The Day My Phone Got Dropped in the Toidie, By Elise Haynes

We have had a day, let me tell you, and it's all that chubby little baby's fault.  It all started with me needing to write this thing for this website.  I wrote it and then I didn't like what I wrote, so I rewrote it.  And then I didn't like the rewrite so I went with the original anyway.  Argh.  I was preoccupied.  During this writing and rewriting process, Chancho was playing Angry Birds on my phone. 

I'm too pooped [rimshot!] to tell the whole story, but suffice it to say that my phone got dropped into an unflushed toilet.  And then wiped clean and placed back in my purse by an incredibly penitent four-year-old. 

Fortunately for me, I selected my husband based on his expertise in two areas--pyrotechnics and fixing phones that have been dropped into sewage water.  He put my phone into a Ziploc bag of rice, which will supposedly draw the moisture out of the phone.  (I would've thought this was a job for the jasmine rice--it's kind of Asian, Asians make electronics.  DJ went with the long grain white rice.  He's the expert, I guess.)

Pray for my phone, guys.  I need it to see all of the stuff on Pinterest that I could do if I didn't spend all of my time on Pinterest.

Wheatgrass Juice in the Privacy of My Kitchen

Someone. I need victory music, something in the vein of "We Are the Champions" by Queen. Crank up your ghetto blasters. Behold:

I know, I know...it looks like a plastic cup full of bile. What if I told you that that single fluid ounce of liquid is the result of eight days of the painstaking sprouting and watering and nurturing of THIS:

You would feel pity for me, wouldn't you? Or at least you would humor me in the same way I humor my children when they surprise me with their unique sense of fashion:



(Wheatgrass-growing resolution? Check! And it's only January 19th. I wonder what I'll do for the rest of the year.)

For the record, I have tasted wheatgrass juice before. I used to buy it at the crunchy smoothie store for like three bucks a shot. Drinking it in the privacy of my own kitchen is an entirely different ball of wax. You know what? Wheatgrass juice tastes super nasty when you're not surrounded by a bunch of Chacos-wearing hippies. Today, I was about two grassy burps away from upchucking. Just ask my mom. She watched the entire thing, laughing at me the whole time. Clearly she has moved on from the humoring-her-children phase.

(Guys. Can I just tell you how happy I am with the results of our recent family photo shoot? I am. So happy.)

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Interview with Elise

Hello Elise, you're looking fabulous in your Christmas sweatpants that DJ bought because he was tired of you always wearing his nasty Marine Corps sweats.
Thanks.  Do you have any questions for me?

Yes.  I saw you at Walmart buying a George Foreman grilling machine today.

That isn't a question, but it's true.  I bought a family-sized George Foreman grill today.  I considered waiting until I found one at a yard sale, but then I had this thought:  What if they used it to warm up their socks?  There's no way of knowing.  I can't live like that.

What else have you done this month?

We had family pictures taken.  Our photographer was really good.  She let us borrow her son's sock to sop the blood off of Tess's face after she hit a rock with it.  She assured me that the sock was freshly laundered--that's when you know you've chosen the right photographer.  She also takes nice pictures.

I see that you are sitting in the weeds.  Was that uncomfortable?

Yes!  But the fake smiling and posing was even more awkward.  Next year I will choose a location that ensures more genuine happiness, like the line for samples at Costco.

Or Baskin Robbins.

Exactly.

Have you made any resolutions for the new year?

Yes, but I will never divulge them because doing so guarantees failure, just like telling someone your birthday wish.  I've made one goal, however, that will require the assistance of my readers:  I want to learn how to sprout.  Like wheatgrass and stuff.  If anyone knows how to do that from home safely, let me know.  One time I accidentally sprouted corn in my carpet when I was nine years old, but that's a story for another day.

Gross.  How's the book coming along?

What book?

The one you told us you were going to write.

Oh, that book.  It was going swimmingly until the holidays struck.  I'm ready to jump back on the writing wagon, but I'm rusty.  Maybe I won't write a book.  Maybe I'll just focus on sprouting wheatgrass this year.

Well, it is healthy.  Last question:  What song has been stuck in your head all afternoon?

"Turning Page" by Sleeping at Last from the Breaking Dawn soundtrack.  That's right.  Breaking Dawn soundtrack.  Judge away, haters.  Judge away.