Interview with an Elise

We caught up with Elise in her suburban St. George home on Wednesday night over a plate of nearly-burned wheat bread while her kids messed up her house. She was as classy, witty, and smelled as lovely as ever. In fact, there are many adjectives that end in "y" that would adequately describe her. Here's what she had to say:

Elise, your fans are dying to know how you spent your Christmas holiday. Was it as wondrous and sugar plummy as we have imagined?

Indeed.



Would you care to elaborate?


I suppose I cannot disappoint my public. First, Macey got us all in the Christmas spirit by challenging everyone to a grueling chess tournament every afternoon. It was rather competitive. I overheard Chancho tell Macey after she swiped his rook, "Ha ha, Macey...I have another wook!"



I see that you're having a difficult time bending your neck or turning your head from side to side. Have you been injured in some way?


Yes. I have debilitating stiffness in my spine due to sleeping with the leg of a three-year-old under my neck all night. Thanks for noticing.


That looks incredibly uncomfortable, not to mention ridiculous. Why don't you make Chancho sleep in his own bed?


Are you serious? How can I say no to this:




So, did Chancho get that bike for Christmas and does he enjoy riding it all over your cul de sac with his helmet on backwards and no shoes on his feet?


Yes, his aunt Sheree bought it for him, and yes, he rides around

and around the cul de sac.

What else did Santa bring your kids this year?

Barbie scooters and copious amounts of sugar. Santa can be such an idiot sometimes.

What is that thing stuck in Tess's hair?

An entire candy cane.


And what did Santa Claus bring for Tess this year?


A stroller and a doll that is "so fluffy [she's] gonna die!"


Of all of the presents your family received this year, which one is your favorite, not that you should have a favorite?


Hands down, my favorite gift(s) were the pictures that my parents had taken of my children. They borrowed my children one afternoon in November for a "play date," drove out to a creepy abandoned house in the desert, and had a photographer take pictures of them. It's a good thing my parents are not psychopaths, that scenario could have ended much differently.









Can you update us on the situation with your yellow cleaning gloves?

The warts are getting worse. I'd really like to get to the bottom of this, but I haven't gotten any further than taking pictures of them and thinking about them while I'm falling asleep.


Overall, what is the most disturbing thing you saw DJ eat this holiday season?


Canned oysters, which were a white elephant gift that he received. (How do you buy a funny white elephant gift for a man who is disgusted by nothing? The only thing I can think of that would gross him out is if I were to wrap up another man in a box and have him jump out and kiss DJ square on the lips.)


Why did DJ take part in Parowan High School's production of Grease his senior year?


He needed an art credit to graduate. Why do you ask?


Because it is so funny to me that DJ was in a high school musical wherein he had to dance around in cuffed jeans and a tight, white t-shirt. He even had a line: "Nice car!"


But Grease doesn't have anything to do with Christmas.


Neither do yellow cleaning gloves or chess. Last question. How many times did you end up hearing Drummer Boy this year?


Thirteen. I'm guessing they had a lot of complaints last year.

It's a miracle.

Yes, it is.

Everything from UFC to blind nudists

Can't stand: UFC. I'm not even going to pretend to be the cool wife who supports her husband in his desire to watch a UFC fight. Sorry. I don't like the hitting and the kicking, even recreationally. I'm mildly disgusted that my husband wants to see it. Tonight he's watching two grown men (who have no previous grievances with each other) pummel each other repeatedly, and what am I doing? Writing about it.

Like: She-ra. Macey and I discovered that it's instantly watchable on Netflix and our lives will never be the same. After all, she is the "princess of power! ower! ower! ower! ower!"

Can't stand: "Drummer Boy" I enjoyed this song until last year, when I heard 31, 652 versions of it on the radio. This year I've decided to keep track of how many times my ears are assaulted by "bah-rum-puh-pum-pum"s, so I have a tally sheet stuck to my fridge with a goldfish magnet. So far this season: six times. Six. That's counting Pandora and Star 98 FM. It's a Christmas miracle!

Like: Shannon Hale's books. I've never read one that I disliked.

Can't stand: When you're at the drive through and the person taking your order asks you "Will that be all?" after every item you order.

Like: Michael Jackson's music. Tuesday night was my husband's siblings' Christmas party and we danced to Michael on the Wii. I danced to "Black or White" and discovered that in some areas it does matter if you're black or white, particularly in dancing. I'm genetically disposed to excel at dances that are performed in either a square or a line. I cannot dance like a Jackson. I did a decent impersonation of someone having an epileptic fit, though.

Can't stand: Cold weather and short days. You may have noticed that I'm especially unpleasant at this time of the year. Obviously I need to move to the Caribbean.

Like: When people I know drive by when I'm running downhill because I look fast.

Can't stand: Running uphill.

Like: The seat warmer button in my Tahoe. Not the button so much as what pushing the button accomplishes: warmed up bum.

Can't stand: Having a cold bum. I read once that it has something to do with fat not having as good of circulation as muscle. That can't be it. Have you seen my bum? Exactly.

Like: Using the seat warmer button to keep food warm when I transport it. Is that gross? Do I care?

Can't stand: The whole system of calories needing to be burned or else they turn into muffin tops. We need to do something about this. I'm tired of having to think about calories.

Like: Teaching primary. I'm learning a lot.

Can't stand: Clothes. I know that I'm supposed to wear them, technically. I hate selecting them in the morning, washing them, buying them, ironing them, coordinating them. I want out. I'm moving to a blind nudists colony.

Like: The idea that a blind nudist colony might exist somewhere.

Can't stand: The ants who live in my dishwasher. They are a stubborn bunch. We've had professionals spray them. I've sprayed them. It hasn't killed them. All it's done is tick them off and cause them to reproduce exponentially. In that way, they remind me of the early members of the Mormon church.

Like: Fantasy. I recently read a library book that had a purple sticker on the spine that had a unicorn kicking its feet (hooves?) in the air. It was a Fantasy book; that's what the unicorn sticker said. I felt silly reading this book even though I enjoyed it immensely. Like by just reading this book I was declaring to the world, "Reality is no longer sufficient. I want to live in a fantasy world. And this is what I fantasize about: Unicorns." But it was a good book, and I've decided that I enjoy living in a fantasy world.

Can't stand: Made-up fantasy book names. Or any made-up name, for that matter. I realize that all names were made up at some point, and it would be nonsensical for someone who was riding a unicorn under two moons to be named, say, Brittany. Nevertheless, the made up names annoy me. I know they are sort of necessary, but it doesn't make them any less irritating. Just like clothes.

Hang on, there's a Lamborghini at the end, I promise!

I've been busy lately, doing many important and influential things. At least, from what I gather from the pictures I've uploaded, I've been busy. With what, you ask? Well. Let's get down to business (to defeat! The Huns!).

First, I came home from my morning run (a.k.a. "I'mgonnadieI'mgonnadieI'mgonnadie! SomeonepleaseSHOOTme!" party) the other day and found Tess all suited up for a day of critical toddler business:
Pink felt frog jammies? Check. Blue lame and tulle skirt? Check. Teal cheetah print fairy wings? Check. All right! Let's go unroll an entire roll of toilet paper and then eat some lip gloss!

Next, my husband put this tree out of its misery:

And then we brought it into our home for further humiliation and torture:

We chose this tree for many reasons. 1. We were tired of looking and looking for a cone-shaped pinion pine 2. We are tired of our kids yanking the ornaments off of the bottom half of the tree. 3. I felt bad for it. 4. Maybe Santa can fit a beach house under there? 4. I wanted to go home. Voila!

Sometime undetermined amount of time after that, I found warts on my favorite yellow cleaning gloves. I then found my camera, went to the room in my house that has the best natural lighting, and took a picture of my warty gloves:

(Do you think household cleaners that give your gloves WARTS are bad for the environment? I can think of no other plausible explanation for these glove warts. I can tell you one thing, though, I'm calling those babies my GLORTS from now on.)

And now, the grand finale. I would like a drumroll, so if you don't have a snare drum handy you're going to have to do that thing with your tongue. Ready? And, DRUMROLL!

B-D-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d......

If I had any delusions about being the coolest parent at my girls' school, I don't anymore. Not since I saw this little yellow humdinger parked in the kindergarten pickup zone. Who picks their kid up from school in a Lamborghini? Cool rich people, that's who. I bet it doesn't even smell like stale French fries.

a Thanksgiving gift from me to you

I thought I'd give you guys a break from all of the sappy thankfulness blogs out there and post some funny videos, because of all of the things that I am grateful for, I am truly grateful for people who are funny, intentionally or no. (Runnnnnn onn sennnnntennnnce!)

I think they're funny, anyway. I'm guessing you'll think either A) "I saw this video back in, like, 2008," or something really judgmental like, B) "Elise needs to pray and read her scriptures more often. If she did, she would realize that this is offensive."

Both thoughts are probably true. Nevertheless, and without very much further ado, I present to you:

Two YouTube Videos For Which I Am Grateful
(Perhaps a new tradition in the making....)




Sorry, Mom.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Happy Birthday, Mom!

I am an addict.

I have been since I was a child, but I never realized it until now. And as we all know, the first step to overcoming addiction is realizing that you have a problem.

It seems like the more I use, the more I need.

There is never enough.

When I had my children I thought that I wouldn't need it as much, but it turns out that I need more. I need more now than I ever have.

Now my children are hooked, too. But I don't share mine with them like I should.

I wake up every morning with a fresh batch of it, only to discover at the end of the day that I've wasted most of it.

Sometimes it lasts forever, sometimes it goes too quickly. Usually it goes too quickly.


My drug of choice is in high demand, but there is a limited supply.


There isn't enough. I can't get enough. I will never have enough time.


Speaking of the passing of time, yesterday was my mom's 55th birthday. I threw her a Pink Princess Party with pink streamers, balloons, and excessive alliteration. (This seemed like suitable revenge for the black balloon bouquet that she gave me for my 30th birthday.) I accidentally put 57 candles on her cake(s). I was going to take the extra candles off but DJ told me, and I quote (you can tell by these: ""): "It looks better when you complete the row." So, don't tell my mom, but I think I just shortened her life by two years.

Look at all of those candles!

Each one of those candles represents an important year:
1955: The year of my mother's birth. Also the year that George McFly kissed Lorraine and Marty repaired the space-time continuum.

1955-1979: A lot of important things happened, like my parents getting married, NASA landing on the moon, Rowe v. Wade, etc.

1980: The year I was born.

1990: The year everyone learned to line dance.

1995: One word: Lowell.

1995-2010: We'll call this the Accumulation of Grandchildren period. Fifteen and counting.

Here's us celebrating 55 awesome years:We love you, Mom! Happy birthday!

Just decluttering my brain.

Want to hear something weird, and not in the least bit preachy like last time? Let's discuss pumpkin pie. I am compelled to hoard pumpkin pie at this time of year. I get all panicky because I know that $5.99 Costco pies are a limited-time-only item (right? I never even look at other times of the year). So, I buy pie. And then I eat it for breakfast even though I told Chancho that he couldn't. So in addition to being a glutton, I'm a hypocrite. But you already knew that.

Now, let's discuss The Lift.
I just watched the video of The Lift (you know-- "I had the tiiiime of my liiiiife!") from Dirty Dancing on YouTube. Sometimes I watch it when I'm feeling down. It perks me right up. Anyway, one of the commenters said this: "THIS IS HOW REAL LIFE SHOULD REALLY BE. I WISH FOR THIS MOMENT." In all caps. I have only one thing to say about that: Amen. Life should be like having a sweaty man lift us over his head so that we can fly. Like a bird. And why not bring perms back, while we're at it?

Let's discuss Flecks of Gold, by Alicia Buck. I bought this book (along with a pie) the other night at Costco when the author was signing them. I read it last night and this morning when I should have been scrubbing the toilets. Go find a copy and read it. It's a really fun story. I'm serious. Go.





You're still here? Then let's discuss Tiffany, because I'm in an 80's kind of mood.


This song reminds me of being nine. I loved this song when I was nine. Now I listen to it on my iPod when I run. Tiffany has inspired me to flirtatiously play with my hair more than I already do. (I told you you should've left after Flecks of Gold.)

Awkward Silence

So, I got my hair cut the other month. Does any one else dread the obligatory haircut conversation?
“So, where’d you go to hair school?”
“Evan’s.”
“Huh.”
(awkward silence)
“Are you from around here?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’d you go to high school?”
“Snow Canyon. I graduated in 2005.”
“Huh. I don’t know anyone your age.”
(more awkward silence)
As my hairdresser applied goop and foil to my tresses, we discovered that we have a mutual acquaintance who is an in-law of mine, who shall remain nameless.
Always thrilled to have something to talk about besides hair, I said, “Yeah…I’m married to her [handsome male relative]. Small world!”
After more awkward conversation about this tiny thread of a connection between us there was an awkward pause and the hairdresser said, “So, wasn’t your husband’s dad kind of a…creep?”
In defense of the hairdresser, I could tell she didn’t want to say it--that my father-in-law was a creep. But apparently they don’t teach vocabulary in hair school. It was the only word her hairdresser brain had access to.
I was taken off guard by this perfect stranger’s one-word assessment of my father-in-law. I’ve never met my father-in-law; he passed away when my husband was eleven years old. He had weaknesses and flaws like most mortals I’ve met. My husband loves his father despite his faults--which is a key component of the gospel of Jesus Christ, I think. (I’d like for everyone to love me, despite my glaring flaws. And I love my father-in-law, too, despite the fact that I’ve never met him. I like to think that he thinks I’m awesome.) Everyone has imperfections, some are just more obvious than others. One thing I’m sure of, though, is that the Atonement covers everyone. Even people who are tactless.
I gave the hairdresser a condensed version of the previous paragraph and told her that I was completely surprised that our mutual acquaintance felt that way about my father-in-law. She sort of apologized and changed the subject to something that was more in her depth--pomade? I don’t remember. The point is, I learned a valuable lesson that day. Here’s the epiphany I had when my head was covered in foil and I looked like a doofus:
Awkward silence is the fertile ground in which crappy gossip seeds thrive.
Put that on your wall in vinyl, ladies.
(I’m not saying that I’m not guilty of this; in fact, I’m probably the worst offender. It was just a realization I had. Something to chew on. Something I’m going to work on. I'll be back to my usual buffoonery tomorrow.)

Well, dat was easy!

So...Halloween. Tess carried on the Haynes family tradition of being Stitch and having everyone think she's both Eeyore and a boy. This has been going on since 2006, with Olivia and DJ preceding her. Sadly, I don't think anyone will fit in the Stitch costume next year. I suppose it's time to return it to Lisa, since I promised her I'd "give it right back" when I borrowed it back in '06. (Has everyone made a mental note to never loan me anything?) Tess got really tired.

We posed on the hood of our car.

Now we're down to the Smarties and Pixie Sticks and sucked-on Tootsie Pops stuck to the side of the bag, and I've had it with the whole institution.

In related news, DJ and I have started running together. For exercise. This feat is made possible thanks to our double jogging stroller and the fact that my older girls are in school in the morning. Normally, I love my jogging stroller. However, when the tires are nearly flat it's kind of like pushing a 100 pound sack of potatoes down the trail. And then when Tess starts crying halfway through it's like pushing a 100 pound sack of really loud potatoes.

When we pulled up to the porch on our first day DJ and I were both huffing and puffing and glistening with WWF wrestler-esque sweat. It was very attractive. Tess was screaming her guts out, presumably because the sun was in her eyes. (I'm sorry, Tess. I can give you milk. Bundle you up in layers. But there's nothing I can do about the sun. You're a bat.) Chancho slid out of the stroller and declared, "Well, dat was easy," and sauntered into the house ahead of us.

I cannot wait to pull that one out and reuse it on him. When he graduates from college--well, dat was easy! When he comes home from his mission--well, dat was easy! You get the idea.

Chocolate Cake, Costumes, and a Wubbie

Macey wrote a story for me the other night. I was lounging on the couch reading and she brought it to me, smiling proudly behind her new spectacles. It's a mystery called My Secrit Cake, by Macey Bella Haynes. It reads: "My secrit cake. I love IT! But Mom says no. The cake is All gone. The End."

Here are my thoughts after reading her story: First, there is no arc. There wasn't any time spent developing the main character. And I was left with so many questions, namely, where did the cake go? What became of the cake between the time that the main character declared her love for it and its disappearance?

Reading her story also reminded me that I still had one piece of my leftover birthday cake wrapped in saran wrap, hidden on the top shelf of my fridge. I opened the fridge to get my cake, but it was mysteriously missing. There was an empty plate, which had frosting-smeared saran wrap twisted off to the sides. There were chocolate crumbs on the shelves of the fridge, as though someone snuck into the fridge to eat it. But no cake. It was mysterious, just like Macey's story.

Speaking of children and the lengths they will go to in their quest for sugar, lookie here:

This was my kids' school Halloween parade. Three things about Halloween: 1. I love free candy. 2. I love that children really get into character. 3. I loathe the entire costume-selling industry. How is it possible that one can purchase a decently-made t-shirt and shorts at Target for $9 and it will last an entire season, barring unforeseen scissor mishaps, but a Halloween costume costing seventeen dollars (which is made of Velcro and felt, by the way) shreds in the first ten minutes of wear? How do you justify yourselves, costume makers?!

This is part of why I love my nephew Casey's costume. He really sticks it to the costume selling industry. If you can't tell, he's Indiana Jones. What do you need for an Indie costume? Church pants? Church shirt? Fedora? You're all set. Surely he would've had his whip, if it wasn't for the school ban on weaponry. I move that next year we're all Indiana Jones for Halloween.

Finally, here's a picture of Tess with her wubbie. She likes to chew on it when she's stressed out. I need a wubbie.

The Glasses

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Elise, why haven't you ever posted a picture of Lisa Loeb, one hit wonder of the early nineties?"
Well, today is your lucky day. "You say...I only hear what I want to...." (This will be the soundtrack for today's post, since it's stuck in my head now.) Macey got glasses yesterday. She only had to fail three eye exams for us to break down and get them. We were like, "All right kid, we get it. You're blind. What do you want, glasses?!" We took her to the Walmart Vision Center for her fourth eye exam (which she failed). I'll be honest, I had reservations about receiving health care from Walmart. Then I figured, I eat the food that Walmart sells. Is this that much different? And it's good practice for when Obama's healthcare plan gets underway. Anyway, it turns out that Macey is far-sighted in one eye and near-sighted in the other. And she has astigmatism. Whatever that means. I think she looks a little bit like Lisa Loeb, except that she's blonde and a child.

(In other news, DJ got called back on one of the jobs he applied for in Tennessee. The other job. The job that we said we'd definitely take if it was offered to us. He's flying out there to interview for it next week. We got the call the morning after I unpacked the last box, so, joke's on me.)

Important Discoveries

I turned thirty on Friday. Last year I shared Gumwads of Wisdom in honor of my birthday. This year I will share my Important Discoveries, because I'm a lot like Christopher Columbus in that I make Important Discoveries and people celebrate me once a year.

Here they are, my Important Discoveries:

1. Illegal fireworks make an excellent substitute if you forget to buy birthday candles. Anyone catch the illegal firework action around 7:30 on Friday night? Happy birthday to me.

2. Skinny jeans aren't so bad. Yes, I once felt as you do: skinny jeans make the wearer look like a Seuss character and there is no possible way that they are comfortable. Skinny jeans are a silly trend like pegged pants, organic food, and Barack Obama. I tried some on during my birthday shopping, mostly as a joke, but partly because I like to torture myself.
"Ha ha," I thought to myself, "this is going to be a hoot."
I chose a pair two sizes larger than I normally wear, just to be safe. (Safety first when trying on skinny jeans, that's my motto.)
After trying them on, I made three sub-discoveries:
a) The importance of removing your shoes before putting on skinny jeans cannot be emphasized enough.
b) Skinny jeans don't flop around your ankles and get wet in puddles, two attributes of normal pants that I can't stand.
c) Skinny jeans are super comfortable (if you wear them two sizes too large).

3. Nutella. On toast. On bagels. On tortillas. On a butterknife. On your finger. In a box. With a fox. On a train. In the rain. When I die I want to be buried with a tub of Nutella.

4. I'd rather spend the $6 that it costs to eat at Panda Express than spend an hour deep frying chicken chunks, coating them in sauce, and making fried rice from scratch. Another lesson learned the hard way.

5. An easy way to become fluent in conversational Japanese is to watch the entire first season of Heroes in one week.

6. I guess I'm going through an Asian phase, because I also read a book called Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet and really enjoyed it. It's about a little Chinese American boy who falls in love with a little Japanese American girl and then she gets sent to an internment camp because it was World War II and in times of war the Constitution can be thrown out the window. Wait...what?!

7. According to my calculations, I go through an Asian phase once every ten years.

8. Thirty is over the hill. At least, according to the bouquet of black balloons my loving mother brought to me it is.

8. Being thirty isn't that different from being twenty-nine, except that you feel really old and you start to see crow's feet and your kids start shopping around for rest homes, despite the fact that you are obviously wearing skinny jeans and there is no possible way that you are in your thirties.

Well, that's it. Those are my discoveries. Maybe I'll think up some more tomorrow.

I love you guys! Thanks for thirty awesome years!

Did you miss me?

I tried to write the nutshell version of what we've been up to for the last month and it almost put me in a coma. And comas are no laughing matter. So, here's the abridged, condensed, pulp-free, nutshell version, which I also ran through a cheesecloth:

1. We drove from Tennessee to Utah. This required us to load our van onto this fancy U-haul dolly. Here's the only picture that I got of our rig. This was a pit stop in New Mexico, whose motto is "New Mexico: You'll like it more than you think."

2. We got to St. George and saw this guy on the freeway:
(I apologize if he is your friend/brother/cousin/husband. I feel the need to repent for taking this picture. Sometimes when I see people, my mind immediately begins to wonder why they do the things that they do. Like this guy. Is it chaffage? Is he trying to get rid of his farmer's tan? Is he just enjoying the breeze? I hate not knowing. I think if you're going to ride your motorcycle like that, at least have the decency to wear a sandwich board with a full explanation painted on it.)

3. Like three minutes after we pulled into St. George the fuel pump on my Tahoe broke. I would like to talk for a minute about God. I don't talk a lot of religion on my blog, but I would like to point out how my car made it from Utah to Minnesota to Utah to Minnesota to Tennessee and back to Utah this summer before this $300 car part went kaput--a half a mile from my awesome mechanic uncle Bill's house. Coincidence? I think not. You know that quote about coincidences being miracles wherein God has chosen to remain anonymous? Well. Thank you, Father in Heaven. I know it was you.

4. Macey is going through the Mandatory Horse Loving Phase, which, if you couldn't tell from the title, is mandatory for little girls age five through twelve. We listened to General Conference on some AM radio station, went for a drive, and stumbled across this farm:

5. Speaking of Macey, she gave Olivia a haircut with my kitchen scissors. I had to cut off seven inches to even it out. Macey may one day make a full recovery.

6. We moved into a new house. I unpacked things that have been in storage for five months and I haven't thought about them once, including:

• half a bag of Frosted Mini Spooners.
• a broken bowl
• really ugly clothes that I haven't worn since 2005
• a stack of Dan Brown books that my sister-in-law loaned me two years ago
  

7. Crow's feet. Crap. When did that happen?! Judging by the picture, sometime before New Mexico.

Ultimate Party Weekend

I promised my mom that I'd post pictures of our party weekend. The problem is that I'm not in the mood to write anything. My sister Lisa and niece Paige surprised my kids by coming for a visit this weekend. This is where I would normally write something amazingly funny about how I tricked my kids into cleaning their room by telling them that Hannah Montana was coming for a sleepover. Lisa is the ultimate party animal. She brought a chocolate cake and presents and threw an unbirthday party for the kids.We drove for an hour and a half to go to a restaurant that had an hour and a half wait so we ended up going to Chick-Fil-A. [insert your own Chick-Fil-A joke here] We also saw Ramona and Beezus at the drive in. When I rolled the seats back for the kids to watch the movie I'm pretty sure I found my neighbor's missing cat and roughly three thousand half crayons.

It was the party weekend to end all party weekends. I gained twenty pounds. Every one of my kids had at least one "this is the worst day ever!" meltdown. Lisa spoiled all of us rotten. Lisa is my hero.

My brain is shutting down now.

On the bright side, I think we're leaving Nashville tomorrow. It's a 28 hour drive. The next time you hear from me I will be writing from St. George. Or from Nashville. Who knows. As of right this minute, we're leaving tomorrow. Or maybe not.

Finding Joie de Vivre

See these buildings? They are in our apartment complex. I ripped these pictures off of our apartment complex website to illustrate the story of how I accidentally threw DJ's car keys onto our neighbor's second floor balcony. We live on the third floor. Long story short, I throw like a girl.

But enough about that story, aren't these pictures great? Doesn't my apartment complex look like shangri la? I have two words for you:

False. Advertising.

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate having a comfortable home to live in. However. I've lived in these apartments for three months now. I've used the gym. I've never once seen this going on in there:On the other hand, I have heard of DJ's coworkers taking chips and b..., I mean, soda into the gym and sitting on the weight lifting bench to watch TV. Talk about luxurious living!

I haven't done any of this, either:

Although I would love to learn how to play the guitar. How is it possible that I've lived in Nashville for three months and I still don't know how to play the guitar?! What am I doing with my life?! I guess I did learn how to make really good corn bread, so that's something...

Get a load of this couple:

I've never seen them around the complex. Hmm. Don't they look like they have a passionate relationship? Here's their dialog:

Javier: "I've been a fool, my orange blossom. Won't you forgive me?"

Natasha: "Stop it, Javier. I will never forgive you for what you've done, no matter how much cologne you wear, or if you shower me with lavish gifts and champagne."

Javier: "Your smile is a warm sunrise, your voice is like a choir of baby angels, your kneecaps are like ripe nectarines...." (he begins sniffing her hair)

Natasha: (swooning) "Oh, Javier! Ours is such a passionate relationship! Just like Julia Roberts and that Brazilian guy who looks like Robert Downey Jr. in Eat Pray Love!"

I'll be honest, I envy Natasha a little. Aside from the fact that she obviously leads a life of luxury and ease, she has a certain joie de vivre that I have been lacking of late. Here's to you, Natasha.

(Of course, I doubt Natasha has ever heard her three-year-old son yell, "Mom, you're missing my poop!" from the bathroom. Poor Natasha.)

A Rare Look

Have I been eating M&M's by the fistful?

Yes.

Should that keep me from writing?

Probably.

Am I still going to write something because I don't care what people think, plus I'm riding an M&M high?

Oh, you bet your booty!

(I don't understand the saying "you bet your booty," but it can't imply anything wholesome. Prostitution. Piracy. You name it.) Enough stalling. Elise, if your walls could talk, what would they say?

They'd say, "Get. Your kids. OFF of me."

Were you the last person in the world to read Mockingjay?

Second to the last--DJ still hasn't read it. We were supposed to read it together, but I cheated. Don't tell him, he'll be so mad.

How did you like it?

I liked it just fine. (!!SPOILER ALERT!!) Is it just me, or was there not enough closure, like the author had to cram two books into one? And a randomly placed period at the beginning of a paragraph on page 387, about which every editor at Scholastic is palm-smacking their foreheads? I'm glad Katniss ended up killing President Dial. I'm glad she ended up with Peeta. There just wasn't enough dialog in the ending for my taste. I was thoroughly entertained, though. I read it all day yesterday.

And what were your kids doing while you were reading?

Piggy back rides.

Where does Macey get her brute strength from?

It's a Haynes thing. My sister-in-law Tisha is freakishly strong like that. I arm wrestled her once; I won't make that mistake again.

Why did this go from a self-conducted interview to a two-person interview?

Huh?

Ugh. You idiot. So, how's potty training DJ going?

I got him some Thomas the Train undies today; he has soiled every last one of them.

Are you sure that's how you're supposed to use a semi-colon?

No, but I don't care; semi-colons make you look smart.

What else did you do today?

I went running. I made whole wheat buttermilk pancakes. I went to Walmart. I sat in the bathroom watching DJ sit on the Elmo potty chair, playing with his dingy. I changed wet underwear (not mine) four minutes later. I went to vacuum my car but decided I wanted to save my quarters for a rainy day, so I just threw my trash away instead. I picked up my girls from school and made a new list of goals on the back of an envelope while I waited. I supervised homework time. Baked a lasagna. Mailed some bills. Packed tomorrow's lunches. Ate like three pounds of M&M's. What did you do?

Pretty much the same thing, thanks for asking. When you see your daily activities compiled into a short paragraph like that, do you wonder why you didn't go to law school?

Sometimes. But then I think of my new friend, Hiroe ("Hee-ROW-eh"). She is awesome. She attended law school at BYU, practiced for a while, and then chose to be a stay-at-home mom. She appears content, even fulfilled, doing it. It's inspiring. She also makes really good miso soup.

You've been checking Craigslist every day for a home for rent in St. George. Would you care to explain?

We're moving home at the end of September, unless DJ gets a job that he applied for here. We're moving again. Story of our lives.

Tell me about it! Well, it's been a pleasure interviewing you today. You are charming, charismatic, and as lovely as always.

(blushing) You didn't have to say that!

Yes, I did. You're emotionally needy.

Oopthie! Awe, NUTth!

Whatever happens tonight, it's going to be brilliant. I just ate two (2) bowls of sugar cereal (Golden Grahams) for dinner (for dinner). Let the games begin!

I took some time to do a lot of serious pondering and reflecting in my four day hiatus from blogging. It was a time of great personal growth for me, but now there's a lot to catch up on.

Friday was Olivia's fifth birthday. She's growing up fast but she still has a little lisp that I think is totally cute. (For example, after spilling the box of Junior Mints that I had hidden inside of my book all over the counter or dropping her orange jell-o on the carpet she says, "Oopthie! Awe, NUTth!")

Here's documentation of her party:

Tess was thinking: "This birthday party BLOWS. I'd so be outta here if I could walk."

Chancho was thinking: "I can't believe it's my birthday again!"

Macey was thinking: "CAKE! Cake, cake, cake, cake..."

Olivia was thinking: "Prethenth! Prethenth, prethenth, prethenth..."

On Monday we went out to NYNY Pizza and got free balloon animals. If you were within a two mile radius of my children that night I'm sure you heard their squeals of glee. Olivia asked the balloon man to fashion her balloon into "My mom, Halloween 2007. Kind of a blonde-haired thumo wrethler wearing a pink gown." The resemblance is uncanny. He also made an orange train (?) for Chancho and a horse (?) for Macey. Balloon Man, we salute you.

I put Tess's hair into the Double Atom Bomb Ponytails of Joy this week. It was a monumental occasion. I took a picture. She ripped them out. We went back to eating tortilla chips and playing basketball.

The End.