Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Witty Title

Update time. Let's go youngest to oldest.

Tess (a.k.a. Tessida, Baby Love, Stressly)

Age: 2.5

Loves: applying Chapstick, steak for breakfast, painting her nails, eating imaginary frogs, milk, her wubbie, grumpy old farts (i.e. Gru from Despicable Me, the Grinch, etc.), Elmo, cats, and salsa.

D.J. (a.k.a. Chancho)

Age: 4.5

Loves: Monster trucks, mass destruction in any form, orange, trains, orange trains, anything with wheels under it, pushing his sister's buttons, Cars-shaped chicken nuggets, road construction equipment, "Boom Boom Pow" by the Black-Eyed Peas.

Olivia (a.k.a. Livie Livie Lou Fuss Fuss, Lia Lia Quesadilla)

Age: 6.3

Loves: teddy bears, Junie B. Jones books, giving gifts, porcelain dolls, riding her bike, McDonald's Happy Meals, chocolate milk, coloring, playing the piano, learning about the universe, but NOT loud noises.

Macey (a.k.a. Fez, Bella, Macey Face)

Age: 7.5

Loves: earning money, horses, playing pranks like throwing ice water on her OWN MOTHER in the shower, riding her bike, praise, listening to my iPod, bossing people around, exercising her independence, learning the piano, hugging, sending text messages.

Darrell (a.k.a. D.J., Dad)

Age: 29.9

Loves: Alaska, shooting at animals, money-making schemes, guns, his wife, his iPad, cold weather, fishing, movies with good vindication (think The Count of Monte Cristo), 1980s Toyota pickup trucks, snoring, fixating on things, Sportsman's Warehouse, beef jerky, trying to negotiate the price of everything, crappy Mexican food, the theme music from Legends of the Fall.

Elise (a.k.a. Moooooom, I want some egg nog!)

Age: 31.1

Loves: summer, D.J., baking sugary treats, word games like Scrabble and Words With Friends, Benja Thai, running, buying music on iTunes, having my back scratched, barbecued meats, laughing at things, elasticized clothing, making lists, Facebook, green apple Chapstick, cheeseburgers, READING, rain, Chevy Tahoes, convenient packaging, Lake Powell, smart people, green smoothies.
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Wednesday, December 7, 2011

So there, Us magazine

At 2:30 Monday morning our Christmas tree fell over. I use the term "tree" loosely. Stupid "tree."

Later that morning, my cousin Bodie broke my toilet open with a big wrench to figure out why it wouldn't flush. There was a smallish wooden ball in the pipes. (For the record, I do not feed small wooden ball toys to my children.) After being smashed to smithereens by a wrench, however, the toy ball was the least of our toilet's problems.

I escaped the toilet situation by going to Walmart during Christmas. You know what I hate about Walmart? Almost everything. You know what I love about Walmart? That I always see my friends there. And the low prices.

That evening we hosted the Haynes Christmas party. Since DJ's parents and three of his grandparents have passed away it was just DJ's siblings and our children here for the party. Do you know what this means?! I'm the third oldest person in our branch of the Haynes tree. DJ's sister is a month older than me and here is the last remaining grandparent:

You decide. Is Macey a really tall seven-year-old or is grandma Marilyn a really short 76-year-old?

I'm not actually sure if grandma is 76. She might be 75 or 74. Anyone? I would know if Grandma was on Facebook. Come on, Grandma!

Chancho's wildest fantasies came true in the form of a Christmas train:

My husband never reads this blog and as punishment I post pictures of him in his patriotic jammie pants. To prove that I still have a soul, here is surveillance footage of me in my scary jammies:

Can I tell you how much I adore those ratty old sweats? They are--nay, WERE--DJ's Marine Corps sweatpants. They are soft and warm and huge and absolutely non-binding. You know what I DON'T adore? That our security system has documented my sweats and they are now floating around in a complex web of satellites and internets that I don't fully understand and it seems absolutely feasible that they (the sweats) might turn up on the cover of Us magazine. I am preemptively posting them here so that I can explain how comfy they are. So there, Us magazine.
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Thursday, December 1, 2011

a gift for all of us

Everyone (and by everyone I mean my husband) keeps asking me what I want for Christmas and I've finally figured it out. Someone needs to figure out a way to duplicate me. Believe me, this will be a gift for all of us. I would like three clones of myself: one for cleaning my oven, one for figuring out how to make the wedding cake that I've been asked to make, and one for concocting the 20 table centerpieces that I've been asked to make for our ward Christmas party which falls on the same day as the wedding. Let's make this happen, people.


In related news, I've begun a new ritual wherein I wake up every morning at 4:00 and have a panic attack about the wedding cake and the table decorations and Christmas and the 2012 presidential elections and Darfur and melting polar ice caps and I don't fall asleep again until 3:45 in the afternoon when I'm on Bluff Street driving the carpool. It's exciting.

[Think of something witty to write here as a segue.]

Thanksgiving was awesome.

Since you guys are already busily discovering a way to duplicate me, can you figure out how to breed a five-legged turkey while you're at it? Between DJ and my four children there never seem to be enough turkey legs to go around. With the exception of Disneyland, I'm not a fan of the turkey legs. I'm not fond of being smacked in the face by snapping turkey leg ligaments. But the other people I live with? They're sickos.

After Thanksgiving we cut down our Christmas tree. It was kinda chilly in Pine Valley this year, so after searching for a while I decide to wait it out in the car with my kids, my Carpenter's Christmas CD, and my bag of mini old fashioned donuts. I gave DJ my full Christmas tree power of attorney.

I am an IDIOT.

He had to cut the bottom AND the top off to fit it in our house. Even then he had to snap it into place like one of those toilet paper dispenser things.

I guess that's all I've got to say today. Chancho keeps getting all up in my face and yelling "CAN I PLAY ANGRY BIRDS????" and blowing his bacon breath all over me. That's my cue.

Happy December, everyone!
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