wisdom

I was going to call this "29 Pearls of Wisdom", but pearls of wisdom are (as their name implies) small and yet valuable. My bits of wisdom are small and yet...small. So here we have, for your consideration,

29 Gumwads of Wisdom

by Elise Haynes

In honor of my 29th birthday

1. When making brownies, do not use a rubber spatula to transfer the batter to the pan. It hardly leaves any batter in the bowl for you to lick out.

2. Air Supply sounds like two women singing, but it's guys. Trust me.

3. You can relate everything in life to an episode of Seinfeld and it makes life funnier.

4. Here's some wisdom for the holidays: keep an eye on your candied yams when you put them under the broiler to toast the marshmallows. I nearly burned my house down one year.

5. When your husband gets pulled over twice in one day (10/16/09) try not to rub it in, no matter how impossible the task may seem.

6. Don't play Scrabble with Elise because she will walk all over you. Unless you're Elise's mom.

7. Dogs are cute. Don't get one solely for that reason.

8. DJs are cute. Don't get one solely for that reason.

9. Things at Target are cute. Don't buy them solely for that reason.

10. On the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disneyland, watch for the pirate whose muddy foot is dangling over the boats. He freaked me out when I was a kid.

11. Man, I want to go to Disneyland.

12. Always keep a diaper in your glove box.

13. Flip flops: comfortable, $3, last forever, and give you a really neat foot tan line.

14. Try not to have a two-year-old who drops important things into your sink disposal. Retrieving items from the disposal is terrifying and disgusting, even with a mask and yellow gloves and copious amounts of bleach.

15. When shopping for birthday cake mix, don't forget the candles.

16. Our phone number when I was six-years-old: (714) 947-8931. Can I remember my pin number? No.

17. Tea Leoni's real last name: Pantaleoni. Good move, Tea.

18. The perfect temperature for making quesadillas on my skillet is 375. Your skillet might be different, though. That's the funny thing about skillets.

19. High heels are ridiculous. I don't care what people say.

20. How to tell the difference between Vermont and New Hampshire on a map: Vermont is kind of shaped like a 'V' and you can sort of fit a little 'h' in New Hampshire. Oklahoma is a skillet, Louisianna is an Ugg (careful on that one, Minnesota is kind of an Ugg, too), Wisconsin is a muffin. Call me with any other geography questions.

21. Keep a book in your glove box for when you're in the car waiting for DJ, or whoever you're married to. I read 75% of Jane Eyre that way.

22. Just a review, in your glove box: Jane Eyre and diapers. If you're DJ, keep your registration and proof of insurance in a holster.

23. If you are ever hospitalized at Dixie Regional Medical Center try the Turkey Special sandwich. Yummy.

24. Great Value brand dishwasher detergent is the worst, the worst, Jerry! (see #3)

25. The Little Debbie people should make really huge Swiss Rolls, like the size of a Cafe Rio burrito.

26. If you're on the phone with DJ and it sounds really echo-y, it's because he's in the bathroom. Yeah, I know.

27. Thesauruses are wonderful but it's a tricky word to pluralize.

28. Almost there!

29. From a fortune cookie I got when I was a teenager: "Beauty is in your heart. Let it out, let it beat, give yourself a treat."

What Happens in Ironwood...

Here is a random sampling of what we have been up to the past few weeks:

Line dancing. I LOVE line dancing. This falls under the category of "Things That I Enjoy That Require Little or No Skill, Like Tubing". My neighborhood had a bring-your-own-food-and-come-eat-it-in-the-street-and-then-line-dance block party last night. It was fun. Macey raided the dessert buffet, DJ talked to other guys about work, and I line danced with the other moms. You know how in movies the people get drunk and then they wake up the next morning and they're all, "WHY did I DO THAT last night?!" That was my morning this morning, sans the hangover. Did I seriously line dance in front of my neighbors last night? Holy CRAP, I line danced in front of my neighbors last night. (burying head in hands) Let us hope that Ironwood Subdivision has a "what happens in Ironwood, stays in Ironwood" policy, like Las Vegas.


Writing a novel. It was Sunday afternoon and DJ and I were very, very bored. So I said, "hey DJ, let's write a book. You talk, I'll type." And thus it began. Macey threw in her two cents periodically. Actually, the epilogue is 100% Macey's. If you would like me to e-mail a copy of the manuscript to you, I will for a small fee (a donut). However, please do not circulate my novel around the internet like Midnight Sun. Honor system here, folks. One valuable thing I learned from this exercise is that if you start out writing a love story with your husband he will turn it into a fishing story within two or three paragraphs. Here's an excerpt:

"It was a dark night. Stormy outside. The air hung heavily. The pungent aroma of creosote from the desert blew in from the west. Penelope Peree sat--she hated her name. She loathed it. All of her friends called her Pen. She had spent one too many nights like this, alone. Hopelessly alone.
Hearing rustling noises outside, Pen was scared that there might be a pervert. She wished that her boyfriend was there so that he could scratch her back and tell her everything was going to be okay. Every night was the same ever since Johnny left her to find answers to unanswered questions. Both of Johnny's parents had died and he didn't have answers. He liked answers. Pen decided to turn on her favorite track on repeat to keep her company.
"Here's a little song I wrote," Bobby McFerrin sang, "might wanna sing it note for note..."
Penelope nearly jumps out of her skin as somebody knocks on the door..."

Aren't you just dying for more? I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. Maybe you had to be there. I love how she's scared that there might be a pervert. (Admit it, when you're home alone you're scared that there might be a pervert.)


Driving home from Logan. My sister Carrie and I drove to Logan, Utah to visit my new nephew Gabriel last weekend. We left St. George at 3:00 Saturday morning and left Logan to return home at 1:30 Sunday afternoon. Because my car was possessed by Satan it took us almost nine hours to get home from Logan. The whole weekend is a big blur, like one of those dreams where you wake up and only remember random details. Here are the random details of our weekend in Logan:
-Eating. A LOT. Chilean food, pumpkin pie, pot roast, donuts, Happy Cola, these little truffles that might have been doggie treats (I'm still not sure). You name it, we ate it.
-Cruising the streets of Logan at 11:30 at night trying to get Tess to fall asleep, or at least stop screaming her guts out.
-Seeing baby Gabriel, shown here. Isn't he a cutie?

When the dog bites, when the bee stings...

You may have noticed my propensity for silly list making. Today's post is no exception. I apologize for it, but DANG I love making lists.

Today's list I will call Things That I Am Looking Forward To. They are, as usual, not serious. (If it's serious that you're after, you're going to have to break into my house and read my real journal. I've hidden it somewhere really sneaky. And it's one of those ones with a tiny key, so good luck.)

I'm Looking Forward To:

1. The resurrection. You may be wondering why I would include this item on a non-serious list. My reason is this: Hair Maintenance. I have had it with the entire institution. Shaving, plucking, cutting, dying, trimming, washing, conditioning. I want OUT. It goes without saying that when I am resurrected I will have cute highlights and that my eyebrows will be eternally plucked.
2. Next summer. I am already counting down. Only seven more months to go.
3. Jim and Pam's wedding. The episode was last week but I haven't watched it yet. I'm saving it for when I have a bad day. (I know, I know, they are fictional. Supposedly.)
4. New Moon. Perhaps the dorkiest item on today's list. Nevertheless, I look forward to forcing DJ to accompany me to see it in a theater full of giggling, screaming thirteen-year-olds.
5. Disneyland. I don't know when I'm going to go again but I know that I will. And it's that belief that motivates me. So help me, I will go to Disneyland again before I die. I will partake of the churros and mint juleps and wait in the ridiculously long lines once again!
6. Speaking of things Disney-related: The Princess and the Frog (in case you're not a Disney geek like me, it's the next Disney princess movie, due out in the beginning of December). One of the many benefits of having children is that when kid movies come out you can see them without feeling like a total moron. Not a total moron, anyway.
7. I heard that Brian Regan is coming to Tuacahn again next May and if I have to I will sell an organ to be there. Not an organ that you play hymns on. Kidneys. Lungs. Whatever I have two of. Brain lobes. Eyeballs. I am serious about Brian Regan.

I really want to finish this list but I think my kids are in the back yard eating dirt. Monna's kids, too, because I'm "babysitting". Riiiiiight.

Que?

Okay, everyone, let's test your high school Spanish: who knows how to say, "Do you really eat tomatoes on your toast, or are you just messing with me, kid?" in Spanish? I am babysitting my nieces Annie and Jaelyn and their Chilean cousin Nico, who speaks very little English. I am attempting to make breakfast for Nico and I think he's telling me that he eats tomatoes on his toast and "leche con chocolate" for breakfast. Chocolate milk for breakfast? Hmm. I totally get chocolate milk for breakfast. I get it. Tomatoes--a vegetable-like food--aren't those usually reserved for after 4 pm? Personally, I only eat vegetables after 4 pm. I think the Chilean is messing with me. Why, oh why did I take Japanese in high school?!

P.S. School picture day! Thanks for letting me borrow your scanner while I babysit, Carrie!

Slow news day. And yet I'm still writing.

I have two items of business today.



I have titled my first item Revenge of the Fly's Son. So I was running this morning-- jogging along, jogging along...wishing for the angel of death to come and free me from the pain. (I left the iPod at home today because it's humongous and I'm sick of it, so instead I was forced to repeat the chorus of "Getting Jiggy Wit' It" like forty times in my head.) Between the pain of running and the torture of having Will Smith stuck in my head*, I was not in my happy place.

And that was when I heard it. This little sound next to my ear... like a tiny buzzing. It grew closer and increased in volume. "bzzzz...zzz...my name is Inigo Monflya," he buzzed angrily, "you keel my father, prepare to die." I barely had time to swat the air around me before I felt it kamikaze directly into my left eye. "Son of a--!" I screeched, batting at the air around my head like a crazy person. The Son of the Fly! In my other eye! REALLY. Why would I make this up?! Long story short, I am looking into alternate forms of exercise. Any ideas?



The next item of business I will simply call Owinge.



The following is an exerpt from a recent conversation that I had with my son:

Elise: "Hey DJ, what's your favorite color?"

DJ: "Owinge."

Elise: "Hey DJ, what's your favorite snack?"

DJ: "Owinge."

Elise: "Hey DJ, TURN OFF THE HOSE!"

DJ: "Owinge."

Elise: "Hey DJ, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

DJ: "Owinge."

Elise: "Hey DJ, will you go grab a diaper for Tess?"

DJ: "Owinge."

Elise: "Hey DJ, do you think the DOW will ever top 10,000 points again, for heaven's sake?"

DJ: "Owinge."

*This is the Will Smith I'm talking about. The Fresh Prince version, not the Seven Pounds version. Is it even the same guy? I'm not sure.

Happiness is...

1. Getting into my brother-in-law's car and turning on the CD player to find Jordin Sparks. And then the mental image which inevitably follows: MALE Chilean driving down the road, singing in his MALE Chilean accent, "tell me how I'm s'posed to breathe with no air...". Gracias, Manny. You made my day. You are awesome.

2. The tasty buffet that our stake had at the Relief Society broadcast tonight. I loooove myself some delicious buffet food.

3. Perhaps I should have mentioned this before the buffet-- I find a lot of joy in the Relief Society. You cannot go wrong belonging to an organization whose motto is 'Charity Never Faileth'. Relief Society makes me happy. (For the record, my Relief Society arms DO NOT make me happy. Nor do push ups. This is a dilemma.)

4. High school fundraiser cookie dough. Don't bother baking it. Stick your head in the freezer and eat it straight out of the box. Not baking it saves on the power bill, too, so win-win. Thanks, Tawny!

5. Every morning I take a miniature vacation. You didn't know that about me, did you? I've mentioned previously how I go running early in the morning. Alongside my running path there is an urban fishing pond set at the foot of some tall red cliffs. Before the sun comes up the water is still, a perfect mirror image of the gray morning sky. When I run past the sandstone cliff-lined pond I close my eyes and inhale the scent of cool, mossy water. I can hear the water gently lapping against the shore. If I'm feeling truly delusional I can almost hear the sound of early-morning water skiers in the distance. I can almost feel the sunburn. I can almost taste last night's Pringles. I am almost at Lake Powell.

(...aaaand then I open my eyes and jog straight into an oncoming bicycle.)

6. Thoroughly kicking DJ's butt two times in a row at Skip Bo (I can't get him to play Scrabble with me any more).

7. Having a kindergartener who is totally thrilled to have been named "Queen of the Day" by her teacher. She then proceeds to skip home from school singing "QUEEEEEN of the DAAAY!" in her best opera voice, wearing her construction paper crown with pride. I love that Macey isn't 'too cool' for this stuff yet.

I pray that I never become 'too cool' for those things in life that provide me with so much happiness (it hasn't happened yet, I think I'm in the clear).

Change & Rainbow Cake

Yeah, I changed my blog around. And it's making me twitch.

Apparently, I don't handle change very well. See that little white kid hanging all over her mom up there? That's me, the day my little sister Carrie was born. [Check out how white I am! Now stop looking at my legs and sexy diaper.] June 2, 1982. As the story goes, I was so upset about the arrival of the little interloper that I spent that entire day (week...month...) hanging all over my mom. Can you blame me? My world was about to be torn asunder!

For the record, I do not appreciate my world being torn asunder.

{Here's me leaving the computer to eat a bowl of Cheerios and a Little Debbie at 10:30 at night.}

Where was I? Right, world torn asunder... Hmm. Not totally sure where I was going with that. But I really don't like change. Let's talk about something else.

Like cake.

I made this cake for Annie(my niece)'s birthday yesterday and it was crazy. This is not a picture of the cake that I made, it's the picture from the blog that I stole the recipe from. (To quote the author, "Mmm...chemicals.") I made my cake in red, white, and blue in honor of Chilean Independence Day. (What? You didn't celebrate Chilean Independence Day?) Wanna hear how bizarre this recipe is? Here it is:

Crazy Rainbow Cake

Two white cake mixes

3 c. Diet Sprite

FDA-unapproved amounts of food coloring

And that's it. Instead of the food coloring I used Kool Aid. [Do not, I repeat, DO NOT use Kool Aid in this recipe instead of food coloring. I cannot emphasize this enough.] This cake it perfect for someone who's watching their cholesterol (but not sugar or artificial color or empty calories) intake. It would also be perfect for that special someone who has just "come out", if you catch my drift.

I got a fly in my eye while I was out running this morning.

Yeah, it was nasty. I think I need eye transplant surgery now.

I love...

Tubing. I looooooove tubing behind my dad's boat, the Tub 'o Fun (that's not a made-up boat name. That's the real name. Yep. My dad is cool, huh?) Where was I? Oh yeah, tubing.
Tubing is awesome for two reasons: #1) Tubing requires no actual skill or talent other than the ability to flop onto a tube from the back of the boat without misjudging the distance to the tube and sliding off of the front of the tube into the water like a dork. Run-on sentence, anyone? Moving on. Reason B) Tubing requires no skill. Did I mention that already? Tubing is good for my self esteem. I love flying back and forth across the wake, thinking smugly, "man, I am good at tubing. I'm so good at tubing I should enter some kind of contest..." and then I wipe out. But I still feel good about myself for hanging on for so long.

Food wrapped in bacon. I didn't realize this about myself until Sunday when DJ and I made this for dinner:

Jeane's Delicious Grilled Chicken Wrapped in Bacon

6 chicken breasts, cut into 1-2" cubes

2/3 cup brown sugar

1 T chili powder

Bacon slices, cut into thirds

Mix brown sugar and chili powder. Wrap chicken chunks in bacon and skewer with a toothpick. Coat chicken with brown sugar mixture. Grill until done.

Other foods that are made more wonderful simply by wrapping them in bacon: asparagus and jalapenos. Thanks Jeane, for the wonderful chicken recipe! (p.s. Foods that are not wonderful wrapped in bacon: doughnuts, Gatorade, watermelon.)

This hat. My really cute friend Jenn (hi Jenn!) crocheted this little hat and let Tess model it for her Etsy site. Isn't it cute? Cute hat. Cute baby Tess. Cute friend Jenn.

I am going to be RICH.

I'm going into the t-shirt business. I'm tired of saying the same things over and over again and I figure everyone else must be, too. For example:


Three weeks ago we moved into a new house around the corner. [Less expensive, fenced yard, closer to school, the landlord is not a Nazi...you get the idea.] Our family/neighbor friends helped us move our stuff. Here's the t-shirt that I needed that day: WHY DO WE HAVE SO MUCH CRAP?? (I know that the 'C' word isn't very refined but it's accurate. We have a lot of crap.)


Here's one for Sunday morning: CHURCH STARTS AT NINE. WE NEED TO LEAVE IN _____ MINUTES!


I thought this one would be handy, since I feel that my flat hair needs an excuse and yet, for some inexplicable reason, my hair rarely comes up naturally in conversation: MY HAIR DRYER DIED THIS MORNING (Sad but true. My hair dryer is dead. My hair is flat.)


I would also sell buttons for kids. Here's one that will singlehandedly (single buttonedly?) make me a millionaire: I DRESSED MYSELF. This would be a nice, no-nonsense way of explaining why Olivia is wearing a pink plaid skirt with her yellow pajama t-shirt on backwards.


Last but not least, I want a shirt for when I go running. I run on the Snow Canyon Parkway trail, early in the morning. For some reason I feel obligated to acknowledge the other runners/cyclists on the trail. It's ridiculous and, frankly, I can't spare the breath. I need a shirt that says: "...(gasp!)...Mornin'!" Problem solved.

Pet Potbellied Pig Pet Potbellied Pig Pet Potbellied Pig...

Once, when I was thirteen years old...no, don't stop reading! This is a good one! Seriously, my sister Meegan e-mailed this picture to me after reading my post about the Escort. I had COMPLETELY forgotten about this prank we pulled on her. Lisa, her boyfriend at the time (Ralph), and I decided it would be the funniest thing in the world if we filled the Escort with packing peanuts. And so we did. It seemed really funny at the time. Packing peanuts + static cling= one friggin' big mess for Meegan. She claims that we gave her money to vacuum the car out. I don't know about that. What kind of prank is it if you help the victim clean up the mess? That's not a prank, that's just making a mess and then paying for someone to clean it up. Anyhoo, here's me at the scene of the crime acting like an innocent bystander, and The Escort in all of her glory:

I guess I'm in the mood to reminisce about past pranks... there was this other time, my friend Kat and I kidnapped Ralph's (yep, the same ex-boyfriend) pet potbellied pig [try saying that five times, fast] and left a pound of bacon in it's place along with a ransom note demanding a stick of Secret Spring Fresh scent deodorant and a tub of Ben and Jerry's ice cream in exchange for the pig. I can't remember how that one worked out. I do remember that the pig had a serious attitude problem, though.

The Escort

Please forgive me while I take a meander down memory lane. {{{Here's where those wavy lines go across the screen, like on Saved by the Bell.}}}

The year: 1985

The car: White Ford Escort, with a hatchback

The fashion: Culottes. Pink culottes.

The conundrum: Picture, if you will, the back seat of a Ford Escort. Three seats, right? Three seats. Five kids. Hmm...

The solution: The two smallest children ride in the hatchback portion of the car, naturally. Pop that little hatch open and you have a virtual in-car playpen, folks. I have many (okay, a few) fond memories of flying down the freeways of L.A. in the 'trunk' of the Escort. Carrie and I had our own little world back there. It. Was. AWESOME.

I would give my RIGHT ARM for a copy of this picture of my mom and I on my first day of school. We're getting into the Escort. My mom's wearing her totally rad pink culottes. Only my mom could get away with pink culottes (she always has a really good tan). I love that picture. Those were such simple times. (Simple for me, anyway. I was five.)

Ah, the Escort...

Thanks for humoring me, everyone. I'd also like to thank the folks at Google for providing the lovely Escort image. (Although, I think that I'll probably be the first and last person to search Google for a picture of 1980s-style pink culottes. Don't waste your time, people, it DOESN'T EXIST.)

Don't Pick Your Nose

Holy MACKEREL. Macey is in school. I found myself panicking as I was getting her ready for school, giving her little tips (like I haven't had the last five years to prepare her for this day). I'll bet you're wondering what my tips are, aren't you? You're in luck because here they are. Elise's Back-to-School Tips.

1. Do what your teacher says. She is really smart.

2. Sometimes people say mean things. Don't worry about what mean people say. Mean people are dumb.

3. Please PLEASE don't pick your nose and eat it.

4. If you see someone playing all alone, ask them if you can play with them. If they don't want you to play with them then they are dumb (see Tip #2).

5. DON'T CLIMB UP THE SLIDE.

6. For heaven's sake, don't pick your nose and eat it.

Yeah. I think Macey is ready for the world. The real question is, is the world ready for Macey? Bwah ha ha!

P.S. For those of you who were worrying about my neighbors dog-- DJ confessed to my neighbor at church. The dog did not die of elk poisoning. However, in a strange twist the neighbor has found no traces of the saran wrap or freezer paper that the elk was still wrapped in when DJ threw it over the fence. All together now: "DJ! You didn't even take the paper off?!"

Lucky Neighbor Dog -OR- Let's Hope the Neighbors Don't Find Out Who Did It

11:07 PM
DJ and Elise crawl into bed, exhausted after a long day of shenanigans.

11:08 PM
Neighbor Dog: "BARK! bark bark bark!" Translation: "LET ME IN! Let me in, let me in, let me in!"

DJ: "I can't stand our neighbor's dog. Was it Axel or Roscoe that used to bark like this? Our neighbors must have hated us."

Elise: "I don't....remem....zzzzzzzzz......."

Dog: "BARK! bark bark bark!" Translation: (singing) "WE BUILT THIS CITY...we be built this city on rock and roll...."

11:09 PM
This is where things get fuzzy for me (I was asleep, after all).

Dog: "BARK BARK! bark bark bark....bark!" Translation: "PLEASE! Please! I promise I won't go on the floor! Maybe I will..."

DJ: "I am going to shoot that dog."

Elise (roused from sleep as DJ threatens to shoot an animal): "sorry hon....zzzzzz....."

Dog: "...bark bark bark bark!" Translation: "Hey everybody, look at the moon! Is that a cat?! Wow, it's dark out here!"

11:11 PM
Elise awakens to the sound of someone rifling through the chest freezer in our garage. She wonders, "well, either DJ shot the the neighber dog and he's freezing it for later [in unison now, dog-lovers: "Aaaaaah!"] or he got really hungry (those of you who know us know that he'd have to be starving to eat something out of our chest freezer. It's 95% full of dead elk meat)."

Elise drifts off to sleep again but can vaguely recall hearing the front door unlock.

Dog: "BARK! BARK! Bark?! bark bark bark!" Translation: "LET ME IN! LET ME IN! Hey, what's this?! Oh boy! Oh boy! Oh boy!"

11:13 PM
DJ crawls back into bed mumbling: "I hope that dog wasn't a vegetarian..."

This startles Elise from a dream involving Oreo cookies and Edward Cullen (so it MUST have been serious...): "What did you do???"

DJ: "I threw a piece of elk over the fence."

Dog: "Nomm, nommm, nommmm....."

6:42 AM
Dog: "HORNK!"

DJ and Elise: "...zzzzzzzzz................."

Pink heels and...what the?!

I was thinking about how life hasn't been providing much to laugh about these days...and then Macey produced this little masterpiece. Clearly, it's a self portrait. At first glance I thought, "green cube skirt, excellent. Pink heels-- not my first choice with the skirt, but still cute." And then my eyes drifted northward. To the anatomically correct bosom. [This is where DJ observed--he is especially observant of this region, generally speaking--that Self Portrait Macey might be ready for some supportive undergarments.] Macey starts kindergarten this week (AAAK!) and I don't think I like the idea of her seeing herself as well-endowed, or in this case, endowed (if you catch my drift) as she begins her journey out in society. Yikes. But, as is usually the case in life, it could be worse:

My son could be Picasso.

I don't mind admitting it, I don't get Picasso. I don't think Picasso got Picasso. Obviously. But I do think that Macey sees herself pretty clearly-- look at that big smile.

Before and After and Some ENORMOUS Cheeks

Finally! Two nights without the majority of our children--the loud and demanding ones, anyway--and what do we do? We watch cable in our hotel room. Cable. Free cable. Guilt free, "all of my half-finished projects are miles away" cable. It was fabulous.
Thursday morning, after raiding the continental breakfast bar and stuffing out pockets with as many free pastries and condiments as they would hold (note to self-- next time I stay at a hotel bring GIANT overalls), we drove to the hospital. The pastries did not taste as delicious as they normally would because I had that slightly nauseating "my newborn is going under general anesthesia" feeling. Blech. (Primary Children's really ought to provide those little white bags for ralphing like you get on an airplane.)
Here's me with Tess before the surgery, in one of the twenty or so waiting rooms that we had to wait in. You probably can't tell from the picture-- on the outside I'm smiling. On the inside I'm totally tossing my cookies and screaming like Elaine on that episode of Seinfeld where she gets trapped in the subway (...maybe too much guilt-free cable...)

After the surgery, Tess's face was twice its original size and she was wearing this creepy medical contraption called a Logan's bow that is supposed to keep her lip from pulling apart. She was also wearing unkind-looking arm restraints. Never in my life have I worked so hard to fight back the tears. Unfortunately, Tess has to wear the Logan's bow and the arm restraints for a month. Fortunately, Tess is totally healthy and came home with us after only one night in the hospital. We are such lucky parents.
Now for the cheeks. This is my new niece, Jaelyn. This picture was taken with my little sister's cell phone and this photo has not been altered in any way. Those babies are the real thing.

The Magical Fruit

I had a moment of introspection today and I discovered two things about myself:


1. I don't like it when my house smells like bacon.
2. I suck at making refried beans.


Moving on (because I don't want to talk about the beans).



















DJ blessed Tess in Sacrament meeting yesterday. It was beautiful. I love little Tess. We hosted a family potluck following the blessing and I let Macey run amok with my camera. This is what I got:


Geez louise, I am a nerd...
















...but DJ is a bigger nerd.












"Ready Grandpa? One...two...[click]"




My communist bro-in-law, Manny, and my new niece, Jaelyn. Vive Pinochet!

...and I think I may finally be coming to terms with my mutant toes. Maybe not.

Frozen Burritos and Plastic Surgery

Hi, my name is Elise and I am a comfort eater. What? This isn't Comfort Eaters Anonymous? This is my family blog? Then I probably shouldn't tell you about how I singlehandedly polished off a ten count package of Lynn Wilson's frozen burritos this week. And most of a bag of Chocolate Marshmallow Mateys. [Little sidenote: regular Marshmallow Mateys=pretty good, Chocolate Marshmallow Mateys=Holy MOLY I've died and gone to Comfort Eaters Anonymous heaven.]


You may be thinking, "what does that adorable picture of Tess have to do with Elise's overeating?" Answer: nothing! I went to get pictures of Tess taken today because...drumroll, please... we finally scheduled her lip surgery (and I wanted to have a good picture of her before she looks all different)! Her surgery is scheduled for the 30th so we'll be headed up to Primary Children's at the end of next week. (I don't know, does two months old seem a little young for plastic surgery? Maybe that's how the comfort eating ties in...)


P.S. You know what's better than getting really cute professional pictures taken? Getting really cute professional pictures taken FOR FREE! Hee! Thanks again, Carrie! The next time I find a coupon for something truly awesome I will give it to you. Or I'll secretly keep it and you'll be none the wiser.

No German Shepherds?!

All right, ladies, time to brush up on your giant inflatable bouncy castle safety rules. Here goes:


No scissors. Check. That one's a no-brainer.


No googly eyes. Check. (Welp, Tess, I have some bad news...)


No wearing a dress that poofs way out from your body and makes you look pregnant. Check. (Or is that "No being pregnant"? Or maybe it's "No being one of those little peg people from the Game of Life")


No being from Switzerland.


No wearing a watch.


No bouncing with giants. Or little people. Are you sensing some discrimination? I am. First the Swiss, now the giants. Imagine how you'd feel if you were a Swiss giant.


No flying through the air and landing on your head without bending your legs or arms. I say, if this is a feat that you are capable of, more power to you.


No German Shepherds?? Wha??? Who ARE these people??!!


No cheeseburgers and a drink. Easy peasy. I should be able to abstain for at least an hour.


No loafers. Finally, something we can agree on. (Imagine if you were a Swiss giant wearing loafers...)

Now that that's all cleared up, here are some cute pictures of my kids and their cousins hanging out at Jumpin Jacks today. My sister Lisa is The Fun Aunt. She's visiting us this week from Ohio. She organized this trip, paid for everyone, and then played with the kids the whole time. Fun Aunt Lisa, you need to move home!

The World According to Fez

My Chilean brother-in-law, Manny, as interpreted by my five-year-old daughter, Macey. Pretty accurate, I'd say. He is brown, after all.

My sister Carrie, Manny's wife. I secretly wonder if Macey started out drawing Spongebob Squarepants and then it just kind of morphed into Carrie. I love how my kids see the world. The other day Macey asked me if I could start teaching her how to be a grown up. I was so thrilled. I had visions of her cooking dinner, folding laundry, and killing spiders for me. When I asked her what a grown up does she said, "Mmm...they take showers, they boss people, they stay up watching the TV, and they eat treats." What an eye-opener. Is that how my kids see me? Is that all I do? Oh well.
At least I'm not all streaky brown with a crazy nose like Manny.

My Life: The Tower of Terror

Tonight I was rifling through old e-mails looking for pictures and I came across this little gem. When I found it I literally laughed out loud at the irony. This was taken about a year ago on the Tower of Terror ride at California Adventure. Have you ever ridden this ride? It's fun! They shoot you up and down really fast in a broken elevator and you can't see what's going on and you laugh riotously and then you want to barf. [Walt would ROLL OVER in his grave. Or in his cryogenic tank.] See how I'm smiling like a doofus? Yeah... I think I can say with confidence that I am no longer handling life's ups and downs with that amount of alacrity (I've been waiting my whole LIFE to use that word in a sentence!). I think my brother-in-law, Manny, has captured the essence of how I've been feeling these past few months. He's the guy in the blue and white striped shirt, clinging to my sister's arm like a little girl (sorry Manny, it's true). Yeah. I feel more like that. Just closing my eyes, hanging on for dear life, dying for the ride to just stop already.

I think I'm struggling with adulthood.

Uh Kish!

So, how's everyone's summer vacation going? As you can see, the Haynes family summer has proceeded as follows: wake up, feed Tess, feed other children, clean up food mess, feed Tess, change eight hundred diapers, repeat. I haven't seen the sun in days.

On the bright side, Little DJ has finally warmed up to baby Tess. About ninety times a day he whines, "uh kish!" at me. This means that he wants to give Tess a kiss. [Another ninety times a day he yells, "UH JEWSH!" and then throws his empty sippy cup at me. Translation: "Mother, you are beautiful, intelligent, and I love and respect you. I appreciate that you have forgone a career outside of the home in order to care for me. Would you please fill my sippy cup with juice?"]

WHY?!

Why do wolf spiders like to hang out in piles of dirty laundry?! I was just sitting on the floor of my closet sorting through the laundry when this raccoon-sized wolf spider crawled out from under my husband's dirty pants and then proceeded to laugh at me and dart underneath one of my t-shirts. It took me four or five good whacks with DJ's enormous sneaker to kill the thing. I'm still shaking. I am in no condition to be battling wolf spiders right now! I HATE spiders. I especially hate spiders that hide in dirty laundry.

The end.

More of Tesslie Amelia

Don't you just love new babies? I can't stop taking pictures of Tess for some reason. She's such a mild-mannered baby. And see how my kids are lined up on the couch, their hair brushed, their clothing not covered with food and/or boogers, not hitting eachother over the head with toys? DJ and my sisters are responsible for that. I've basically been a worthless slug for the last week. I don't know why but for some reason it feels like someone took a knife to my stomach and ripped my guts out. Huh. Imagine that.

Welcome home, Tess!

She's finally here! Tess Amelia Haynes was born Thursday May 28th at 7:47 a.m. She weighed a whopping 6 lbs. 11 oz. and was 19 inches long. What a GIANT! In case you can't tell from the pictures, our little Tess was born with a little spot in her lip for her to put her Slurpie straw. We found out about a week before the c-section was scheduled that Tess might be born with a cleft lip. We were very fortunate-- Tess was born with her palate intact and only a very mild (is that the right word?) cleft lip. Surprisingly, my other kids haven't even asked about Tess's lip. Macey was more disturbed by her umbilical cord. I caught baby DJ trying to squish her top lip together yesterday. I just said, "Chancho, if you squish her lip together, how will she drink her Slurpies?"

Tess has been such a sweet, EASY baby. I have totally fallen in love with her. And who would've thought I would have such a teensy little baby? Macey brought Tess her toy duckie at the hospital because, "Tess doesn't have any toys yet," and the thing was bigger than Tess (not that that's saying much-- I've seen bananas bigger that Tess).

Have you ever...

Have you ever looked at a picture from your childhood and thought, "Why couldn't I just put on a dorky costume and pose like the other dorky kids?! Why, oh WHY did I just sit there picking my nose??"

Have you ever woken up (awakened?), looked in the mirror and thought, "Dangit! My hair is still trailer park blonde!"? Whenever I'm pregnant (which for me is, like, ALWAYS) I start to feel all grody and unfeminine and then I get these Crazy Ideas and that's when I start to do screwy things to my hair. (Everyone remember the crappy haircut I got when I was in Hawaii, pregnant with Chancho? Talk about a recipe for disaster-- pregnant and on vacation. I'm surprised I didn't dye my hair blue.) I have had some heinously bad hairdos in the course of my four pregnancies. Right now my hair is this ridiculously unnatural shade of blonde. A girl who works at a place where they normally only allow licensed professionals to work committed this act of bad hair against me. Now I have an appointment for this Saturday to have another licensed professional fix it.

Have you ever come to a screeching halt on the side of the road to buy Leamonade (that's what the sign said--with a capital L) from a suspicious-looking redhead because you feel bad for the poor kid, only to find that the "Leamonade" is seriously overpriced and actually not even Leamonade at all, but some form of Sugary Cherry-Flavored Drink that your kids (and the redheaded kid, too) end up spilling all over themselves and your car seats?

Have you ever been searching the house high and low for your one-year-old child, only to look out the window and see him halfway up the tree in your backyard?

Happy Cinco de Mayo...er...birthday, Macey!

We accidentally threw a Cinco de Mayo-themed birthday party for Macey. I say accidentally because I didn't intend for her cake to end up looking like a platter of guacamole. That was just one of those fortunate twists of fate. Macey really wanted to have a pinata, and since I'm a pretty big fan of whacking things with a stick to produce candy, I went along with the idea. So I went to Walmart in search of their cheapest pinata (you're just going to destroy it, right?). There were $20 High School Musical pinatas and Tinkerbell pinatas, and while I am not opposed to the idea of smacking Zac Efron in the face with an oar, I opted for the el-cheapo $10 parrot pinata that was actually Made In Meh-hee-co (mistake #1). And that was the last bit of thought that I put into the pinata.
So the eve of the birthday party came and it was time for the pinata. "Hmm... pinatas are usually hanging from something, aren't they?" I thought. That was when DJ had the brilliant idea to hang the pinata from our rake and wave it in front of the children's faces (mistake #2). "Hmm...the children will need something with which to whack the pinata..." I thought. So I sent DJ back into the garage in search of a whacking-device. He came back a few minutes later with an oar. I thought this was excellent, since I fully expected him to come back with a set of antlers. So we headed to the backyard with our rake, oar, and poorly-constructed parrot pinata. Oh yeah, and 15 or so crazy nieces and nephews.
As it turns out, pinatas usually hang from a rope for a good reason. Apparently our rake didn't provide the 'give' that the pinata needed to stay attached to the plastic hoop thing that it swings from. That's when we decided to invent a new game.


Pinata Golf


Which quickly degraded into...




Pinata Baseball















I'm so grateful that we decided to forgo the blindfolds.