Haynes Family Yard Sale

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

2012-01-26T21:04:00.000-08:00

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

2012-01-19T20:36:00.001-08:00

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

2012-01-04T21:14:00.000-08:00

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.

Witty Title

2011-12-28T21:53:00.001-08:00

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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So there, Us magazine

2011-12-07T22:40:00.001-08:00

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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a gift for all of us

2011-12-01T16:01:00.001-08:00

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.

Ugh.

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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Tupperware destruction and wild arm hair

2011-11-14T21:18:00.001-08:00

It's a shame you're not a part of my family. You just missed a truly momentous Family Home Evening wherein the father of my children backed over a piece of Tupperware to demonstrate the consequences of being run over by a Chevy. I think it made an impression. And rest easy, it was a Tupperware with a missing lid.

Guess what else happened today? We had parent-teacher conferences. These are always a good time. I enjoy looking at the artwork and writing and report cards of my children. Here's a little gem from today:

"My dad is a hero. He sells security systems." I love it. Here's the letter about me:

I may not be a hero, but at least I'm "really tanned."

As a reward for his work as a sales hero, DJ won a watch that is so large that he's announced that he will eat Thanksgiving dinner off of its face. I tried it on tonight.

I think I'll always wear obnoxiously oversized accessories because they make my arms look petite. Unfortunately, it does nothing to draw attention away from my primate-like arm hair. Another handy thing about this watch is that I can tell what time it is even when I'm in the kitchen and DJ is in the foyer. Or Canada.

Finally, to round out the day Tess passed out on the Lovesac.

I'm next, I think.

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my thing

2011-11-05T21:59:00.001-07:00

(Really quickly, before I start today--can we stop pretending that this is my family blog? You and I both know that this is the Weblog de Elise. I'm fully aware that I never update you on the other five members of my family. Guess what? They don't care.)

Back to me. A while back my dad's sister, Auntie Kiki (whose given name remains a mystery to this day), posted this picture on Facebook:

She inspires me. Seeing my fifty-something auntie exit the crashing waves with a surfboard tucked under her arm sparks something inside of me. When I look at this photograph I get the same feeling I do when I listen to "Blackbird" by the Beatles. Like "Today will be the day that I accomplish something monumental in this world!"

So I gird up my loins, strike out into the world, and accomplish...

..............

this.

Not exactly monumental, but it was necessary. (You'll notice that the "before" picture has been shot at a Dutch angle, giving the room a feeling of uneasiness and chaos. I think the Dutch angle was overkill in this circumstance. My whole life is at a Dutch angle these days.)

I have a bucket list like a MILE long, so why is it that I spent an entire afternoon with my kids organizing the toys/food storage/junk room, barking out commands like a crazed drill sergeant? And why do we have a junk ROOM? Why can't we limit it to a DRAWER like most people?

Ugh.

The problem is, when I set out to check something off of my bucket list, I turn around and my children have done the snowglobe trick on the junk room. It's a vicious cycle.

These thoughts have been stewing for a few weeks now, but with the help of Pinterest and New York Times Best-Selling author Ally Condie, I think I've found the answer. First, I have this Pinterest buddy who pins a lot of inspirational quotes, like so:

"When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left and could say, 'I used everything you gave me.'" Erma Bombeck

and

"Be the girl you were too lazy to be yesterday."

Last weekend I went to to a book festival where Ally Condie spoke and did a little Q&A thing. At one point she talked about how she juggled writing and raising her three (?) children. With her first books she did her writing after her children were in bed, between like 7 PM and 11 or 12 PM. She wrote, revised, revised, and revised a bunch of books this way. While I was...lemme think...watching Smallville on DVD? I don't know.

So, ladies, the solution is obvious. Scheduling! We all have 24 hours in our day just like Ally Condie, Barack Obama, Mitt Romney (let's keep this blog non-partisan, eh?), Jenn Keyes, Gandhi, and everyone else who accomplishes so much with their life. I guess if I want to do it, I just have to schedule it in.

To think it's come to this.

Here's where I rope you guys in. (Don't panic, it's not MLM...this time....ah ha ha ha!) I know most of my friends have a list of things they want to accomplish before they die--learn Italian, be a good visiting teacher, plant an herb garden, play the cello, run a marathon, finish college. Whatever your thing is, let's DO IT. This week!

I'll tell you my thing: Writing. Like, a novel. I KNOW. I feel kind of sheepish even admitting it. I just have this fun story in my head that's been driving me nuts for the past two years. I've written about forty pages of it. This week I'm going to start to finish it. I'll let you know when it's done. In twenty years.

So, what's your thing? That ONE thing that you can't imagine leaving this earth without accomplishing? If you don't have a thing, then that's your assignment. Find a thing.

This is going to be SUCH FUN!

Aren't you guys STOKED?!

GUYS???

I lost you at "plant an herb garden," didn't I?

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Halloween and a little rant about cellulose

2011-11-01T21:59:00.001-07:00

Highlight of our Halloween? It's a toss-up. Maybe it was watching my ten-year-old nephew eat a Pixie Stick while I drove the carpool. I mean, he ate the paper tube and everything. It was at once disturbing and totally impressive. It reminded me of those little wax soda-bottle-full-of-corn-syrup candies they used to sell. Were we supposed to eat those little bottles or just bite the top off and drink the corn syrup out? I don't know. One time I ate one and I remember feeling like a farm animal chewing and CHEWING on the wax bottle and eventually I just had to swallow it. Kinda like the time I ordered octopus sushi on a date. (Bad idea.)

The things we eat, huh? This morning I saw an article on ksl.com about how some (A LOT) of food manufacturers use cellulose--which is essentially wood pulp--as a filler in their products. Here. In the United States. In 2011. I forgot to do it today, but I think tomorrow I'm going to make a serious effort to check my food labels.

Oh yeah, Halloween. Another highlight was Tess as Po the Teletubbie. What's a Teletubbie, you ask? It is a *free* costume donated by your neighbor friend, Donna, that's what.

I think I love the idea of my children parading around as hilariously outdated and obscure TV characters. Next year we'll dress up as the characters from Quantum Leap.

My mom trick-or-treated with us in her awesome witch costume. Best. Grandma. Ever.

My sisters-in-law are totally into Halloween. I am totally into wearing my old Marine Corps Ball dress and then complaining all night about how I can't breathe/bend over/remember what year it is. It's the only thing I have that sort of resembles a costume besides my usual frightening wardrobe. So, what was I? Mom In a Prom Dress. A classic.

Here are all of the kids anxious to get themselves some free candy:

As candy-centered holidays go, it was a success. I got to wear blue eye shadow + no one passed out Fun Dip = SUCCESS!

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The Taste of Freedom

2011-10-20T20:53:00.001-07:00

Recently I made a goal to try a new recipe every now and then. I like to keep my goals vague so that when I fail I don't go on a depression-induced Berry Burst Oreo cookie bender. Anyway, one of this week's new recipes was for Yellow Curry a la Benja Thai Garden.

The recipe called for two teaspoons of fish sauce. Behold, the only size bottle of fish sauce available at the Asian grocery store:

It's in the door of my fridge now, where it will remain until one of my children discovers my hidden bottle of Thai "root beer." That will be fun.

I was hesitant to make yellow curry at home. I've only ever eaten it on dates with DJ or on girls-night-out with my sisters-in-law, sans children. I've said before that yellow curry "tastes like freedom" because I've never once been interrupted from eating it by someone who wants me to cut their food, change their diaper, or wipe food off of their face. It's like, every time I take my first bite of yellow curry I hear faint ukulele music, feel the trade winds blowing, and I'm sitting on a beach somewhere TOTALLY ALONE. Just me and my curry. And someone mysteriously scratching my back, even though I'm TOTALLY ALONE.

It's that good.

You can see why I finally gave in and made it. Here's Macey checking out my big double batch:

Here's the recipe, for those who are interested in complete and utter happiness:

1/4 cup yellow curry paste
2-14 oz. cans coconut milk
2 large chicken breasts, chopped
4 potatoes, sliced
1 large onion, chopped
2 cups frozen stir fry vegetables (this is absolutely not an authentic Thai ingredient; I went with Great Value brand)
2 teaspoons fish sauce
1-2 teaspoons sugar

In a big pot, saute curry paste in a little vegetable oil until your kitchen smells exactly like the Asian grocery store. Stir in chicken and cook until done. Add remaining ingredients, cover, and simmer until the potatoes are tender. Serve over steamed jasmine rice.

Chock-dee-na!

(That's how you say "good luck" in Thai phonetically. Thanks, Google. And in case you find yourself in a bind: "Where is the toilet?"--"hxngna pi thaang hin?" For real.)

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Happy Canadian Thanksgiving, eh?

2011-10-12T11:11:00.001-07:00

Happy belated Canadian Thanksgiving, everyone! And you thought I forgot! I wouldn't forget. We celebrated Thanksgiving with our northern neighbours this year, but between Pinterest, my selection of silly LDS fiction, and thinking about folding my laundry I haven't had a minute to report about it until today.

The mass text I sent to my in-laws said this: "We are BBQing Monday at 6:00 to celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving. Everyone's invited. Practice your accent and dress like a Canadian." I forgot to dress like a Canadian. Or to be more accurate, I don't own any beanies. And the only accent I can pull off includes me saying "eh?" after everything. But, oh...how we partied.

I'm unsure what constitutes a traditional Canadian Thanksgiving, but I figured it would involve these things:

...and family:

...and a selection of barbecued meats:

...because nothing says "Canadian harvest celebration" like a bunch of Americans barbecuing hot dogs and wearing shorts when it's eighty-five degrees in October. Good times, eh?

I have this calendar that reminds me of the national holidays of nearly every foreign country, so I have an excuse to party on almost a daily basis. Today: Día de la Raza (Mexico). I don't know WHY we're celebrating, but mark my words: there will be cookies. And possibly a $2 meal deal from Taco Bell.

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slow news week? um, yeah.

2011-10-07T18:51:00.001-07:00

This has been the week of making stuff. I have this insatiable appetite for painting and sewing and baking, on the condition that whatever project I start must be completed within three hours and require minimal craftiness skills. Anyway...here are a few of my creations:

Pillow covers made from mismatched fabric remnants and a little frame that I repainted and turned into a chalkboard. I gotta get rid of that chalkboard paint. I'm up to my ears in homemade chalkboards.

Next, I experimented with microwaving bacon:

Who knew that microwaving bacon carried with it the risk/excitement of exploding dishes? Not I. I should mention that that was not my plate. Do you guys have dishes like this? Foreign dinnerware that mysteriously appears amongst your other dishes? I apologize if that was your plate. I actually quite liked it. It was my go-to microwaving plate because it didn't get scorching hot. I guess the bacon pushed it over the edge. Rest in peace, plate. You were a good dish.

[Speaking of bacon, a few nights ago I decided to play a little game to see how well I know my offspring. I asked them a random list of their favorites--color, food, movie, animal, book, et cetera. I tried to predict their responses in my mind before they answered. Ugh, FALL. Anyway, I asked Olivia her favorite animal (which is a two-way tie between sheep and kitties, for the record) and after thinking for a second she asked, "Mom, which animal is bacon?" Heh heh. That apple didn't fall too far from the DJ tree...]

I also made this face:

I pulled that face just for my friend Marie. You're welcome, Marie. Voluntary public humiliation is a mark of true friendship. Unlike INVOLUNTARY public humiliation:

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de-funking

2011-09-30T14:18:00.001-07:00

Is anyone else really bummed that the satellite didn't crash land in southern Utah? I thought for sure it would. Psht. NASA.

Anyway, what's new with you guys this week? Good news! I think I'm pulling out of that funky funk I've been in these past few weeks. For future reference (in case you or I find ourselves in another slump) these have been the most helpful rungs in my de-funking ladder:

1. President Uchtdorf. I'm too lazy to find the exact quotes online, but in my notes (neeeerd!) I wrote "be thankful for small successes--God notices them" and "everyone has strengths and weaknesses--stop punishing yourself" in large, underlined letters. Let's take a minute and thank heaven for President Uchtdorf, huh? He has his finger on the pulse of your average Mormon mom, that's for sure. Out of respect, I also drew this in my notes:

2. I had an opportunity to scratch my creative itch (without having to bare a child) thusly:

I also learned something important about refinishing furniture. It's a lot like running in that the entire time you're doing it you're thinking "I hate this! Why am I doing this to myself?!" but when you're done you think, "That was FUN! Let's do it again!"

3. My children. They are weird, they smell like puppies sometimes, and one of them (you know who you are) still wears a diaper, but they bring me a lot of happiness:

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Hi. I'm Tonje.

2011-09-22T20:50:00.001-07:00

I wash my laundry and then I wait a week to fold it. If you follow the same laundry schedule I do, you will have noticed that somewhere around day three, laundry congeals and conforms to the shape of your hamper.

Heads up, on day nine your laundry will crawl out the door, hitchhike south on I-15, and get a job at the Bloomington Walmart, where it will provide mediocre customer service.

For the past few weeks I've been a really bad housewife. I enjoy my job as a mom. Sure, the labor is menial, the salary is nonexistent, and the hours are ridiculous, but I get to MAKE PEOPLE. I mean, come on!

It's the housewife part of my job that I've shirked lately.

Up until two or three weeks ago, I found quite a bit of satisfaction in running my home. I usually enjoy having a tidy house, planning and cooking meals, and being able to boss everyone around. Not lately. Lately I find myself asking questions like this aloud: "What's that on the carpet? A cockroach? Or a really old olive? Do I care?" And we've covered the laundry situation.

Somehow the fire under me has been snuffed out. Am I having a mid-life crisis?! AM I GOING TO DIE WHEN I'M 62?!?! Maybe I need a new hobby. Maybe I need give more service. Maybe I need to be more grateful.

One thing's for dang sure, I need to act fast before I turn into this lady:

(If you're like me and you rarely click on these things, allow me to offer you some incentive in the form of bribery: I will personally bake, decorate, and deliver the cake of your choice if you can name the initial on the white-hatted gangsta rapper's giant necklace at 1:51 AND be the first to mention it in a comment. Yes, this is a test.)

I saw this video over the summer and filed it away in my mind under "Things That Are Blog Worthy" and then immediately forgot about it because I accidentally misfiled it under "Things That Are Not Dorky" and I never open that mental file, obviously. But this weirdo Norwegian lady popped into my mind this week.

Eight years ago I made the decision to be a housewife. Actually, if I'm being honest, I made that decision a long time ago....

I've kind of always wanted to be a "crappy housewife," as Tonje so eloquently puts it. So what's my dealio? I need to find some motivation, I think.

Rewatching that spectacle of a video is actually quite inspiring. If I choose to abandon housewifery, this is my other option? A nearly abandoned discotheque at what appears to be three o'clock in the afternoon? I'm suddenly looking forward to scrubbing my toilets.

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Dum Dum Doctors

2011-09-19T17:21:00.001-07:00

I'm having a hard time getting my creative juices flowing, or any of my juices for that matter. I'm tired. It all started last night.....

{{{entering Saved By The Bell-type flashback sequence}}}

We went to my sister-in-law's house for mango sticky rice. Also for the company, but the mango sticky rice was the main thing. As groups of small children are wont to do, there was quite a bit of noise and rough-housing between my four children and her...one. It really wasn't ONLY my kids making the noise, but I digress. At one point someone produced two large inflated bouncy balls that I'm sure were manufactured for the purpose of an adult using them to sculpt their abs. Our children used them for the purpose of rolling face-first onto the carpet.

So consumed was I in the enjoyment of my mango sticky rice that I didn't see when Tess, apparently, rolled face-first into a tangled wad of children. She screamed and cried. She refused to move her left arm. She refused to be soothed by my singing "Leafy Treetops" or my knock knock jokes. That's when I knew it was serious.

Fast forward two hours. DJ took Tess to Instacare whose motto is, "We'll pop your kid's bones back together so you don't have to!....for a small fee..." where he discovered that Tess had dislocated her elbow. The doctor popped it back in, it popped back out again, he popped it back in again, he gave Tess a Dum Dum, and DJ brought her home. She was still crying and refusing to use her arm when she got home, but we figured she was just being dramatic, so we spanked her and sent her to bed so that we could watch Smallville.

Not really.

In reality we were up most of the night with her, trying to pop her elbow back together the way the Dum Dum doctor showed my husband. She wimpered. She screamed. She cried herself to sleep a few times. At two in the morning DJ searched "how to pop an elbow back together" on YouTube. The only thing the videos resulted in was me getting nauseous.

Finally, the sun came up. Tess still wore her yellow Sunday dress, which was soaked in purple children's ibuprofen by that point. Her scrawny little arm just hung there like a ventriloquist doll arm, only less weird. I immediately drove her to our doctor, who is actually a physician's assistant, but it's okay because he's witty and has the drawer full of Dum Dums.

He popped her elbow back together and outfitted her with the smallest sling possible by today's technological standards. In my exhausted daze I mentioned offhandedly that the YouTube videos weren't at all helpful. This got a good laugh from the doctor who cracked some kind of "I got my medical degree from YouTube" joke. Like I said, witty. Usually in circumstances such as this I would respond by demanding my doctor's home phone number so that I could call in the event of another 2 AM not-quite-emergency-room-worthy moment, but he hadn't given us the Dum Dums yet.

He told me to leave the sling on Tess for 48 hours to give her elbow a chance to rest before she pops it back out again. "Looks like she's going to be wearing that dress a little while longer!" was his parting shot after he gave Tess her Dum Dums, and with a flurry of white lab coat and antiseptic he was gone.

Tess was happy.

In fact, she was riding such a Dum Dum high that it was hard for me to get a clear picture of her.

{{{Returning from Saved By The Bell flashback}}}

Now, Tess is catching up from her all nighter.

I'm so grateful that Tess is happy again I don't even care that her dress is layered with ibuprofen, ketchup, Dum Dum goo, and swingset grime and I can't take it off of her until tomorrow.

Yes I do.

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Monday Monday...dah daaaah, dah dah-dah dah...

2011-09-12T21:34:00.001-07:00

Has it really been two weeks? Did you grow out a beard while I was gone? Read the Old Testament? Plant and harvest a crop of zucchini? Are you anxious to hear about our adventures? Since it's been so long, I will kindly reconstruct the events of the past two weeks in numerical order. I'm SO kind.
1. DJ came home from Colorado. There was much rejoicing.
2. The next day we drove to Logan, Utah to attend the blessing of my niece, Jamma Jammer Jamie Astrid Alfred. The blessing was eloquent, the luncheon was pink pork, and I left without helping with the dishes because I am a TOTAL DORK.
3. The next day was Labor Day and we had a picnic in Pine Valley.

4. A few days later this spider crawled up my husband's leg as we snuggled upon the Lovesac:

. I named him Harry. And then I sprayed him with half a can of Raid and flushed him down the toilet.
5. The next day, we decided to exact our revenge upon Nature by camping at Yankee Meadows.

6. The next day was Marianne's baby shower. My assignment was cake. I accepted the assignment gladly, since I figured my other options were things like making people race to drink lemonade out of baby bottles or being pregnant.

7. The next day was September 11th. We watched YouTube videos of the attacks. I cried about it all over again. In case you haven't caught on yet, I avoid discussing painful reality on this blog. Moving right along...
8. That brings us to the present. See? You didn't miss much. Hairy Spider of Doom, campfire, Supercake. Tune in next time, I plan on unearthing some embarrassing childhood photos and revealing the secret to a happy, fulfilling life. Or it'll be another recipe and dumb story. Only time will tell.

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a little yin with our yang

2011-08-31T12:17:00.001-07:00

Bear with me, we have a lot of information to cover today. First, and perhaps most critical, is the following announcement:

WE ARE OUT OF SALSA.

It's bound to happen when you eat salsa for every meal.

This started as MY bowl of salsa, by the way.

And then Chancho joined in. Yes, he IS sitting on the table. I also let him run in the street and listen to alternative music. I'm not a very good mom. Fortunately, they don't require licensing. And by "they" I mean the same people who require a license for driving trucks and getting married.

I'm trying to get the hankering for salsa out of my system before DJ comes home from Colorado. The last time he left me alone I ate a quart of salsa single-mouthedly in two days. He came home at two in the morning, crawled into bed, sniffed, and said, "What's that SMELL?!" (Did you know that I sleep with my mouth open? I do. I hate it, especially since I heard that statistic about how many spiders the average person eats during sleep in their lifetime.)

I want to share the recipe, but I feel like I should get permission from my cousin-in-law, Blake, who invented it. Ah, what the hey! He lives in Nevada, like he would drive all the way up here to pick a fight about recipe rights. Even if he did, he could never withstand my kung fu salsa breath. Here it is:

Blake's Salsa
2 cans Mexican-style stewed tomatoes
4 green onions
2 cloves garlic
1/2 a bunch of cilantro
1 serrano chile
1 jalapeno
Put everything in a blender, push the button, and vee-oh-lay! Salsa!

Because we need a little yin with our yang, I'm still pumping my family full of green smoothies. My mom visited yesterday and was so completely weirded out by them that she took pictures. Lots of pictures.

DJ just called and said that he might come home this week. I really miss him and his "I don't give a crap about social norms" attitude.

The funny thing about DJ is that, without consulting me, he places bids at silent auctions for sports memorabilia that I don't even care about and then uses my cell phone as the contact number. AND THEN HE WINS. And then when I ask him about it, he says "I didn't think I'd win!" like it's a prize or something. Wait...that isn't funny at all. I gotta get that boy home.

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Salsaaaah!

2011-08-29T14:06:00.001-07:00

Things are weird these days. DJ is still in Colorado. He'll probably be there for another couple of weeks. (Dear Potential Prowlers or Rapists, I sleep with a shotgun, my cell phone, and a really heavy flashlight. Plus, I have disarmingly potent salsa breath. Think again. Sincerely, Elise)

On the bright side, this weekend I found 22 Babysitter's Club books in MINT CONDITION at a yard sale. When I was nine I wanted to be Claudia Kishi. I wanted it all: the rad clothes, the junk food stashed around the bedroom, the Japanese heritage. To this day I dream of being Asian. I'm excited to share this important part of my childhood with my daughters.

We've been eating a lot of salsa these days.

I got this recipe from my sister-in-law, who got the recipe from my husband's cousin, Blake. It is delectable. This salsa has RUINED ME for every other salsa. I wake up thinking about it. Tess loves it, too. I give her a little bowl with a little pile of tortilla chips. She dips her chip, licks it off, her eyes water, she goes "aaaaah!" and then repeats the process. With the same chip.

And finally, lest you think I only take pictures of inanimate objects:

This is Tess's first taste of I Can't Believe They're Not Chicharrones (my in-laws got these from the Latin grocery store and brought them to a family function). She used the same technique with the fake chicharrones as she uses with the salsa. I'm thinking Tess inherited a little something from her Mexican great-grandma.

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NOT a post about what's wrong with Barbies...

2011-08-21T21:20:00.001-07:00

...today we're focusing on the positive. ~~Unfortunately~~, Luckily, I spent an inordinate amount of time in the Barbie aisle this weekend. These are my findings.

Rock Hudson.

There would be a Rock Hudson Barbie. I suspect that when the last of the StuffMart employees go home, little Rock Hudson sneaks out of his box to go hang out with all of the Princess Charm School Ken dolls. Or this guy....

Sweet Talkin' Ultimate Boyfriend Ken:

Where do I even start? "YOU make me talk!" Yeah, that's pretty much how it works. "Record your voice - I say it back in mine!" If only it were so easy. "TRY ME" Bah ha ha ha ha!

It appears that the Mattel people are making strides toward more lifelike dolls. Next I'd like to see "Fourth C-section Barbie" and "Snores Super Loud Ken."

The reason I spent so much time in the Barbie aisle is because Olivia turned six on Saturday. She wanted a Barbie cake. How do you make a Barbie cake? Make a pink cake, slap a Barbie on it, ta-flipping-da! Barbie cake!

I sure love my Livie Livie Lou Fuss Fuss....

Obviously. I can't think of many people in this world for whom I would spend an afternoon in the Barbie aisle.

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poods and poods of free time...

2011-08-18T21:20:00.000-07:00

Sorry. 'Gleed' and 'Ge' are not acceptable words.

Sorry. 'Gloo' is not an acceptable word.

Sorry. 'Glod' and 'Oc' and 'Hd' are not acceptable words.

(By now you've gotta be dying to know what word I finally played, huh? Wait for it... Are you sitting down? Have you recently used the ladies room? Because this is going to be really funny....)

Pood.

Yeah. Who knew it was even a real word? Would you care to know the definition? According to Merriam-Webster, it is "a Russian unit of weight equal to about 36.11 pounds (16.38 kilograms)." Not the definition I would've guessed. Anyway, from now on when the doctor or the driver's license people ask me my weight, I'm giving it to them in poods. Maybe with a Russian accent. Maybe not, depending on my mood. Sometimes I just don't have it in me to pull off a good Russian accent.

In case it wasn't disgustingly obvious, I've got time on my hands these days. Now that I only have two children at home during the day I don't know what to do with all of these spare hours at my disposal. Here's a sample of what I've done thus far: organized the anarchy that was my books/game closet, gotten my pood kicked at Words With Friends, cleaned every cranny and nook in my house, shopped at Costco, reviewed the alphabet with Chancho, baked bread, took pictures of the bread, Photoshopped the bread picture, and then posted the bread picture on Facebook to remind my husband that I would like him to come home from Colorado eventually:

Unfortunately, DJ is never on Facebook. I bet he'll never come home. At least, it feels that way.

Angel Hair With Marinara Sauce

2011-08-17T20:54:00.001-07:00

Ugh. Is anyone else exhausted? This first week of school is making me long for summer. We did the usual things to prepare for school. We bought school supplies--crayons, dry erase markers, Purell, pencils, tomato paste. Aww yeah...

In an effort to de-Grinchify my daughters' hair I applied a small can of Great Value tomato paste to their hair with a barbecue brush. I didn't spring for the name brand paste. Long story short, it removed the green and totally ruined my appetite for Italian food.

Macey and Olivia love school. UGH. I'm slowly coming to terms with the beginning of the school year. Chancho and his cousin Diego are super excited about it. Here they are, celebrating in the school parking lot.

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Wherein I am liberal with the colons:

2011-08-10T21:54:00.001-07:00

I hope you're sitting down:

I KNOW. I bet you've never seen such a huge pot of Ramen. I think it was ten bricks. I'm sure you're thoroughly impressed and are probably wondering why anyone would want to, I mean NEED to, boil up such a gigantic cauldron of noodles. Well, we've had company. And that's *just* how classy I am.

I know you're tripping all over yourselves to come for a visit now. Well. The fun doesn't stop there. While we were in Dallas, my hometown acquired one of these...

In case you were wondering, it doesn't do that thing like on Mary Poppins where you can go bounding off into the horizon with Dick Van Dyke. What a disappointment. Do any of my St. George friends know if this carousel is a permanent fixture? Or is it going to disappear mysteriously like Zuka Juice did?

Here's an unrelated question, but those of you who are my friends on Facebook will know from whence this thinking has sprung: If you feel that our government has kinda gotten too big for its britches and want to pare down the crazy spending and programs and stuff, where would you start? Which program would you cut first? For real. I'm curious. If you like having a large government which spends more than it earns, I don't want to know what you think here. Sorry. Maybe you can comment on the Ramen thing.

One last thought. Tonight I went to a spin class with my sister-in-law Sheree (before you get all "Ooo, Elise is all healthy and goes to the gym and likes to rub it in on her blog and stuff" know this: I am about to eat at least six large chocolate chip cookies. And it's 10:46 PM) and my sister Monna had an awesome idea: Why aren't we harnessing all of the power generated by the world's stationary bicycle exercise classes? You know, like on Gilligan's Island? At the very least, we could use it to power the air conditioner: like the faster you pedal, the harder the A/C blows. It would be inspiring. What do you think? I'm no scientist, but I think Monna's onto something here.

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pictures AND 1000 words

2011-08-04T21:49:00.001-07:00

Busy week. I feel like life has taken a bite of me and spit me back out, but in a good way. We left Dallas last Thursday and spent the night in lovely Amarillo.

We ate some continental breakfast.

On Saturday my little Chancho turned four, which was weird because his third birthday was only like four months ago.

On Sunday my husband's little brother gave his farewell talk in church. His name is Seth. Don't get him started about why he's only 5'8" and his older brothers are both 6'3". He will be sharing the gospel with the lucky people of Nairobi, Kenya beginning next week. Let's hope he doesn't get malaria. Here are all of my in-laws celebrating his departure:

Tuesday was mine and DJ's eighth anniversary. Besides making gluttons of ourselves over yellow curry and mango sticky rice, DJ had the idea to spend the evening reminiscencing about our missions while sipping sparkling cider, Mormon-style. He's *so* romantic. His sisters say he's read too much Stephenie Meyer.

For those of you who didn't know, DJ and I dated for a while before we both left for our missions. He was in the MTC learning Spanish and preparing to leave for Boston when I got my call to serve in New Hampshire. We wrote to each other every week of our missions (with the exception of one dark period when we didn't write to eachother for a month. DJ says those weeks were the only weeks of his entire mission that he felt any homesickness...*sigh*).

Anyway, every preparation day for two long years I would sprint to our mailbox in anticipation of one of these:

My companions must have hated me. DJ's preparation day was two days after mine--just enough time for my letters to get to him so that he could write me back.

And BOY--were my letters HILARIOUS! Even back then I (thought I) was funny! I bet you didn't know this, but I'm also an artist. Here's Sister Freitas and me getting mugged in the ghetto:

Note our purses on the ground. I loomed over Sister Freitas by at least twelve inches. We were a sight to behold. I think our mission president paired us up because of how ridiculous we looked standing next to eachother. We never did get mugged, which is a bummer. What a funny story that would've made.

On Wednesday DJ and I took the children to Sand Hollow for a dip:

These eight years have been good to us, I'd say.

Now it's Thursday again. DJ has left for Colorado for the next month. I finally unpacked our suitcases and washed our laundry. And found the two-month-old sippy cup of milk in the toy box. Let's hope next week is just as awesome.

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a bummer of a scientific conclusion

2011-07-26T20:13:00.001-07:00

Whenever I wax philosophical as I did in my last post I begin to wonder, "Am I dying?" Really. A lot of times I think, "What if this blog entry is my last? What if my final words to my posterity are about my toenail polish?" And then I recall the legendary wisdom of Ferris Bueller: "You're not dying, you just can't think of anything good to do."

We have reached that point of the summer, folks. We're vacationed out. We've done the pool, the rollercoasters, the popsicles, the recreational reading of fiction. I think it's time to pack it up and return to Utah. We have not reached this decision easily.

For those of you who were unaware, I base all of my decisions on the conclusions of extensive scientific research and the polling of my sisters as we sit by the pool. It should come as no surprise to anyone, then, that I have created the following chart to determine the true end of summer:

Using Olivia's hair color as my guide I have monitored our progress through the stages of summer. Yellow=Let's get this party started. Chartreuse=Independence Day. Green=Time to go home and make a meaningful contribution to society.

Well, our bell tolled this morning. As I brushed out yesterday's French braid I observed that Olivia's hair had progressed from chartreuse to full on leprechaun green overnight. See for yourself:

Bummer.

I guess it's time to go home and resume those activities that we associate with the non-summer seasons: learning, cleaning the stove, bathing on a regular basis, and knowing what day of the week it is. We'll see you Friday.

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orange cream slurpee wisdom

2011-07-21T20:48:00.001-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I present...NIRVANA:

And you thought it was unachievable! It turns out that when you're two, reaching nirvana is as easy as stubbing your toe or using your phone's entire data plan in two weeks--so easy, any doof nut can do it on accident. All it takes is a sippy cup, a wubbie, and an overpriced Elmo doll that Aunt Val bought at Barnes and Noble. Look at that happiness!

Today as I sat next to the swimming pool, sipping my orange cream slurpee, working on my suntan, I thought a lot about happiness. Is happiness sitting by the pool for hours on end developing melanoma? I don't think so. It's not rollercoasters, green smoothies, zebra heinies, baseball games, road trips, Facebook, or baba syrup. What brings me lasting happiness? Anything that can be mine for eternity--my family, my soul.

Eternity is such a weird word. I think a lot of times I say that word like it's some mystical time that will begin after I die. As in, "I want to spend eternity with my family in heaven," and things like that. I like my family. Shoot, I LOVE them. I think I'm ready for eternity to start now. Let's DO this thing.

So if my eternal family, my eternal marriage, and my eternal soul are starting today, what should I do differently? How should I spend my time? How should I treat these people with whom I am taking this, the ETERNAL road trip?

It seems to me I could put my life to better use. I could treat my husband more like I love him and less like my manservant. I could treat my children less like a burden and more like a blessing. I could improve my time rather than just spend my time. I could treat my mind more like a garden and less like a Dumpster. I could practice the piano. I could laugh more and yell less. And I would still eat baba syrup, because I'm counting on the resurrection being totally awesome in terms of my hips.

All of this wisdom from ONE orange cream slurpee.

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a Vulcan Mind Meld would've been easier

2011-07-15T20:19:00.001-07:00

If I was to dump out my purse on your computer desk tonight, you would find: a mangled (but unsoiled) diaper, my wallet, a bag of wipes, three half-eaten tubes of Lip Smackers, a checkbook, a spiral notebook, tweezers, a billion (or so) Walmart/Target receipts, a Hot Wheels or two, a really worn out Post-It with Marie's phone number on it, one of those pairs of pliers which is also a knife/corkscrew/file/screwdriver, some postcards that I've been meaning to send, and roughly twenty dollars in nickels and pennies. And then YOU'D be like, "Get your crap off of my desk," but we'd still be friends because you'd be really impressed by my receipt collection.

If I were to dump out my BRAIN on your computer desk tonight, this is what you'd find:

Atlas Shrugged. I finished it today! HalleFLIPPINGlujah! Is this what it feels like to have passed a kidney stone?! Interesting book. Some really awesome ideas, some less awesome ideas. In short, it's probably good that we're done having babies because otherwise my next daughter would be named Dagny, and to quote my little sister Marianne, "That's just MEAN."

Alaska. DJ is in the process of brainwashing our children into thinking that they want to live there. I present exhibit A:

In case it's difficult to read, it says, "What we want to do this fall: go to Alaska..." and also mentions building an igloo and catching large fish. Seems fishy to me. [weak rimshot]

Speaking of fishy, DJ and the kids caught this monster in the stagnant body of water behind our apartment complex. I am told it is a largemouth bass.

He threw it back (which I fully supported because I like my mercury levels where they are, thankyouverymuch, and I really don't appreciate finding enormous fish corpses in my freezer. Voice of experience talking).

Green smoothies. I loooooove them. (I'd write a poem about them, but honestly I haven't eaten enough sugar tonight to make poetry-on-the-fly happen.) My kids love them. I love tricking my kids into eating spinach and broccoli. Win, win.

Summer. Where did you go? We are driving back to Utah to resume our regularly scheduled lives in under two weeks. I always mourn the passing of summer. I always want to shoot the "Back to School" propaganda that they hang up in Walmart/Target with a shotgun. Have you noticed that they don't celebrate painful things in the pharmacy department? You never see a huge sign with a cartoon of a moldy, rotten foot and the words, "Athlete's Foot!" Can we stop pretending that "Back to School!" is awesome, already? I mean, I will pretend for my kid's sake (I also make them drink pureed broccoli) but can we desist with the hanging of the signs in the beginning of JULY?! You're bringing us down, man.

Thanks for letting me unload. Now my brain is empty, just like I like it.

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narrowly escaping death

2011-07-13T20:38:00.001-07:00

I've eaten nothing but curly fries and onion rings today. No, really.
I'm sunburned.
My throat is raw from screaming.
My feet feel like they ran a marathon. In flip flops.
I might have a concussion.

...but it was SO worth it. There are few things in this world that I love more than a rollercoaster.

But Six Flags is about so much more than rollercoasters. It's about walking really quickly past the giant stuffed animal-peddling carnies. It's about embarrassing the crap out of your nieces by forcing them to pose for pictures in front of EVERYTHING. It's about paying $4.99 for 32 ounces of Powerade. It's about realizing that you're finally a mature adult because the concession prices disgust you. It's about buying the Powerade anyway because your only other option is death.

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Ohhh say can you see...

2011-07-06T20:28:00.001-07:00

This year for the fourth of July we visited my husband's aunt Val and Uncle Greg who live just outside of Houston. There was satellite television IN OUR BEDROOM...

Play Doh...

Ice fishing tales...
Craft-making with Aunt Val...

Barbecued meat of every imaginable variety...
A slip and slide and one totally awesome dog which (heads up, Val) I am planning to dognap...

...and Baba Syrup. What is Baba Syrup, you ask? It is only the most mouth-watering, sinfully delicious waffle/pancake topping to exist in the history of the pancake-topping universe. And Val gave *me* her recipe. Mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!

(catching breath)

No, really. It's wonderful stuff. The only way to do justice to the marvel that is Baba Syrup is to write poetry about it.

Ahem.

"Baba Syrup"
by Elise Haynes

So sweet and so sticky
(not that I'm being picky),
you're my new favorite condiment.

Pour you on rotten feet
And they'd taste like a treat,
I wouldn't give you up, even for Lent.

Not that I am a Catholic,
you just taste SO fantastic,
And nothing else rhymes with condiment.

[end of poetry]

I'm grateful to live in a country where our citizens are free to move to Canada for twenty years, collect delicious recipes from their Ukrainian neighbors, then move to Texas where they are free to wear a gun on their hip and share their recipes, but not to light a firework because that would be a class B misdemeanor.

Cue "The Star Spangled Banner."

(Thanks again for an awesome weekend, Val and Greg! You spoiled us rotten.)

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swimming in the shallow end

2011-06-30T20:46:00.001-07:00

First thing's first:

I challenge you to name ONE decorating scenario wherein this lamp might be considered aesthetically appealing. Maybe Rock Hudson's bachelor pad movie set from forty years ago?

Let me explain. My husband's company houses us in furnished apartments for our summer adventures and this little feng shui nightmare was on the living room end table when we got here. I have since demoted it to the master bedroom, where it spends its days wreaking havoc on my relationship with DJ. It's the pistols at dawn for this lamp.

This next one is for Maggie:

My toenails are fluorescent pink. I've always been self-conscious about my mutant toes, so displaying this picture on the World Wide Web for all to see represents a huge breakthrough for me. I think I'll reward myself with a tall glass of Fresca.

Next up:

The ferris wheel at the Texas state fairgrounds. I like it.

Next, the view from our patio:

They're building a train track. I'm still reading Atlas Shrugged (of course) so I have a little life-imitates-art situation going on every day. For those of you who haven't read the book, there's a lot of railroad-building hoopla in it. At least in the first 580 pages there is. I cannot vouch for the last 500 pages. I'll get back to you on that (in ten years, when I finish it).

Next:

I finally learned how to French braid. I know, I know. You're thinking, how does someone manage to be a female for thirty whole years without learning this skill? My answer: Easily. I tried once or twice before, got charlie horses in my fingers and gave up. Kind of like my crochet experience. I decided enough was enough and after a few hours of practice I've gotten to the point where Olivia doesn't hide behind the couch when she sees me with the brush. Next up, learn to play the guitar.

Finally, two of my favorite people in the WHOLE world:

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ROOT! Root, root for the hoooome teeeeam!

2011-06-25T13:40:00.001-07:00

Last night my family, along with my sisters and their spouses, and my nephew Casey, and my husband's whole office and the entire population of northern Texas (apparently) attended the Texas Rangers baseball game against the New York Mets. Now I'm basically an expert on all things baseball. Or at least I'm an expert at attending professional baseball games.

Here are my expert tips:

1. If, on the way to the game you stop for gas and your husband buys Reese's peanut butter cups for you, resist the urge to save them for later in your purse. Consume said peanut butter cups IMMEDIATELY. Otherwise they will turn into Reeses slop in the suffocating heat, then you'll have to put them in the freezer when you get home and eat them with a fork and knife for lunch the next day.

2. Arrive at the ball park no later than two hours before the start of the game. If you arrive twenty minutes late (or even "on time") it will take precisely three innings to walk from your car to your assigned seats.

3. Once inside the ballpark remember that others may consider your son's clothing choice of bright orange and blue (the same color as the opposing team's getup) to be in poor taste. Simply walk around the stadium asking if anyone has "seen this poor little boy's parents."

4. The seventh inning stretch is for real. Take advantage.

5. When your team hits a home run, clap and cheer as though you were paying attention the whole time. As a rule, I clap when the crowd claps. I'm really fun at parties.

6. You will know when the game has concluded because there will be fireworks and everyone will stand up and leave. Those will be your only cues, since you will have only watched the game for a total of three minutes, preoccupied as you will be by your children's constant requests for cotton candy/Swedish fish/Angry Birds/water/"what that guy is selling" (beer)/popcorn and taking pictures.

7. This rule is critical: remember where you parked your car. Utilize whatever means necessary. Tie balloons to your car, rent a searchlight, or at the very least, drop a pin on your GPS. Otherwise you will spend an hour wandering through the night, carrying children whose idea of sensible walking shoes are purple jelly slip ons, and eventually paying a cab driver $15 to drive you to your car, which is located in Oklahoma.

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"I'm not even fishing, I'm [reading about] fishing!"

2011-06-20T12:11:00.001-07:00

For Father's Day we sent DJ on an Alaskan Fishing Adventure. In our living room. (Did you think I was serious? What is this, 2007? Um, NO. And really, recliner fishing is the most acceptable form of Sabbath day fishing, in my self-righteous opinion.)

His adventure began with a meal of baked halibut, steamed white rice, cauliflower, and breadsticks, with vanilla ice cream for dessert--a meal as white as the family who ate it. As an added bonus, there is still the, ahem, UNIQUE aroma of halibut lingering in my kitchen. So it's like I am enjoying it TWICE. I'm kinda ready to stop enjoying this halibut.

After dinner, DJ hit the water. You should know, DJ is a serious angler who uses only the most sophisticated equipment. For his adventure yesterday he used the Broom Rod 3000 with a DVD player power cord strung through it for line.

And boy oh boy, were they biting! He really worked up a sweat reeling them in. (Or maybe that was because our A/C is broken.) At the end of the day, DJ caught his limit.

Happy Father's Day, DJ!

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I could be a doctor

2011-06-16T20:14:00.001-07:00

This week my eyes swelled up to the point that I looked like one of those weirdo goldfish with the eyes that bug way out of their heads. I visited a "doctor" who shined a really bright light under my eyelids, looked nonplussed, wrote some stuff down, and then gave me a prescription for antibiotics which cost a total of $130.00.

Psht. *I* could be a doctor.

Anyway, this was a dilemma for me. Do I want to look like a mutant goldfish, or do I want to spend $130 on medicine which may or may not work, but will surely give me funky breath? I went with a compromise: take $30 worth of antibiotics, some Allegra, and half a gallon of pistachio ice cream. So far it's working.

What else did we do this week? A little bit of the botanical gardens, a lot of the Fort Worth Zoo, A LOT of the pool, a chunk of Atlas Shrugged, one box of Fudgsicles, two watermelons, and as little housework as possible. Happy summer!

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Wherein I discover that I might be in captivity...

2011-06-09T18:41:00.001-07:00

The animals of the Fort Worth Zoo are organized. I don't mean organized as in they use Quicken and squeeze their toothpaste from the bottom, I mean organized as in they are plotting something. It's *so* obvious.

I don't blame them. I wouldn't enjoy having people watch me eat or scratch my bum and then sarcastically mimic my behavior all day long. (Now that I've typed it out like that, maybe I AM in captivity. Aww, CRAP! Am I in captivity?! You guys would tell me if I was in captivity, right?)

[awkward silence]

Aaaaanyway, it was a nice day at the zoo. Lots of animals. Not too many people. Just like I like it.

Caption contest! Here are the rules: 1. Nothing too gross. That's it. Grossness is out. For example, the zebra might be asking, "Do these stripes make my butt look fat?" or one elephant might be telling the other elephant, "Stand really still and they can't see us. Trust me, I saw it on Jurassic Park." Got it? 'Kay, GO!

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Lip Smackers Eaters Anonymous (or L.S.E.A.)

2011-06-07T20:16:00.001-07:00

I've been thinking about Martin Luther King, Jr. a little bit tonight, particularly the following quote:

"I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character."

Tess eats lip gloss. I don't know what Dr. King has to do with Tess's chapstick obsession, nevertheless they are two things that have been marinating in my head tonight. I'm not sure how to break Tess of her yucky habit, but I am sure that I'm personally funding the CEO of Bonnie Bell's next trip to Mazatlan. (That's just a guess. I don't know where the brains behind Lip Smackers vacation. If I made a grundle of money by selling a half a teaspoon of flavored wax for $2, I'd be on my way to Mexico.)

Anyway, I dug my new tube of strawberry vanilla Lip Smackers out of my purse this afternoon and that's what I found. Here's how desperate the situation was: after snapping the above photograph with my Droid phone (LISA) I re-molded the remaining gloss in the tube and used it. Motherhood is so glamorous.

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Atlas Shrugged? Angry Birds?

2011-06-03T20:09:00.001-07:00

Here's the battle that raged in my mind tonight:

Atlas Shrugged.

ANGRY BIRDS!

Atlas Shrugged.

ANGRY BIRDS!

ATLAS. SHRUGGED.

ANGRY BIRDS, ANGRY BIRDS, ANGRY BIRDS!!

Clearly, updating you guys on life in Texas won out over both the book and the bird-throwing game. I am never going to finish Atlas Shrugged, which is a pity because I'm quite enjoying it. It's just that it's 1100 pages long, font size 6. I read for hours and I'm still at the beginning of the book. As far as Angry Birds goes, I (finally) put the app on my phone yesterday and my kids and I are FLYING through the levels. It's instantly gratifying. We are kind of Angry Birds savants. (Or is *everyone* an Angry Birds savant? I don't know. All I know for a surety is that I would disgust Dagny Taggart.)

What have we been doing in Texas besides whittling away the days of our probation throwing birds at (inexplicably) green pigs? Buying the World's Most Scrumptious Tomatoes, that's what.

Observe the photograph above of my children enjoying free samples at the Dallas Farmer's Market. I never notice how wretchedly sub-par Walmart's produce is until I eat something that *wasn't* harvested three weeks earlier in the southern hemisphere. If you know me (and my kids), we are lovers of good fruit. This farmer's market is our new happy place.

Now I'm going to make a dent in Atlas Shrugged. For real. See you in 2016.

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...and it is hot, the end.

2011-05-31T20:31:00.001-07:00

For our summer-long trip to Dallas I brought along four or five of those giant tupperware bins full of items that we use every day and left the rest of our junk at home. Our bins contained things like dishes, clothing, towels, my Seinfeld DVDs, et cetera. The essentials. That's it.

For the most part, I don't miss our junk. I don't have to step on toys, dust any tchotchkes, or anything like that. It makes for a nice summer vacation. However, it turns out that while some items are not essential, they are quite handy. Like what? you ask. Here are a few examples:

Toys. Desperate for toys earlier this week, Macey and Olivia resorted to filling grocery bags with MORE grocery bags, drawing faces on them, and using them as dolls. They named them Niblets. I don't know why.

Matches. In the above photograph you'll see me (trying to) light Tess's birthday candle on a glowing burner. I melted wax all over my stove and the closest we came to ignition was when I singed all of the hair off of my right hand. You can see from the crowd gathered around me that it was the highlight of the party.

Finally, cake pans/cake decorating supplies. Poor Tess. No day-glow pink horse cakes for her. Because I felt guilty, and I was craving them, I made two cakes for Tess to make up for it--a Texas sheet cake (which seemed both appropriate and delicious) and a Better Than Se..., I mean, Wubbies cake. Tess didn't seem to care. Frankly, I'm not sure whether she even knew it was her birthday. She was just happy to eat cake, like her mother before her.

That other picture up there is of my kids and their cousin Ashley posing under one of the Mustangs of Las Colinas. I dragged everyone there on Tess's birthday because I felt bad about sitting by the pool every other day. There were large mustang statues. It was super hot. We had to go swimming to cool off.

The end.

P.S. If anyone out there has ever used the Blogger Droid app and knows how to insert pictures into the text, please let me know. Signed, Technologically Handicapped in Dallas

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Atrocities Committed Against the American People

2011-05-27T19:31:00.001-07:00

We (the kids, my sister Marianne, and I) committed our first obligatory act of tourism yesterday. We drove to downtown Dallas and viewed the John F. Kennedy Memorial.

It was interesting, hot, and kinda sad, all at the same time. In the picture with my sister you'll notice the grassy knoll and the section of highway where President Kennedy was killed. What you CAN'T see in either picture was the fast-talking street hustler who wanted us to pay him for his unsolicited five minute tour of the area, most of which I didn't understand since my ebonics is sorta rusty. I've decided that downtown Dallas is an area where atrocities must always be committed against the American people--from Lee Harvey Oswald, to street hustlers, to having to pay $10 to park in a crowded lot for one hour.

In other news, I am writing from this fandangled phone that DJ bought for me. I'm typing with my giant hot dog fingers on this tiny little touch screen. (Is this what giants feel like every day?! It's terrible. Let's make our world more giant-friendly.) Cross your fingers, I'm about to hit "publish."

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Fernandooooo!

2011-05-25T19:09:00.000-07:00

I cannot blog when I have an Abba song stuck in my head, I'm going to need some help here. Just sing along and maybe we can clear my mind long enough for me to tell y'all about our move to Texas. If you don't know the words, it's okay. I'm sure Carrie will sing loud enough to drown you out. Ready, ladies and any men (who might for some reason be reading this)? Got your blue eye shadow? Your bell bottoms? Your fear of communism? (Or was that the sixties? Like I said, Abba. It's messing with my mind.) Grab a wooden spoon, a hair dryer, or whatever you use when you're pretending to be a 1970s Swedish pop star and you don't have a mic handy. Let's do this.

There was something in the air that night! The stars were bright, Fernando! They were shining there for you and me! For leeeeberty! Fernando! Though we never thought that we could lose, there's no regret...If I had to do the same again! I would my friend! Fernandoooo!

Ugh. It's not working. Thanks for the valiant effort, ladies. We gave it our best. Now I'll probably die with "Fernando" stuck in my head.

So...we moved to Texas over the weekend. Dallas, to be precise. We drove here, but I will spare you the details of that twenty-one hour drive that took us thirty-four hours. Two interesting highlights: my gas tank sprung a leak along the way and we ate at Sonic on three separate occasions. [Sidenote: I think I may have found a cheeseburger that I love more than In 'n Out's animal-style one. Sonic's Blazin' BBQ burger. Fried jalapenos. BBQ sauce. Pepperjack cheese. Bacon. More jalapenos. (Sidenote to the sidenote: I can't figure out why my pants are getting tighter....) It's heaven on a bun. End sidenotepalooza.]

We got to Dallas on Friday night. I'm not sure where the last five days have gone. We've been swimming in the pool. Sleeping in. Whipping Marianne and Frank at SceneIt. Dodging hailstones the size of cocker spaniels (now I've got Mom's attention!) (I love you, Mom!). For real. DJ was out working last night when the tornado sirens started blaring. And then came the hail....

His trusty little born-again van was pounded by baseball-sized hail. It totally destroyed the windshield. The windshield wipers look like they got chewed up by a wild pack of cocker spaniels (hi, Mom!). The roof is all dented. And my sources tell me that both DJ and my brother-in-law, Casey, screamed like little girls the whole time. (I took a picture of the smashed windshield. I'm trying to be patient while it uploads, but it's taking forever. I suppose this is what I get for stealing Monna's internet. She's probably over at her apartment yelling at the red Netflix "Loading" screen right now.)

Today was perfectly sunny and 94 degrees, but with the humidity it felt exactly like wading through a giant pot of cream of mushroom soup. We spent about three hours at the pool this afternoon. We ate two cantaloupes for dinner and that brings us to the present. Stay tuned, folks. I'm sure tomorrow is going to be even more action-packed.

Can you hear the drums, Fernando? I remember long ago another starry night like this...in the firelight, Fernandoooo! You were humming to yourself and softly strumming your guitar....

(aaaand...we're still uploading. To heck with it, I'm going to bed. Maybe you'll get to see DJ's shattered windshield next time, guys. Sorry. I'm tired. "Fernando" and I are going to bed.)

Transitive Property

2011-05-10T19:30:00.000-07:00

Guys. The Universe is conspiring against me again. I don't know what I did when I was a teenager to bring upon myself this magnitude of bad karma, nevertheless...I am now orange. Thanks, Universe, I owe you one. (Or we're even. I guess I don't really get this whole karma thing.)

Let me explain. It was 11:30 last night, the children had finally fallen asleep, I ran on the treadmill, took a bath and was slathering myself in a new bottle of sunless tanning lotion when Olivia trudged in and announced that she had experienced a catastrophe of the sort that requires midnight showering and laundry. (My favorite! Thanks, Universe!) I blatantly disregarded the warnings on the back of the tanning lotion bottle that remind you to wash your hands immediately after lotion application in favor of cleaning up my hysterical daughter.

Twenty minutes later I washed the tanning lotion off of my hands and feet. Apparently I was twenty minutes too late, because...

(Hot dang!) When I awoke this morning to my fancy new fluorescent orange epidermis, I just couldn't get this song out of my head. Fortunately, it's been a lifelong dream of mine to work in a candy factory with a chocolate river and Gene Wilder. Or just have access Fizzy Lifting Drink! I think I may have my "in." So HA, Universe. Sigh.

Speaking of Oompa Loompas...

Tess got six shots at the doctor's office today. At least, I think that guy was a doctor. I don't know. Six shots?! What part of the Hippocratic Oath encompasses plunging a steel needle into the tender, chubby flesh of a two-year-old SIX times?!

To put it mildly, Tess was not pleased. Through the whole shot-giving process Olivia and Chancho wrassled around the exam room and made noises that should really be reserved for farm animals. So we had oxen braying, Tess screaming, and me playing the part of the human straight jacket. I guess I'll be glad when Tess doesn't get rubella or hepatitis or whatever. I guess.

And then we got home and Olivia vomited all over my bed. (Has anyone else noticed how many of my stories conclude with one of my children regurgitating their food onto my furniture or my car or the McDonald's Playplace?) This led me to cancel my night out with my sisters-in-law, which led to me comfort-eating half a pan of brownies, which will lead to me getting enormously fat.

From what I recall about transitive property from when I took algebra fourteen years ago and got a C-, if I get fat it will be because of The Universe.

A Very Mindy Mother's Day

2011-05-08T07:29:00.000-07:00

Because I know there will come a day when Tess no longer follows me around the house wrapping her arms around my knees and whining "hold!" until I pick her up, I dedicate the following song to my children:

And for this lady...

...another Mindy Gledhill song. For some reason this song reminds me of my mom. Maybe it's the piano. My mom was really nice not to laugh at me when I was learning to play the piano. She was also really nice to not yell at me when I played the same Scott Joplin song over and over and over ad nauseum until I finally got it right. That's true motherly love.

Happy Mother's Day, mom! I love you!

Info Dump

2011-05-04T19:23:00.000-07:00

Summer

Popsicles. Sunburn. Fresh fruit that isn't apples or oranges, like cantaloupe. Drinking from the hose. Spraying your sister with the hose. Spraying the hose into the house. Your mom yelling at you for spraying the hose into the house. Never having to wear footwear, but if you must, let it be one oversized sock pulled all the way up to your knee (Tess). Reading books on the lawn. The yummy smell of warm, wet concrete. (Why does warm, wet concrete smell so wonderful?!) Summmmmmmer....

Sunday

Is it really a day of rest? Since DJ's been in Dallas for the last three or so weeks, I've developed a new respect for single parents who attend Sacrament meeting with their children. For our family, it's kind of a three-ring circus act. In one ring you have Macey and Olivia elbowing each other, coloring, and talking to their friend Megan in the pew behind us. In the next ring you have Chancho asking in his outside (outside and on a rollercoaster) voice if I will make a paper airplane for him while simultaneously stealing Tess's Cheerios and spilling the crayons everywhere. In our final ring we have Tess, who wants to be held only as long as I allow her to repeatedly bang her cabeza into my clavicle. If she is not being held, her activities of choice include ripping pages from the hymnal and yelling nonsense words.
This performance goes on for an hour and ten minutes and is followed by two hours of me entertaining six Sunbeams one-woman-band-style.
That's a lot of numbers and what they all add up to is obviously the church is true. Why else would a sane person do that to herself every Sunday?

Dallas

I'm moving there in approximately eleven days. A few things I'm looking forward to about Dallas: 1. DJ, 2. Chipotle, 3. Chick Fil A, 4. Six Flags, 5. Sleeping in, 6. Maybe seeing a tornado.

Olivia

She graduated from Kindergarten on Tuesday. Olivia inherited my charming propensity to look perturbed when she's nervous in social situations. She's so, so shy. On one hand it's sweet (especially because she's generally very quiet) and on the other hand I remember middle school all too well. Anyway, here's a clip of her doing her speaking part. I used my new fandangled phone to shoot this video. Obviously the phone is winning.

She inherited my shyness but not my fear of falling off of stuff:

And she has a little Rapunzel thing going on:

Finally, Tess

She's going through a running away phase. If the door opens she's off like a rocket and I have to pull her out of our neighbors' trees. I'm trying not to let it hurt my feelings.

Amazing Technicolor Dreamcake

2011-05-02T12:01:00.000-07:00

For her birthday Macey requested "a yellow cake with pink frosting and horses on top." Forgive the momentary breach in humility, but...
I'm pretty sure I nailed it. (And if any of you are even considering sending this picture to Cake Wrecks, remember two things: I am not a professional and please include my URL. Carry on.)

Horses? Check. Fluorescent pink frosting? Check. Yellow inside? Check again. I am so awesome, I can't stand it. Or that's the giant bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream talking. Something must be causing these humility breaches.

I love the following picture for so many reasons. One, Macey looks like she really takes this birthday wish thing seriously. Two, my aunt Mary. She's the blonde gal sitting behind Macey. Look at that smile. Ever since I was a kid I've been told that I look like my aunt Mary. Whether or not I look like her, I hope that I act like her. She's pretty much always happy, no matter what. I need to be more like that.
[Insert segue here.]

You know what I've really been enjoying lately (I mean, besides peanut butter filled chocolate cupcakes)? Running on the treadmill. My friend Jenn, the person who is basically the genesis for all of my good ideas (hi, Jenn!), gave me the idea to prop our travel DVD player on top of the treadmill while I run.

Let me tell you, this has revolutionized my running. Sometimes, I still have to plug my iPod into one of my ears, though. I like to triple-task. Run, watch movies, listen to music. If I could work in eating a chocolate cupcake it would be the ultimate recreational activity. (This reminds me of someone.)

one of those days

2011-04-28T20:06:00.000-07:00

It's been one of those days when you find giant bags filled exclusively with banana-flavored twin popsicles at the grocery store (for $1.62!).

One of those days when you lay a blanket on the lawn, sprawl out on your stomach and read a sappy story while your children play in the water without punching each other, screaming, or dying.

One of those days when you not only finish your run on the treadmill, but you finish it faster than you did last time. And without any barfing or swearing.

One of those days when the sun does down at 8:30 instead of 5:30.

One of those days when you get a long nap with your wubbie and no one accidentally sits on you.

One of those days when you get a really good laugh--the kind that makes your eyes water.

One of those days when you're not retaining water.

One of those days where you pull your hair into a ponytail, and hang around in your sweats all day.

It's been one of those days.

Easter

2011-04-24T20:39:00.000-07:00

The Family Yard Sale

2011-04-16T16:37:00.000-07:00

After listening to "The Lonely" for the three hundredth time, I decided to dust myself off and throw a yard sale with my mom and brother-in-law, Manny. [You are aware that one doesn't simply have a yard sale, right? It must be thrown, like a surprise party or a bottle rocket (if you're DJ).]

It was the event of a lifetime, if for no other reason than that I finally got rid of that "Lobsters" sign that I've tried unsuccessfully to sell in our last two yard sales. I got a dollar for it. Suckas! I would feel bad, except the girl who bought it was purchasing it as a prank for her friend. What does it say about my decorating that people buy my stuff to play jokes on other people? Well, joke's on her. That thing's like a bad penny.

(That red arrow isn't actually a part of our driveway, I painted that in to show the cursed "Lobsters" sign. That's it, in all of its tacky, kitschy glory. Now that I'm a little less tacky, maybe I'll take up yoga.)

The yard sale was also a success in that Macey was able to learn the values of hard work and capitalism (if your idea of hard work is having your mom bake a million muffins while you're at a play date and then sitting in a camping chair taking people's quarters). In that way, her experience was a microcosm of capitalism. I (the Chinese sweat shop laborer) toiled away making muffins while Macey jumped on her friend Abi's trampoline. Macey (Walmart) then sold my products and kept the quarters mostly to herself. Once again, joke's on her. I eat her Halloween candy after she falls asleep (keep an eye on China). The muffins were a hit. Macey made $30.85, plus ten Chilean pesos, which will come in handy if we're ever in Chile and want to purchase one tenth of a completo, Manny.

Another reason the yard sale was successful? I gained custody of my mother's coveted gravy-vomiting chicken. Behold:

She is now keeping watch over my family from her little roost above our cupboards...

...and the balance of tackiness has been restored. So much for yoga.

The Lonely

2011-04-12T23:29:00.000-07:00

It's 12:31 AM. DJ is in Dallas for the next six weeks. My only choice is to do nothing but cry my face off and eat cake bites by the bucketload while listening to this song.

The bright side: I have the entire king-sized bed to myself.

Ketchup Time

2011-04-11T09:38:00.000-07:00

The strangest thing happened. I was kissing my boyfriend when all of a sudden I sucked the life out of him, he died, and I hitchhiked to northern Alberta. One thing led to another and found myself attending a special school where Jean-Luc Picard was the principal. No, wait...

That's what happened on Netflix last night.

I'm trying to account for the past two weeks and I got nuttin'.

I know we did this in between sessions of General Conference:

Macey did this:And then Tess did this:Which led to this:A week later, we went to the temple to see my beautiful sister and brother-in-law, Mariank, get sealed for time and eternity and beyond. Then, we did this:

and this:

This is my wonderful mother surrounded by her children-in-law: one Italian, one Chilean, one mason, one historian, one salesman, and one dietitian (and one Jason Bourneian, not pictured). Quite the motley crew she's inherited. Don't worry, Mom. It could be worse. We could have married the Motley Crue:

Yikes. This is almost as scary as the dream I had last night wherein I was grocery shopping and this polygamist boy was following me around, flirting with me. I was like, "Give it up, man!" and then I looked down and I was wearing one of those homespun, pioneer-style dresses and my hair was in an intricately-woven braid. I woke up before I could check to see if I was wearing tennis shoes...

...which brings us to the present. I just got a text message from DJ, who left for Dallas yesterday morning. It says, "We made it! Got here at 4 TX time and I'm linning up housing now. Beautiful place. Kiss the kids for me! Love you." I texted him back without mentioning anything about how he misspelled the word lining. I'm feeling rather magnanimous this morning.

I think my benevolent mood can be associated with my excitement about moving to this lovely place in six weeks:

Happy Monday, one and all!

A Miracle

2011-03-26T19:57:00.000-07:00

The scariest thing about this ensemble? She didn't pick it out herself.

Now, down to business. Have you guys ever heard the John Wayne saying "Life's hard; it's harder if you're stupid"? I've discovered this past week that it's a wonderfully multi-purpose quote if you replace the word stupid with, for example, angry. Or grumpy. Or gluttonous.

Remember all of that rage I was feeling last week? Well, by Monday the pent up anger morphed into this black, looming cloud of depression, and by Wednesday night I was fit to be committed. I laid in bed, bawling my eyes out, angry at the world, angry at my dad, wondering what I had to live for, blowing my nose on the corner of my sheets. You think I'm joking? Unfortunately, no. It was frightening. It's amazing how quickly anger can suck the life right out of you.

Anyhoo.

My husband offered to give me a blessing (because his only other option was to smother me with my own pillow). I brushed him off at first, but he's DJ and he persisted. Because of the personal nature of the blessing I won't share too many details, but I had this realization: I was allowing myself to feel unnecessary anger and pain. That is what the Atonement is for. That is why our Savior did what he did--so that we don't have to feel that pain. I was reassured that I will never be abandoned by my Heavenly Father. The dark cloud lifted and all of the pain and anger went away. Just like that. It was truly a miracle.

And do you want to know the most annoying thing about this whole scenario? I already knew. I know about the Garden of Gethsemane, the cross, the tomb, the empty tomb. How is it possible to forget something so fundamental? I guess because I've only ever applied it to my life in terms of me being a sinner, not me needing to be healed.

And do you want to talk about divine timing? My parents' divorce was finalized the next day. I think that someone in heaven is aware of my needs before I am.

The take-home lesson? Don't waste your life away being angry. If you want to waste your life away, start watching Lost on Netflix.

Happy. Sunday.

Kevin Bacon has all the answers.

2011-03-19T22:31:00.000-07:00

Does anyone know where I can find a big empty warehouse, a cassette tape of "Never" by Moving Pictures, and someone to teach me how to do a dramatic flip off of a high bar? I have some pent up anger and it keeps coming out in all of the wrong places. The only viable solution I can think of is to dance it off Kevin Bacon-style.

Here are some other things I've tried this week:

yelling at my kids

yelling at my husband

flipping people off in traffic, even though my car has a peace sign on the back window

eating an entire box of Hot Tamales

eating an entire box of Samoas

getting my hair dyed

pulling weeds

writing a strongly-worded letter

calling the How's My Driving 1-800 number to complain about another driver

crying

Unbelievably, none of these tactics are working.

I've discovered one thing that does work: talking. I finally had to do the unthinkable and unload, I mean, confide in a friend (hi Jenn!). She sent some excellent advice of the sort that made me cry and realize what I really need to do (be forgiving and pray).

My parents are getting a divorce. (I figure since I finally told my kids, I can tell my three devoted readers.) I'm too cheap for therapy. This is where you guys come in.

Maybe what I'm really looking for here is an excuse to dance with reckless abandon.

How do you guys deal with pent up anger?

In other news, Chancho tried to "move the park" this week:

The park didn't budge.

And I babynapped the cutest baby named Jack:

Thankful ThMonday

2011-03-14T07:55:00.000-07:00

It's 8:55 in the morning, but with the time change I think it's more like 4:55 or something. That sounds about right. I haven't showered yet and my kids are still asleep, so it can't be any later than seven. And since I'm up so early I figure why not tell everyone about our Sunday afternoon?

We decided to take advantage of all of this extra daylight that the time change "saved" us and take a Sunday drive. Usually these little excursions turn into me yelling at the kids to stop smacking eachother or get back in their seatbelts or something, but yesterday's drive wasn't too bad. There was minimal yelling on my part and we drove through Gunlock at the most beautiful time of day (in my opinion)--right around sunset.

The weather was perfect. I wanted to skip rocks but I couldn't bring myself to mess up the water, so we took pictures. In hindsight, I wish we had made Tess wake up from her nap in the carseat.

I think I'm a pretty lucky girl. I know it's not Thursday or anything, but the majesty of God's creations have reminded me about everything for which I am thankful:

a husband who is patient and kind despite my backseat driving

children who are healthy and can do tricks

a mom who is basically a saint and inspires me to try harder and be forgiving

a Tahoe which didn't run out of gas despite the low fuel light being on for like 30 miles

five sisters who maintain my sanity

the Samurai 21 Geisha roll

one word: spring

two words: spring break

six words, one of which is a compound word: In and Out animal style cheeseburger

I think I know where we're going for lunch today....

Pinwheel Tutorial

2011-03-10T13:12:00.000-08:00

To make your own Decorative Pinwheel Which Doesn't Spin, Thereby Defeating the Purpose of a Pinwheel (or DPWDS,TDtPoaP), you will need the following:

one square sheet paper which is cute on both sides

one dowel, painted to coordinate with your paper

your hot glue gun which has been missing since 2008

one button

one bag of Vanilla Creme Wafer cookies

one pair of child's safety scissors

To begin, eat some cookies while staring at your paper and wondering why you signed up to help with the Relief Society birthday party in the first place.

After you've come to terms with your own idiocy and general lack of craftiness, make a dot in the exact center of your paper.

Cut the paper diagonally from each corner, a half inch away from your center dot. Be sure to use child's safety scissors so that this portion of the project is as tedious and frustrating as possible. Make a mental note to buy a pair of real scissors.

Think, "Crap. I should've plugged in my hot glue gun before I drew my dot or cut my paper."

Plug in your hot glue gun and then use your free time to make a dent in the cookies.

You'll know when your glue gun is ready because it will smell amazing.

Glue every other corner wedge part onto the dot in the middle of the paper. This portion of the craft is easier is you employ your third arm. If you don't have three arms, make do with the two that you have and vow that if you're ever in charge of designing life forms they will be equipped with enough arms to do crafts without swearing!

While enjoying the smell of hot glue think, "So this is why so many Mormon women are into making crafts...."

Glue a button onto the middle of your newly-formed pinwheel.

Arrange your pinwheels on your countertops and then take a picture. Notice that you have two critically brown bananas in the bowl behind your mixer and like five books that you need to return to Tawny.

Glue a dowel onto the back of your pinwheel and arrange it in a flower pot leftover from the ward Valentine's dinner. Think, "I either need a smaller pinwheel or a larger pot, and I don't even give a crap."
Take a deep breath and blow on the front of your pinwheel. When your own hot cookie breath comes blowing back at your face from your unmoving pinwheel, vow to never again volunteer to be crafty.

A little happiness in an otherwise crappy week...

2011-02-26T13:00:00.000-08:00

You know what makes me want to go to Skateway, slip on a pair of these: and skate around backwards while listening to "Walk Like an Egyptian" by the Bangles?

These:

For those of you who aren't from southern California, Skateway was the rink to get yo' skate on in the mid to late eighties. Until it burned down. At least, that's the rumor I heard. You know how skating rink rumors are. Two words come to mind when I think of Skateway burning to the ground: foul and play. Or maybe four words: vicious elementary school gossip.

I guess I'll never really know the truth.

In closing, I'd like to share a video of my niece, Paige. She is a rockstar. I watch this video when I need to have my faith in humanity restored, which has been quite often of late. It's a real picker upper.

("Gave you all I had, you tossed it in the trash! Tossed in in the trash...." I love you Paigie!)

(Gah! I forgot to mention from whence I received the lovely leg warmers! For shame! They were a gift from Naomi, my Crafty Friend. If you like what you see, go to her blog and tell her to start selling them on etsy.)

A Little This, A Little That

2011-02-24T20:08:00.000-08:00

I don't have a lot of words today (you're welcome). Just a few pictures. First, this little gem that was printed in the Dixie Sun last week, and I promptly stole it from their website:
Olivia was photographed for an article about her gymnastics teacher, Miss Teresa. Isn't she sweet in her little unitard? Whip out your microscope and you can see Macey goofing off in the mirror in the background.

Next, yesterday was Macey's first grade program. There was singing. There was dancing. There were memorized parts. But mostly, we spent the whole time trying to see around this sweet old gal's cabeza:
Afterward we posed for pictures. The following is an example of how a normal parent poses with their daughter:And an abnormal parent? Coming right up:

Finally, I'll share this little nugget that I found. It has made this week somewhat more bearable:

Forgiving is love's toughest work, and love's biggest risk. If you twist it into something it was never meant to be, it can make you a doormat or an insufferable manipulator. Forgiving seems almost unnatural. Our sense of fairness tells us people should pay for the wrong they do. But forgiving is love's power to break nature's rule.

Lewis B. Smedes

Hot Date

2011-02-15T13:13:00.000-08:00

My Valentine's date was really, really hot.

Oooo, baby. [insert Barry White background music here]

We're talking spicy hot.

And a little sweet.

And smelled vaguely of fish.

We dined at Benja Thai and Sushi. I had the red curry.

And it was hot.

(Then we played three rounds of ping pong.

Final score: Elise 2, DJ 2)

For Grandma

2011-02-10T23:14:00.000-08:00

The following is a tribute to my husband's grandma, Marilyn Haynes, and every other woman who grows old and yet maintains the happy, wild spirit of youth. We were lucky enough to have Grandma Marilyn visit us this week. Five days, ten gallons of Dr. Pepper, and several John Wayne movies later, she's gone. And we are not happy about it.

Warning
by Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

This message was brought to you by:

(We love you, Grandma!)

And then...

2011-02-08T19:45:00.000-08:00

New Year's Resolution: Save the world via being a better mom.

Status: Failure. Utter, complete, dismal, smelly failure.

I was late picking Olivia up from school yesterday by (shh...) forty five minutes. (Don't worry, I dislike myself enough for the both of us.) It was a short day. I forgot. The ringer on my cell phone is broken. It was the perfect storm. She was in tears, they had to bring Macey into the office to console her. The scene when I arrived made me want to run headfirst into a brick wall.

Also, my kids are all approaching death by flu and double ear infection. And eczema. This is what I discovered at the doctor's office yesterday. "Your daughter's ears are both horrifically infected and, by the way, your lotion is aggravating her eczema," Dr. Jay said. "Tess has eczema?" was my reply. "(mouth hanging open)"

That was yesterday, let me tell you about today.

I sent my kids to school. Went running. On my way out the door to get Olivia from Kindergarten (on time!), Tess vomited all over my porch and feet. Hosed it off. Still managed to pick Olivia up on time. I felt like Wonder Woman.

And then, my diet was sabotaged by the Albertson's Gas Station Donut Marketing Department. Evil geniuses, they are. (Yum donuts!)

And then, I picked up a Hot 'n Ready pizza with a side of Crazy Bread and Crazy Sauce for lunch.

And then, I was involved in a three car pileup on Sunset Boulevard. I was waiting to turn left. Grandma was in the passenger seat holding the pizza and Crazy Bread. Tess was passed out in the back seat next to Olivia. And then some dude trying to cross Sunset cut off this other car, she crashed into his car, which then crashed into my Tahoe.

(And would you like to know what flashed through my mind in that slow motion second when I saw those cars screeching toward us? Not my life. Not the safety of Grandma and my children. It was this: "Aw, crap! We just paid it off!"

Yep.

We just got the title for our car last week. My children could've easily been at death's door and I was peeved that my newly paid-for car was getting crunched.)

And then, while I was waiting for the policemen to do whatever it is they do at the scene of an accident, the school called to tell me that Macey was barfy and needed to be picked up, ASAP.

And then, we cleaned the Crazy Sauce off of Grandma and left for the school and on the way there my sister-in-law called to tell me that Chancho had just vomited all over the McDonald's Playplace. Sweet!

And then, we got home and Tess screamed at me for an hour for putting her medicine in her ears.

The moral of the story: Making a resolution to be a good mom is like unto praying for patience. Bad idea.

Another Crisis Narrowly Averted

2011-02-02T11:19:00.000-08:00

I almost burned my house to the ground yesterday. I've been feeling under the weather since Sunday night, and since all diets are off when I'm feeling sick, I decided to bake some chocolate chip cookies. For dinner.

I turned the oven on to preheat and while I was in the process of mixing the butter and sugars I noticed smoke pouring from the oven. My somewhat dubious mental capacity was rendered completely dubious at the sight of eight inch tall flames inside my oven. My fatigued, achy, illness-ridden mind went blank. I opened the oven door, and...have you guys seen the movie Backdraft? Me neither, but I think you get my drift. Poof! Bigger flames! At least I had the sense to turn the oven off. I turned on the vent fan because it was becoming unbearably stinky. Then, I slammed the door shut and watched, stupefied, as the flames grew taller and more intimidating.

I was stumped, so I called DJ (he's my go-to pyrotechnics guy). He suggested spraying it with the sink sprayer, since we had determined that this was not a grease fire, and was caused by the remnants of the (entire tray of) cupcake batter that I dropped upside down in the oven on Sunday.

Meanwhile, Macey shouted, "Everyone down!" as she dropped to the floor, the other children crawling behind her in a single file line toward the front door, beneath the billowing smoke. (Thank heaven for our public school system.)

I doused the flames with the sink sprayer, which created a lovely sauna-like effect in my kitchen, and shut the oven door to let nature duke it out. Water versus fire versus cupcake batter. To the death.

Then I got on Google to see what I should have done, but the internet only made me feel like a moron. My instincts had me do the opposite of what I was supposed to do, just like that time I cut my finger open and flailed my hand around because of the pain (a.k.a. the worst possible method of stopping the flow of blood).

Anyway, another crisis narrowly averted.

In other news, I have an announcement (no, I'm not pregnant):

Are you in need of free children's clothing and junk? Do you have piles of old children's clothing and junk that you think someone might want? Do you like to eat free treats?

You are in luck!

My friend Naomi is hosting a Children's Clothing and Junk Swap at her house this Saturday. It is a mostly all day affair. Come by, drop off the clothes and junk that you don't need, and if you see anything you like, it's yours! Free! And there will be treats! At least, Naomi promised treats. We may end up having to raid her fridge.

Call me if you're interested. If you don't know my phone number, email me at eliseylinna (at) hotmail (dot) com. It's going to be awesome. (Who doesn't love free stuff?)

BEEP.

2011-01-21T20:17:00.000-08:00

I made a happy discovery this week. Who would've thought that the solution to our problems was hidden on the button panel of my microwave this entire time?

Eight loads of laundry to fold? BEEP!

Trying to figure out how to balance your work and home life? BEEP!

On the exit 4 off ramp and other motorists are swerving all around you because your car won't go? BEEP!

Dull, lifeless hair? BEEP!

Liberal? BEEP!

The solution to everything! And it was right there this whole time. So, I tried it. You know, pushing the button. Here's the little mental monologue that I had:

Me, pausing as I walk past the microwave because something has caught my eye: "HELP, it says. Sweet! Don't mind if I do."

BEEP.

"Huh. I don't feel as though I've been helped in any way. Strange."

BEEEEEEP.

"Hmm. I still have cracks on my heels, an outrageous phone bill, and four children running in circles around/on my feet."

I guess my happy discovery wasn't as happy as I thought. I made other discoveries this week. I know you're simply salivating to know what a stay-at-home mom has discovered this week. Well, buckle your seat belts.

1. I don't work. This is something that society has already told me, but was reinforced this week when I called my local State Farm agent to see if they could save me any money on my auto insurance (they couldn't, a sad discovery). After telling the agent my drivers license number, blood type, shampoo type, and everything else she asked, "And do you work?" I hesitated, cringed, and then hesitated again before telling her that I don't work.

And I hated every second of it.

Every time someone asks me that question I want to launch into a twenty minute lecture about how staying at home with children actually is work (hence daycare workers requiring compensation), but I rarely do. Anyway, the important thing is the discovery: I don't work! Ha ha ha ha ha! I immediately began performing a little leprechaun dance all over my driveway. I am the luckiest girl in the world! I kicked my feet up, ordered Macey to bring me some kind of drink with an umbrella in it, and asked Chancho to give me a foot rub. I figure, if I'm not working I'm going to make the most of it.

2. Kids have stinky feet, too. I took Macey and Olivia to a tumbling class today to see if it might be something they'd enjoy, or at least would wear them out. One little room. Eight little kids. Sixteen rotten, smelly little feet.

3. I can't crochet. I tried it this week for the second time in my life. The results were the same as the first time: tangled wad of yarn, crochet hook to the eyeball, curse words. I've decided that crocheting is one of those spiritual gifts that is given to some. I was not given the gift of crochet. I was given the gifts of sarcasm, correct spelling, and accidentally saying things that are really offensive. And I'm running with it.

And those are my discoveries.

BEEP.

Ugh.

2011-01-14T19:04:00.000-08:00

Before I start, I should warn everyone that I started a diet this week. I am hungry. I am grumpy. I'm eating 1700 calories a day, which is not enough. My body reminds me of this fact roughly every ten minutes.

"Eat something. See that banana? Eat it!" my body says.

"No. We're on a diet, and I already had a banana. Don't worry, for lunch in three hours we're going to have a tiny fajita with no cheese or sour cream," I tell my body.

Five minutes later

My body: "Ooo! You know what would be awesome? A Chocodile."

Me: "Nope. And I don't even know where to buy a Chocodile. We're just going to have a tall glass of water to curb the craving."

Me, after chugging a tall glass of water: "That sucked."

My body: "Red Vines! Beef jerky! Cinnamon roll! Something with layers and layers of melted cheese!"

Me: "I don't like you."

So anyway, I'm on the Grouch Diet and DJ keeps using my glass. I try to use the same drinking glass throughout the day; just doing my part to conserve water. I always put my glass in the same spot: on the counter to the left of the sink. Never on the back of the sink by the faucet, because that's where DJ always puts his glass, even though he never reuses it. (You know how therapists tell you that nobody "always" or "never"s? Bologna. DJ always puts his glass that he never reuses on the back of the sink.) So, I go to get a glass of water to curb my Nutella craving and I notice that my glass is on the back of the sink. So I get a new glass. I drink my nasty desert water and place my glass on the counter to the left of the sink.

A few hours later, I reach for my glass to find that it has mysteriously moved to the back of the sink next to three other glasses. So I get a new new glass. This process repeats eight times until we run out of glasses and move on to the mugs and I'm ready to carve my eyeballs out with a spork.

1700 calories. You know how many Double Stuf Oreos that is? According to the calculator on my phone it's 24.29 Oreos. That's like eight Oreos per meal. That sounds like a lot, but trust me. Trust me. It's not.

In closing, a little game that my friend Naomi started that I thought was a fun idea:

***
I promise to send something handmade to the first 3 people who leave a comment here. To be eligible, you must also post this in your blog, offering the same thing to 3 other people. The rules are that it must be handmade by you and it must be sent to your 3 people *sometime* in 2011.
***

And some mildly amusing pictures of my kiddos:

How to Save the World

2011-01-05T20:44:00.000-08:00

Is it a bad omen that I've procrastinated making my New Year's resolutions?

I keep thinking, "I'd better hurry up and make some goals that I have no immediate plan to accomplish." For four days the guilt has weighed heavily on me.

Today as I sat in my car waiting for school to get out, with nothing to read but Love in the Time of Cholera, I decided that enough was enough. So, I wrote some goals in this tiny spiral notebook that I keep in my purse.

Here they are, not in order of importance:

1. Actually return my Netflix DVDs instead of letting them sit in my purse for two months.

2. Stop accidentally falling asleep on the Lovesac and then stumbling into the bedroom at two o'clock in the morning.

3. Never again make the mistake of buying one-ply toilet paper.

Hmmmm.

I guess that's as far as I got.

I've been thinking about this for at least a few minutes now, and I've decided on one New Year's resolution that will make all other resolutions hang their heads in shame. Like, all of the other resolutions will sit around and gossip about how smug my resolution is and how they're sure that my resolution has had "work" done. Here it is:

Save the world.

Like my mission president taught us, "If you fail to plan, plan to fail." Or maybe that was from a fortune cookie. Either way, it's sound advice. Here's my plan for saving the world:

1. Buy a cape and a unitard.

2. Learn to fly.

3. Be a good mom.

I think that about covers it. Maybe I'll just work on being a good mom, and if I happen upon a unitard on the clearance rack at Target, so be it.

P.S. Have I mentioned how I dislike the snow and the cold? Can we speed up this global warming process? I drive a Tahoe. I buy Chilean grapes. I'm doing my part. Come on, everyone! This is a goal I am positive that we can accomplish if we all pitch in!

Interview with an Elise

2010-12-29T14:58:00.000-08:00

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

2010-12-11T18:55:00.000-08:00

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!

2010-12-06T19:28:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-24T22:15:00.000-08:00

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!

2010-11-16T10:22:00.000-08:00

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.

2010-11-10T19:36:00.000-08:00

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

2010-11-07T21:46:00.000-08:00

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!

2010-11-03T16:11:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-30T14:26:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-27T13:27:00.000-07:00

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

2010-10-24T11:44:00.000-07:00

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?

2010-10-15T12:30:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-20T19:56:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-11T11:36:00.000-07:00

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

2010-09-02T18:12:00.000-07:00

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!

2010-08-28T14:57:00.000-07:00

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.

My shrink said to make lists.

2010-08-25T17:18:00.000-07:00

Five Rules for life:

1. Never grocery shop while hungry.
2. You can't trust movie ratings.
3. That green paste they give you with sushi is too hot.
4. Please pull forward to the second window.
5. Don't write on your blog when you're feeling lonely/angry/depressed/psychotic.

(On Saturday my only brother got married and I was stuck in Trashville. I threw a pity party and no one showed up, but it's okay. The hors d'oeuvres were gross anyway. I've had very little sleep this month. My car smells weird. My earrings make my earlobes itch. Macey needs glasses. I live in Nashville. DJ is always at work. I found my kids mimicking my self-destructive behavior: My family found someone to stand in for me in the wedding pictures. Commence blogicide. And, no, I'm not pregnant.)

This picture brings four things to mind:
1. Kristen, my understudy and cousin, looks just enough like me to trick my posterity into thinking I was skinny and well-adjusted.
2. I'm the only Abrahamson female with the chest of a twelve-year-old. BOY.
3. Hey... aren't we supposed to be blonde?
4. I should utilize a stand-in more often.

Three places where I would use a stand-in:
1. The treadmill.
2. Wal-mart.
3. Rhymes with "map" and ends with SMEAR.

From Macey's backpack, her list of Top Ten Foods I Like:
1. Ches (cheese)
2. ice crem (ice cream)
3. Soda
4. Frit (fruit)
5. Pasta
6. Pie
7. ChesBrgr (cheeseburger)
8. hony (honey)
9. aPlle (apple)
10. caNDy

(11. Insulin. It's a food, right?)

Top five "Bad Mom" moments:
1. Finding Macey's food list.
2. When the tooth fairy stayed up too late playing Skip Bo with DJ and forgot to visit Macey, so she had to write a letter containing really bad poetry on the fly in her bathroom at seven o'clock in the morning to placate her disappointed daughter. It went like so: "Dear Macey, I'm sorry I didn't take your tooth late last night--I feel just awful about my oversight. The Tooth Fairy Queen said, 'Make up for her trouble. Go over there and pay Macey DOUBLE!' I love you Macey! From, the Tooth Fairy." Luckily, the Tooth Fairy incident didn't occur in 2009. We would have been ewed-SCRAY.
3. While book browsing Chancho yells, "Mom! Looooook! Twilight!"
4. From Netflix: "You recently watched: Thomas--Kipper--Kipper--Thomas--Arthur--Thomas--Kipper...."
5. Dinner: watermelon and birthday cake.

Seven things I'm grateful for:
1. My brother married a girl who looks as cute as her name (Elizabeth Jane). One day I'll meet her.
2. Even though I don't get to use it as much I'd like, I have a bed to sleep in.
3. My car may smell like a Dumpster, but I have a car.
4. Even though they're itchy, I'm glad I have earlobes because my ears would look incomplete without them.
5. My kids, even though they are expensive and hog the laptop.
6. DJ is always working because he has a job.
7. I live in Nashville, but at least I'm alive.

2010-08-21T10:16:00.000-07:00

I'm out.

I'm done with the blog. It has served its purpose.

I'm done with facebook. It has served its purpose.

I'm done with email. Texting. All of it.

I've done with my only connection with the world being through a fifteen inch screen and "comments."

If you want to talk to me, you can call me or come visit. I want to either see your face or hear your voice.

That's all. It's been a good run.

Peace out.

Brain (junk) Food

2010-08-19T06:50:00.000-07:00

I was tagged. My sister tagged me in a blog game. I have so many people to thank for this award... Meegan, for providing this opportunity to share useless information about myself with the entire Internet; and myself, for being *just* narcissistic enough to think that people will care.

Let's proceed.

Last five things I watched:

Brian Regan: Standing Up ("He don't need us. He happened upon an essentials kit!")

Mrs. Winterbourne (Was there ever a couple more ill-matched than Brendan Frasier and Ricki Lake? Maybe if Taylor Lautner and Supreme Court Justice Sotomayor got together.)

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (It's part of a program I'm doing to overcome irrational childhood fears. After watching it, a thought occurred to me: Perhaps being afraid of an armored, clawed creature crawling into your brain and chewing away your free will isn't that irrational.)

Fletch Lives (I'm a closet Chevy Chase fan. I didn't realize it until DJ pointed it out. More Chevy goodness: Fletch, Funny Farm, Seems Like Old Times, and the lesser known Follow That Bird.)

Yellowstone: Battle for Life (More irrational fear therapy. I'm still afraid of snow, subterranean magma bodies, and buffalo.)

Last five songs I listened to (or, "Songs That Make Me Feel Like a Superhero When I Run"):

"Magic Carpet Ride" Steppenwolf (The sonar pings take me back to my LSD days.)
"Sunshine of Your Love" Cream
"Today is the Greatest" Smashing Pumpkins
"Short Skirt/Long Jacket" Cake (Is there really such a thing as a Chrysler LeBaron?)
"Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough" Michael Jackson

Last five books I read:

City of Ember, Jeanne DuPrau (I detected a vague anti-capitalist, atheist, vegetarian, tree-hugging, vote-for-Obama theme. It's a fun story, though.)

People of the Book, Geraldine Brooks (This author is talented and yet annoying. She writes well, but she relies heavily on sensational, shocking anecdotes. Surprisingly, she's also a journalist.)

Return to Red Castle, Dorothy Keddington (Mmm...mountain man chest hair...)

I read three books at once, I can't remember which one I finished first. Consequently, we have a tie for last place:

Year of Wonders, Geraldine Brooks (Shocking Stories, Plague Version. Beautifully written. Incredibly bizarre ending. It was like eating a warm slice of cherry pie, and when you take the last bite it turns to meatloaf in your mouth. What the devil?!)

Book of a Thousand Days, Shannon Hale (I loved this story.)

As I Lay Dying, William Faulkner (What? How did this make the list? I thought I checked out this book, took it to the park so that I'd appear intelligent, chased my children all over Minneapolis, and never got past page three.)

Now you know all of the junk I've pumped into my brain the last few weeks. Now, the fun part. I tag....
Mom
Jenn
Marie
...and...
Tawny

GO!

Too Wonderful For Anybody to Realize You

2010-08-11T19:25:00.000-07:00

The thing about children is that they grow up too quickly (and they'll laugh at anything).

One minute you're snorting up their Newborn Head Scent in the hospital, the next minute you're sending them out into the cold, cruel world wearing a cartoon backpack that's bigger than they are.

I dropped Olivia and Macey off for their first day of school this morning at 7:15.

[I'm not going to complain about how early school starts here. Not complaining, not complaining, not complaining...GAH! School starts at SEVEN FIFTEEN A.M. in Tennessee! I live 1.6 miles from the school (it's on my running route, I've clocked it) and the bus picks them up at 6:15! Yeah, SIX. FIFTEEN. It is cruel and unusual.]

Aren't they darling in their little collared shirts* and skorts? You know what I don't get about that angel statue? What is the school trying to communicate by placing this in their garden? School sucks so bad, even the angels hate it? I bet they stole that statue from a mortuary.
I think I will sneak over there tonight, ninja kick their statue over and replace it with a statue of something a little more appropriate. Like a statue of this:Anyway. After walking the girls to their classes I made a mad dash to my car so that no one would see me crying like a total DORK. That's also when I started thinking about Thornton Wilder.

Warning: I am about to commence a philosophical tangent. You can tell by the italics and parentheses.

(Have you guys ever seen or read Our Town by Thornton Wilder? If not, put it in your queue of things to read. Don't worry, it's short. I won't ruin the ending for you like I ruined Inception. However, in the story one of the main characters (who has died) comes to a realization that no one appreciates life while they are living it. She says:

"I can't go on. It goes so fast. We don't have time to look at one another. I didn't realize. So all that was going on and we never noticed. Take me back — up the hill — to my grave. But first: Wait! One more look. Good-by, Good-by, world. Good-by Grover's Corners...Mama and Papa. Good-by to clocks ticking...and Mama's sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new ironed dresses and hot baths...and sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anybody to realize you. ...Do human beings ever realize life while they live it? — Every, every minute?"

Sometimes trying to enjoy the simple things feels like trying to eat ice cream while you're brushing your teeth. Trying to read to Chancho, but I have to fold laundry. Trying to play with Macey before she's too old to want to, but I have to fill out this paperwork. Trying to call my parents, but I need to cook dinner. Why does life pass by so quickly? It's painful. )

Resume the usual foolishness.

Um, I guess that was all I had for today.

The end.

No, wait! I have some more foolishness up my sleeve!

*Collared shirts! They are mandatory at my girls' new school. They aren't allowed to wear t-shirts (or flip flops, by the way). At first I thought, "Laaaaaaame," because I'm really articulate in my brain. And then I thought, "I should be grateful that they have a dress code in Tennessee." And then I saw what Olivia's teacher was wearing:

Un. Fair. And Laaaaaaaaaaaaame. I didn't say anything to my kids because I try not to infect them with my surly, rebellious attitude. And then Macey came home and reported that her teacher was wearing a tank top. (Gasp!) Her first lesson learned in first grade: Adults can do WHATEVER THE HE** THEY WANT.

Really The End.

Is it Photography Phriday already?!

2010-08-06T19:00:00.000-07:00

I am such a good mom. Prepare to be amazed.

Sometimes I let my kids' fingernails get so long that if they needed to defend themselves against angry ninjas and/or high school cheerleaders they'd have the upper hand. If they ever go to high school in ancient Japan they'll be all set.

Sometimes I let my kids fall asleep watching DVDs on the couch and instead of moving them to their bed I laugh at them and get my camera.

Sometimes I let Tess hide in the cupboard. It's her hideout; who am I to begrudge her of her hideout? She has popcorn. She has oxygen. She's fine.

Sometimes I make macaroni and cheese with hotdogs for dinner.

Sometimes I sing along with the radio at the top of my lungs for them. The other day I was singing "Devil Went Down to Georgia" and they kept saying, "Mom, you don't have to sing for us. Please stop," and I was like, "I do it because I love you...and the devil jumped up on a hickory stump and said 'boy lemme tell you what!'"

Sometimes I intervene when I hear Macey and Olivia having a "Nuh-UH!" "Yuh-HUH!" "NUH-UH!" "YUH-HUH!" argument. Sometimes I don't, though, when the subject they are debating is too controversial, like whose turn it is to have the front of the bathtub or the gender of their toys.

See? I'm such a good mom.

P.S. Happy Photography Phriday.

A Dweam Within a Dweam...

2010-08-03T19:50:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my seventh anniversary. I suppose it was DJ's anniversary, too. We celebrated by going to the big city and gawking at all of the weirdos. In addition to gawking we ate at a restaurant where our server was an enormous fellow with a goatee whose eyes were hidden beneath his bangs. I only understood every third word that he said. He may have been the Dread Pirate Roberts.

I was craving meat and not feeling very ladylike so I ordered a big steak and ate it in two bites. (I'm in the middle of formulating a new conspiracy theory, by the way. Is it mysterious to anyone else that when you request A-1 sauce in a restaurant, the bottle always has precisely one tablespoon of sauce left in it? Mysterious. Or not.)

Anyway.

DJ ate a slab of ribs and shared some with me because he's a nice guy and I threatened him like, "GIVE ME YOUR RIBS, TINY!" (Was it wrong of me to demand a rib from my husband? I have to menstruate, he can share his ribs. Adam shared his. And can I say "menstruate" on a family blog?)

After the carnage we strolled hand in hand down Broadway, which is like the Vegas strip but with a trashy honky tonk theme. It was there that I met Elvis. I refused to kiss him on the cheek because there was still lipstick there from the last dorky tourist and I didn't want to get mono from Fake Elvis On Wheels. And then DJ kicked Fake Elvis in the nards. (Can you say the word "nards" on a family blog? I think I just did.)

And then we saw Inception which was very good and appropriate because, as we all know, marriage is a "dweam within a dweam" and nothing says "Romantic Anniversary Date" like Leonardo DiCaprio re-killing his dead wife.

Photography/Birphday Phriday!

2010-07-30T20:16:00.000-07:00

Today is Chancho's birthday. He turned three. I repeat, DJ is no longer a two-year-old. Let there be rejoicing in the land! He isn't wearing anti-gravity boots here, it's just been one of those days where I forget to rotate pictures and I'm too lazy to delete them and upload a new one. As I write I'm eating a piece of that cake. This is my second piece of fudgie cake today. It's just one of those days where every few hours I have to eat a piece of chocolate cake the size of my head.After we ate the cake we went swimming. It was nine hundred degrees with three hundred percent humidity today. I bet you didn't know that was possible. Well, welcome to Tennessee. It was just one of those days where we had to swim and curse The South.

Now, I'm going to write a poem.

Ahem.

Ode to My DJs

by Elise

One of them is big, one of them is small

One of them is short, one of them is tall

They sleep with their knees hitched up and

their mouths gaping wide--

See how the small one takes up my whole side?

I love their bendy ears and the blue of their eyes,

DJs come in Original and handy Travel Size.

I love my two DJs from bottom to top.

I would never have posted this picture without Photoshop.

Happy birthday my little Chancho!

Man, I'm good at poetry. And photoshop.

Ignoring Reality, As Usual

2010-07-28T12:41:00.001-07:00

It seems like only yesterday I was thinking, "Man, I'm sick and tired of feeling like a lazy lump of lard sitting around this apartment not accomplishing anything!" Wait, that was yesterday. I've had many moments of introspection these past few days and it has caused me to delve into the archives of my blog.

Don't worry, I wore goggles.

I found my 14 Ridiculous Resolutions for the New Year. It was an eye-opener. Let's see how I did:

1. Stop hating cats. Check. Sort of. Okay, okay, I still hate them. Cats suck!

2. Stop loving things that aren't good for me. Errrrmmm.....we're not off to a very good start here....

3. Stop allowing people to fill me with rage. Everyone recall the courthouse waiting-in-the-lobby incident? Or most of Minnesota?

4. Stop hiding in the pantry to eat cookies. Check. I no longer have a pantry that I can fit in. Problem solved.

4. Run faster; fast enough to outrun the rapists--like a seven minute mile. I ran a seven and a half minute mile on a treadmill with zero incline, does that count? And once in Minneapolis I was out jogging and I was pretty sure there was a rapist behind me so I ran faster and started to decide what to do if he got me--knee him in the groin? Palm smack his nose? Scream? I got so carried away deciding what to do that he caught up with me, but it's okay because he turned out to be a turkey. And I was like, "I'll see you in November, sucka'!" and ran off. Elise 1, Rapist Turkey 0.

5. Find something to love about everyone. I was doing swimmingly until I got to Nashville and then...ugh...why does everyone here smoke? And charge you for everything, like ketchup packets? And say "y'all"?

6. Use my time wisely. Don't laugh! I think if you'll scroll through the archives you'll find that I have indeed been using my time.

7. Potty train DJ. This week! I'll do it this week, okay?! Get off my back!

8. Stop making Warm Winter Lemon cake because I eat the whole thing. I've stopped making Warm Winter Lemon cake. The same cannot be said for Ghiradelli brownies.

9. Cultivate rock solid abdominals. My abs called, they said they'd prefer to remain buried under a layer of Ghiradelli fat. Besides, they're kind of shy.

10. Stop buying 80/20 ground beef. I can't remember what fat percentage of beef I've been using this year. Failure!

11. Don't get pregnant. Sweet! It feels so good to accomplish a goal.

12. Water my houseplants. My houseplants are living with my sister-in-law right now. We are no longer on speaking terms (the plants and I).

13. ...stop caring that my closets are disorganized until my kids are raised. This is going well since everything we own is in a storage unit 1500 miles away. The storage unit is disorganized, though, and I don't even give a crap.

14. Figure out what's causing that smell in my laundry room. As for my new laundry room, I know exactly what the smell is: trash. A big, smoldering can of it. I had to hang a coconut-scented Christmas tree in there just so that I could throw away more trash without passing out.

As you can see, we are seven months into 2010 and I've already accomplished seven of my goals. It would be awesome if there were fourteen months in the year so that I could accomplish all of my goals. Since this isn't the reality that we live in, I've decided to ignore reality and make more goals:

1. Quit saying the word "totally" all of the time. As in, "I totally just ate an entire pan of Ghiradelli brownies by myself," or, "This car totally smells like bad breath."

2. Stop judging pregnant women for smoking, particularly that girl who smoked almost the entire time we were at the public water park. I'm not going to judge her anymore because I can't even stop eating brownies once I start.

3. Remember that just because somone has a southern drawl it doesn't mean I'm smarter than they are (even though I totally sound smarter).

Photography Phriday!

2010-07-23T18:58:00.000-07:00

Starting today, this blog has a feature. If you hadn't deduced as much from my cleverly alliterated title I'm calling it: Photography Phriday! You guessed it, Photography Phriday will consist of me posting a completely awesome picture on my blog. I might only do this today, so it's While Supplies Last, folks. Let's get this ball rolling, shall we?..........aaaaaaand.....................................

Ta da!

(cymbal crashing)

[crickets chirping]

For those who are interested I took this picture using my el-cheapo Kodak Easy Share 12 megapixel camera, from the rolled down driver's side window of my Chevy Tahoe this afternoon while eating onion rings with my other hand. I believe the technical term for what I've done here is "zooming way in." Note how the lighting is coming in from the side, as though it is a beautiful sunset. I planned that. I made an appointment with the deer. They said, "Sure. We usually eat in the meadow around sunset anyway." They were very accommodating since I promised not to bring DJ.

Looking at this picture has got me thinking. How would you like it if you were at the table eating macaroni and cheese with your family and some stranger walked into your dining room, took a picture of you eating, and then took off? What if that stranger shot at you with a bow and arrow? Hmmm, DJ? Think about that for a while.

Acknowledgments:

Friday--thank you for starting with a "ffffffff" sound. Without you this whole concept would never have made it off the ground.

Long Hunter State Park--thank you for providing sanctuary for a family of deer and nice roads for taking scenic drives.

Deer family--thank you for looking right at me when I yelled at my kids to get back in their seatbelts. It was very photogenic of you.

Burger King--thank you for making dollar menu onion rings of the pureed onion variety so the onion doesn't pull all of the way out when you take a bite, leaving you with an empty fried onion ring shell. That is the worst.

The Universe, Hot Dog Vomit, and Curling Matted Chest Hair

2010-07-17T13:53:00.000-07:00

The Universe is conspiring against me. Nothing is going my way this week. The Universe is saying, "Elise, you might as well stay on your couch and watch movies on Netflix whilst stuffing your face with chocolate zucchini cake."

I think The Universe is right. (And how did The Universe know that I have a chocolate zucchini cake on top of my fridge? Weird.)

I've had a bad week and today was the crap frosting on the poop cake of my week. This afternoon I found myself scraping congealed food chunks from the bottom of DJ's car seat with a butter knife. This was necessary in order to clean off the hot dog vomit. I immediately sent a blistering text message to my husband: "I do not get paid enough. I demand a raise." He has yet to respond.

He never takes me seriously.

But I'm serious this time.

One or two good things did happen this week, despite my cantankerous attitude:DJ's major award came in the mail. He dragged it into the house and plopped it right down on the carpet saying, "Fra-GEE-lay! That must be Italian!" DJ is now the proud owner of a completely ridiculous motorized longboard, even though he is an adult.

Another good thing that happened was that my sister Lisa gave me a copy of Return to Red Castle, by Dorothy Keddington, which I haven't read since I was like thirteen. I reread it this week; it was a glorious reunion. The main character's love interest, Jesse, is described thusly:

"Long legs were encased in dark leather breeches with fringe hanging down the outside seams, and a hunting knife dangling from his wide belt. A fawn-colored shirt was rolled up over muscular forearms to the elbow, and open at the throat where a rawhide necklace strung with bear claws circled his neck. He wore a full beard and mustache and thick brown hair brushed against his shirt collar..."

Sexy, right? Wait, there's more:

"I was afraid to meet the clear, penetrating blue of his eyes. My gaze slid down to his throat where the bear claw necklace rested against a curling mat of dark brown hair..."

{{{shudder}}}

He also lives in a tipi. Dream about that tonight, ladies. I'm off to buy a bear claw necklace for DJ to wear atop his mat of curling chest hair.

You'll never believe what they have in Ohio!

2010-07-14T16:04:00.000-07:00

This is my sister Lisa. She is a party animal. Here she is, partying with Tess in her in-laws' pool. I invited myself to Lisa's house in Cincinnati last weekend. We partied like it was 1999...again. The girls camped in the living room every night and watched television. Television. It was amazing. I didn't even know they had those in Ohio.

You know what else they have in Ohio? Real, honest to goodness, no holds barred, enlarged to show texture TRACTORS. This is my brother-in-law Jim's dad giving Chancho a ride on his Real Tractor. Chancho spent the rest of the day saying, "I had fun on the tractor!" every five minutes. Thanks to this tractor ride I won't have to buy DJ anything for his birthday or Christmas. For the next ten years.

You know what else they have in Ohio? Swimming pools and underwater cameras. Incredible!

In Ohio there is also a tupperware full of chocolate ganache. One night my sister opened the ganache to find suspicious teeth marks on the ganache serving spoon. Naturally, we conducted tooth imprint tests, using peanut butter on spoons, to track down our perpetrator. Here we are examining the teeth imprints. It was a tough call, but...

I think we have our smoking gun.

Now we're back in Nashville and we miss our cousins and sisters/aunts. Thanks for the party, Lisa! Now it's your turn to come to Nashville.

P.S. Anyone who can find my sneaky Paint touch-up job gets a hundred bucks. Or maybe dollhairs.

What We Were Doing While Everyone Else Was Seeing Eclipse

2010-07-01T14:20:00.000-07:00

On the way home from the crazy tractor park today we bought the World's Most Enormous Owinge Soda. Chancho hosed it because Nashville is a hot, sweaty place. But I'm getting ahead of myself.In the suburbs of Nashville there is a park that contains the following crazy tractor:

This is lucky because on one of our many gagillion-mile drives this summer, Chancho woke up from a long nap in his car seat and told us, "I was driving a craaaazy tractor!" All of Chancho's crazy tractor dreams came true in Nashville today. But before that...

To get here we had to drive through St. Louis...during rush hour. Luckily, because we were going 5 MPH, I was able to take this little beauty from my driver's seat. Ansel Adams, eat your heart out.

But before that, I made a wrong turn in Illinois and got to see Carthage Jail on accident.

Before I made the wrong turn that led me to Carthage Jail, I missed the turn onto IL 9/96 toll bridge over the mighty Mississip. This caused us to arrive at Nauvoo thirty minutes later than I planned, which turned out to be a good thing because...

I bumped into my husband's awesome aunt Julie and her two beautiful daughters, Brooke and Carli! Only in Mormondom could a coinkydink of this magnitude occur. I love my adopted aunt Julie--she is a very cheerful person. Seeing them in Nauvoo made my day. By this point Chancho was so grumpy that other kids were throwing candy at him just to get him to chill out.

Before we ran into Julie and her girls, we took a picture of this really neat statue of Joseph and Hyrum Smith. And DJ was just starting to get grumpy.

Isn't the Nauvoo temple pretty? I have a smudge on my camera lens, just like my friend Jenn (hi Jenn!), and I keep forgetting to wipe it off. It makes my kids look angelic, right?

You know better. Look how DJ turns his back to the camera defiantly. Little grump.

I think the reason that DJ was grumpy was because before Nauvoo we slept in a hotel in Cedar Rapids, Iowa where no one actually got to sleep. It was a really nice room with a TV and a Tess, two things that seriously impede our ability to sleep.

Before the Cedar Rapids hotel we drove through field after field of corn.

Before the corn fields we got stuck in rush hour in Minneapolis.

Before that I was stuffing all of our belongings into every available orifice of my Tahoe. It was a tight squeeze, but I didn't have to throw away my Fluff. Whew.

Before I stuffed the Fluff I was sitting in our apartment thinking, "I miss DJ. We should drive to Nashville."

The Beginning.

Oh, the bureaucracy!

2010-06-28T11:46:00.000-07:00

Let me see if I can reconstruct the timeline of the events of the past week; maybe then it will make more sense.

Friday afternoon I called the district court to see if I could mail in a check or pay my ticket over the phone with a debit card since we were moving to Nashville. No dice. I must appear in court or a bench warrant will be issued for my arrest. Ha! Me, the hardened criminal.

This news was frustrating. DJ had to move to Nashville without me so that I could remain in Minnesota for my mandatory court appearance. This morning I got up at the crack of dawn and began feeding, bathing, and dressing my children in their spiffiest clothes in order to make it to court by 9:30. Did I mention that because DJ is in Nashville (without me), I had to take my four children, the oldest of whom is only six, to court with me? Awesome.

I arrived at court at 9:28. My kids hair was pasted back, they wore their Sunday best. They were not yet rowdy. We sat in the back of the courtroom and waited for my name to be called. And then the bailiff escorted us to the lobby, where there was a large sign displaying the Rules of the Lobby.

1. No talking

2. No electronic devices

3. No food or drink

4. No sleeping

5. No reading

6. No gum chewing

Yeeeeeeeah--that's happening. I think I may have laughed out loud when I read this. He explained that we could wait in the lobby and he would come get us when it was our turn.

An hour later (an hour) the prosecutor for the city of Hopkins emerged and told me that if I was willing to pay a $200 fine for allegedly passing the school bus, I could just sign right there on that paper and go home. I'm human. I signed the paper. The city of Hopkins had me where they wanted me.

"Give me five or ten minutes, I'll have the paperwork ready and you can pay your fine and go home," he said, but I was so distracted by his reptilian skin and forked tongue that what I heard was, "Give me five or ten minutes, I'll have the paperwork ready and you can pay your fine and go home."

Silly me. What he meant was: "Now you will sit in this foyer for two more hours wondering if I am in my office eating a hoagie, using this paper you just signed as a placemat."

I sat in that cursed foyer, on those ratty stained couches, surrounded by crackheads, child molesters, people who wantonly disregard school buses, and four unbelievably whiny children for three hours. I would have preferred a jail cell (at least then I could let my kids run around or chew gum).

At the end of my three hour sentence, the prosecutor snapped his jaw back into place after having swallowed a mouse whole, and came back into the foyer. He did a great job of looking surprised to see me (as if he couldn't hear my whining children from his office).

"Oh! You thought I was going to bring the paperwork back out to you!" he said, fake-palm-smacking his forehead.

I am embarrassed about my behavior in that foyer. "You mean," I screamed, the edges of my vision getting shaky, such that I began to wonder if I was going to transform into a werewolf, "I have been sitting in this foyer for two hours for nothing?!" Spittle flew. Really. It was not attractive behavior. He began to respond, but I was so filled with rage that all I could do was gather up my five hundred children, and the board books, and the stuffed sheep that Olivia had to bring, and the spilled Cheerios, and stomp into line to pay my $200 fine.

And I waited in line.

The same line that I had just waited next to for three hours.

When it was my turn, the poor lady working there (who was a witness to my tantrum) was the one who had to tell me that their "computers [were] down" and they were unable to take my payment.

Well.

Then I can mail my payment in, can't I?--Of course you can mail your payment in!

She even gave me a convenient envelope designed for the specific purpose of mailing payments.

Oh, the bureaucracy!

(For the record, there was no school bus.)

Speaking of...

2010-06-26T18:49:00.000-07:00

Hell hath no fury like a Chancho scorned. Feast your eyes on Chancho's Grumpy Face. It may turn out to be less charming when he is a teenager, but for now I adore it. It's one of the few things he does on command.

Speaking of doing things on command, I have an announcement. I have been officially summonsed to court for my driving-around-the-school-bus infraction. I've been commanded to appear at 9:30 Monday morning. I'm considering depriving my children of breakfast and taking them to court with me, just so the judge gets a good idea of the conditions I was driving under when I committed the offense. Maybe I should also bring a Super Soaker to simulate the rainy conditions.

Speaking of committing an offense, the tornado siren went off last night. At first I thought, "What the devil is that obnoxious squealing?!" I stepped onto the deck and beheld that the trees were blowing horizontally on the lawn and that leaves and debris were falling upward; not good omens. Also, it was five p.m. and dark as night. I reacted calmly and rationally, remembering the two most important things to do in an emergency: 1. Text everyone you've ever met, and 2. Make your kids get in the bathtub. To make a long, action-packed story short, there was no tornado in Hopkins. Apparently the town of Hopkins is a little siren happy. Also, the siren also goes off in case of flooding and there was flooding downtown (getting in the basement when I hear the siren=no longer my first choice). There was the threat of a tornado, however--but that also happened last week.

Speaking of things that should have happened last week, we're moving to Nashville next week. DJ's whole office is moving and whither they goest, we go. I'm liking the idea of living in the country music capital of the world. What if I meet Jack Johnson?! I know he doesn't sing country, that was just an honest question. I would love to meet Jack Johnson.

Speaking of Jack Johnson, one of my favorite songs of his is "Gone." Here are the lyrics:

Look at all those fancy clothes / But these could keep us warm just like those / And what about your soul? Is it cold? / Is it straight from the mold and ready to be sold? / And cars and phones and diamond rings, / Bling, bling, but those are only removable things. / And what about your mind? Does it shine? / And are there things that concern you more than your time?

I love this song. If you've never heard it, I recommend it highly. That, and "Banana Pancakes"--both to listen to and to eat.

Speaking of cars and phones and diamond rings, my husband is in a sales contest at work and he is kicking some serious sales booty. He keeps winning stuff. So far he's won an iTouch, a pair of fancy headphones that he gave to one of his coworkers (Skull Candy? All I know is they are way too awesome for the likes of us), a $200 gift certificate to an overpriced online clothing store, and get this--a motorized longboard. (I don't know what that is, but I can tell you my grocery shopping just got a lot easier!) Tonight he's in the process of winning an iPad. If he wins the iPad he moves on to the Jeep round. If he wins the Jeep round he goes on to the Camaro round. You heard me: Camaro. Naturally, if he wins the Camaro I'm going to make him sell it to pay off our debt. But it will be fun to drive until it sells. Maybe I can get a skanky miniskirt (and a tan) and pretend I'm that girl in Transformers. Oh wait, I just remembered I'm not cool. Crap.

Speaking of crap...just kidding, I'm done.

(Now, take a 2 minute, 14 second vacation. You deserve it.)

Behold, The Coolness

2010-06-22T13:36:00.000-07:00

Enough silliness.

Time to blog.

I've been pondering the idea of changing the name of my blog. How does Haynes Family Travelling Circus of Chaos roll off the tongue? What about Haynes Family Rowdy Towhead Parade? I feel like the ringmaster of a travelling circus slash towhead parade. But to call myself the ringmaster implies that I have some degree of control. This is most definitely not the case, which is evident whenever I shop for groceries.

DJ (bless his soul) works six days of the week, and unless I want to live off of ice cubes dipped in ketchup it behooveth me to shop for groceries. Shopping trips usually require the use of those humiliating limousine shopping carts with an orange car on the front. I hate them. It is impossible to feel cool bringing up the rear of one of those monsters. Naturally, my kids love them.

I'm finally coming to terms with my uncoolness (twenty-nine years later). It's been a long, nerdy road of self-discovery. I was especially uncool in middle school. I was the dorkiest of the dorks. I'm okay with that because, in hindsight, even the cool kids were total dorks. In fact, there are many things that were considered cool in middle school that I was too much of a geek to be involved with. Two specific things come to mind: 1. crimped hair and 2. Beverly Hills 90210.

[Before my sisters out me, I must admit to owning and wearing a 90210 t-shirt that had Jason "Brandon" Priestley on it. (I would've preferred the Luke "Dylan" Perry t-shirt but the store was all out. Ah, the fickle tastes of a tween...) That was the full extent of my involvement.]

Behold, the coolness. I think I've seen every one of those outfits at the D.I. This leads me to my next point.

The harder I try to be cool, the dorkier I am. See those jeans? Those are Girbaud jeans. They had a little white tag right on the fly, that's how come they were worth sixty dollars. (My parents are better to me than I deserve.) I wanted with all of my 11-year-old heart to have voluminous bangs like the cool girls (coughMONNA!cough). I squirted and squirted them with Rave Super Duper Maximum Hold Hairspray. I couldn't pull it off. (Clearly, the problem was in the asymmetry. I see that now, eighteen years later.) The bolo tie certainly didn't help my cause. Aaaannyway...

I'm done. I'm not even going to try to be cool anymore. It never works out. It's expensive, impractical, and when you take the Rave into account, bad for the environment.

What brought all this on, you ask?

I don't know.

Maybe finding this on my camera.

Road Trip

2010-06-16T08:12:00.000-07:00

Please keep your hands and arms inside of the emotional rollercoaster at all times.

On Thursday of last week I packed my children into the car and left for St. George, leaving DJ waving pathetically in my rear view mirror. I wept. It was an emotional parting. After I was out of sight DJ began inflating his float tube, sorting through his tackle box, popping microwave popcorn, and taking up the entire bed.

The next morning I was on I-70 west of Denver when DJ called saying that his Grandpa Mendel had passed away the previous night. I can't try to be funny about the passing of Grandpa Mendel. Who will fill my children with cheese and crackers (but mostly cheese) every Sunday afternoon when we visit? Who will DJ call when he sees a good deal on a camper/chainsaw/diesel/ice auger/high boy jack? Who will give me a Costco-sized bottle of A-1 sauce every year for Christmas? Who will finish Grandma Marilyn's sentences? Who will fill Grandpa Mendel's shoes?

No one.

DJ flew to Utah immediately, almost beating me there. We attended the viewing on Saturday morning. The funeral was on Wednesday. I got to spend a few days hanging out with my awesome aunts-in-law. (I'm still waiting for my Scrabble rematch, by the way.)

Then we drove to Lake Powell for my sister Lisa's long-awaited wedding.

The setting was beautiful.

It rained and we ran under the tent.

This kiss was a long time comin'. We're talking twelve years comin', peops. We're talking Jim and Lisa have been together since before American Idol. Before they started putting zipper tops on the brown sugar and bagged cereals. Before Priuses. Before George W. Bush. Lisa and Jim have been together since the Clinton administration, people.

Lisa looked absolutely beautiful.

Macey got all mad at me for making her get out from under the table.

And the next day we went to the beach at Lone Rock so that we could get sand in all of our crevices. (Speaking of crevices: Carrie, if you ever read my blog you would send me a bouquet of roses for photoshopping your exposed crevice. Look at that craftsmanship! You can hardly tell there was once a comically exposed crevice in that very site. You can also barely tell that DJ was wearing those ridiculous silver spaceman sunglasses that someone left in his van.)

That night my dad took my sisters and I on a boat ride that caused massive amounts of family drama. This is us before the boat ride drama doo doo hit the fan. After it hit the fan, DJ and drove back toward Minneapolis to avoid any of the doo doo splattering on our windshield.

We stopped in Nebraska to sleep at Motel 6, where the girl at the front desk informed us that there was a tornado warning in effect. "If you hear the siren," she said cheerfully, "come downstairs and we'll all get in the basement. No biggie."

I was totally excited to see a tornado. I couldn't sleep at all because I was hoping to see one. I was also excited because I had a bunch of tornado jokes I was prepared to crack in the basement. It was like waiting for Santa Claus. But, just like Santa, the tornadoes eluded me.

The next morning we pressed on toward Minneapolis. Olivia threw up in the back seat of the car and it was gross. Then we got home. The end.

Please remain seated until your emotional rollercoaster ride comes to a complete stop. Permanaced sentados, por favor.

Pictures Instead of Words...okay, maybe a few words...

2010-05-29T06:34:00.000-07:00

Our kids at Lake Harriet.

Tess really wanted to go to Cabela's for her birthday.

Tess simply loves Cabela's. Can you tell?

Fortunately, DJ and DJ were there to protect us from the wildlife.

Here is Tess attacking her birthday cake.

Post-attack happiness.

After the cake mess was cleaned up I took the kiddos to Bryant Lake. I spent the whole time wishing that I had hair like Olivia's.

Tess spent the whole time wishing she could go back to Cabela's.

The end.

Mary Tyler Moore and The Segway People

2010-05-20T19:31:00.000-07:00

Today I braved downtown Minneapolis alone with four children. Is that an oxymoron? Am I a regular moron? Maybe. Is it possible to be alone and yet have four little people climbing all over you, stepping on your feet, whining that they want ice cream, reminding you that they have gastrointestinal requirements, pooping their diapers, dropping things on the sidewalk and then trying to eat them, asking why people are sleeping on the sidewalk, asking why people are playing their saxophones for money, wanting to nurse even though for crying out loud she's almost a year old?! I don't know.

Miraculously, we had fun and I didn't even lose any kids.

We went to this place called the Nicollet Mall. I was in search of a statue of Mary Tyler Moore, because according to The Internet there is one in the exact spot where she threw her hat into the air during the opening credits of her show every week. Evidently, The Internet was right! See? Who can turn the world on with her smile....

After I payed homage to Miss Moore, we walked across the Mississippi River. We used a bridge, of course. The Stone Arch Bridge, a Feat of Civil Engineering, to be exact. It was a long walk. It turns out, the Mississippi is mighty wide. I began to wonder why I thought this would be a good idea for my kids...until I saw The Segway People. Those cunning Segway People, and their avoidance of walking! They reminded me of Wall-E, I don't know why.

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