the Ugly, the Bad, and the Good

Bad ideas I had this week:

• Parallel parking my Tahoe in a Prius-sized parking space at school.


• Putting Big Boy Undies on DJ (little DJ) and then forgetting about them. And then going to Walmart. (Which is always a bad idea, in and of itself. Always.)
  
• Writing smart-alecky answers to the questions on my geology homework at midnight. (Why, oh why do I think I'm funny when I'm tired? Or ever?)


• Letting Olivia hold the bag of wheat we were taking to my aunt Mary's house to grind (because she has a really spiffy grinder and let us use it because she's awesome that way). I have wheat kernels all over my car.


• Eating Cafe Rio knock-off pork salads for, like, eight meals straight. Holy angioplasty, Batman.
  

Good ideas I had slash ripped off this week but mostly just ripped off:

• Six words: Cafe Rio pork knock-off recipe. Where have you been all my life?! I'm going to post it here...it's that good. And for those of you who are worried about the Coke--don't worry, the caffeine burns off when you cook it. (wink, wink)
• "Human progress never rolls in on wheels on inevitability; it comes through the tireless efforts of men willing to be co-workers with God..."--Martin Luther King, Jr. Good idea.


• Putting spinach and frozen broccoli in my kids' smoothies. I got this idea from my brilliant friend, Judi, who has been tricking her children into eating vegetables this way for years. Good parenting is all about trickery. And bribery. And starfall.com.

And now, the moment you've all been waiting for...

Cafe Rio Pork Knock-off Recipe That I Found On the Internet

2 lbs. pork (the fatty, delicious shoulder kind that comes in a net because it's bad for you)

3 cans Coca-Cola (NOT diet. Seriously? You're already eating pork.)

1/4 c. brown sugar

dash garlic salt

1/4 c. water

1 can diced green chilies

3/4 can enchilada sauce (medium-hotness Old El Paso)

1 c. brown sugar

Marinate the pork in 1 and 1/2 cans of Coke and 1/4 c. brown sugar for a few hours or overnight.

Drain marinade and put pork, 1/2 can of Coke, water and garlic salt in a crock pot on high for 3-4 hours. Remove pork and drain and leftover liquid. Shred pork.

In a food processor or blender, blend 1/2 can Coke, chilies, enchilada sauce, and 1 c. brown sugar. Put shredded pork and sauce in crock pot on high for another two hours. Voila!

And, as promised, The Ugly:

Horn Tooting

Excuse me, I feel inclined to toot my own horn.

Political Science 1100, how I loathe thee! You are a despicable class. You require me to debate about political issues for which there is no solution. You test me on opinions and theories that I don't understand. Your textbook is coma-inducing. Also, your classroom is frigid, has unflattering fluorescent lighting, and smells vaguely of erasers and feet. But today, Political Science, you are my friend.

I have taken my first political science test. Not only did I pass the first test, but I got the second highest score in all of the instructor's classes. 98%! All together now: HALLELUJAH!

Horn tooting over.

As you were.

The Only Way to Catch a Cat

Yesterday...was bananas. Firstly, I was driving down the road and the steering went out in my Tahoe. Weird, right? I had just finished flipping a U-ie when I heard this "Fzzzz......" and I was all, "That's weird." And then I tried to turn right onto 100 South and the wheel wouldn't turn, though I cranked it with all of my might. So I was all, "Perhaps that 'Fzz' sound was my power steering," because I'm a mechanical genius. So, there I sat, in the middle of 900 East in the rain, unable to pull off to the side of the road. So, the college kids kept pulling right up in my bizness like, "Hey old lady, get out of the road!" and I was like, "Dude! Go. Around." Finally this cop pulls up and he's all, "What are you doing?" and I'm like, "Enjoying the rain. And I think my steering went out." Psht. Duh! So he's nice and calls a tow truck which costs eighty dollars (read: half a weeks groceries or 16 Hot 'n Ready pizzas).

And then we got home and the front door was ajar and the Stray Cat From Hades was in our house. I was all, "Hey, Cat. Get out of here." And he was like, "Reeeeer!" and darted under my bed. So I sent DJ in there with the broom, because he's the hunter of the family. Ten minutes later DJ emerged from our room, having scooted the cat out the back door. He was like, "Ugh! I had to pretend that I liked it." (Because that's the only way to catch a cat.)

I think that Dixie College is starting to rub off on me. Scary, huh?

Ice cream, Lieutenant Dan!

I have given a quarter of my brain to each of my children. (You're welcome, kids!) If I have learned anything from my first two weeks of college, it's that I don't have no brains left. I know that you want to hear all about it, so here it is in handy, bulleted-list form:

• Showed up to my first day of writing class without a PEN. I think it flew out of my jacket pocket as I raced across campus to class. I spent the entire writing class praying that I wouldn't need to write anything.
• Showed up for my second writing class proudly clutching my ball point pen. "Everyone will need a #2 pencil," the professor announced as he passed out a stack of scantrons. I had to borrow a pencil from the friendly Polynesian behind me.
• Showed up for my third writing class without any paper. I did, however, remember to bring both a pencil and a pen (in case I might need to write something on my arm).
• Showed up to my fourth writing class without my arms. Just kidding. Well, sort of.

As further proof of the fact that I have given my children my brains, I offer the following anecdote. Last night we read the Book of Mormon with our kids before putting them to bed. Macey, my little brainiac, has gotten to the point where she can read with us instead of being read to. It's nice. Last night she read the last five verses of Mosiah chapter 28 all by herself. After she read the words 'iniquities' and 'abominations' without any help from us, DJ gave me this look like "whose kid is this?"

After the kids were in bed and DJ and I had cracked out the cookies and milk and the real party started, DJ told me that he felt like Forrest Gump when he first meets little Forrest and asks, "Is he...smart, Jennay?" Or something to that effect. I have to agree. My kids are definitely going to be smarter than I am--at least I hope so. I still maintain that there must have been some mix-up in the pre-Earth life and I accidentally got my sister Meegan's children. I won't know for sure if they're Meegan's kids until they're teenagers. If they get really smart and start watching Star Trek and never rebel and maybe drive a Ford Escort, then I'll know for sure.

I'll keep you posted.

P.S. For those of you who are dying to read my mandatory blog entries for school, my school blog is over there in my blog list. It's called Yada Yada Yada. Read at your own risk. Do not operate heavy equipment while reading.

On college and basketball. But not college basketball.

I'm officially finished with my first two days of classes. I feel so very collegiate. I've had one epiphany since starting my life as a college student. It happened in English class when the professor told us that we would have to start a blog and post on it at least twice a week.
"Students," the professor said, "You're going to have to start a blog and post on it at least twice a week."
I stood up and with my fists on my hips like Wonder Woman (but without the boots and sex appeal) said, "You mean I could have been getting college credit for blogging?!"

And now, an angry letter in honor of my e-friend Marie who also likes to write letters. Tonight I played my first basketball game after a twelve year absence from the sport. I played my last game under duress in high school P.E. class. Tonight I played after being coerced into it by my well-meaning Relief Society first counselor. Enjoy.

Dear Basketball,
You suck. See ya in another twelve years.
From,
Elise

Haynes Family Unplugged

I am about to make your day.

Haynes Children Fashion Tips

• Always, I repeat, ALWAYS cuff your pants up over your knees because, and I quote Macey, "It keeps them from touching my ankles". We can't have that.

• Colors, people. For spring 2010, fashion is all about colors. It doesn't matter if they match; the more colors you can cram into your outfit the better.

• Loose fitting shirts look awesome flying out from under a fitted hoodie.

• Four words: Purple. Sparkly. Toed. Flats.

• Two more words: With. Socks.

• Remember your scarf in case you're cold from having your pants folded up to your armpits.

• The essential fashion element (if you're a two-year-old boy who digs orange): orange Crocs.

I love that my children are still young enough to not care what anyone thinks, their mother included. They have their own style. They do what works for them.

Speaking of doing what works...

I never write about our real lives, do I? That's because reality tends to be somewhat...what's the word I'm looking for? CRAPPY. Yeah, crappy. Thanks a lot, Recession!

Anyhoo, I've decided to break from tradition today and write a little about what is going on in our real lives. (Meanwhile, I can hear my children in their room unravelling an entire roll of scotch tape.) Let's proceed, shall we?

Picture the Haynes family in the summer of 2007. We just had our first baby boy. We had two little girls and a owned a beautiful home with wood floors and a trampoline and central vacuum and (for some reason I will never understand) no light in the shower in the master bathroom. It was weird but it was ours (just like our kids). DJ owned a thriving mortgage company. We were perched on top of a giant housing bubble like a couple of idiots, smiling and waving to our friends.

And then the housing bubble popped.

And I think we've finally hit the ground.

We lost it all. The company, the houses, the cars--every major item that we acquired as the bubble inflated is now gone. At first, I fought like crazy to hang on to things. You know, kind of like when you have the flu and you realllllly don't want to throw up? But you always feel soooo much better after a good upchuck, right? That's where we are now. All of the unnecessary garbage has been purged from our systems and we still have the most important things--our children, our health, the gospel, and each other. And the LoveSac, of course.

Moving on from the barf analogy. Now we've decided our next post-housing bubble move and you're NOT GOING TO BELIEVE IT. The Hayneses are going to back to school. I registered at Dixie. DJ is registered at Bismark State College online. Meanwhile, because even though going to school is fun, we still have four children to provide for--DJ is going to (you're not going to believe this either) finally start his Dream Fishing Lodge in Alaska. If you look over there on my blog list, you can see his website listed amongst the blogs. It's a lot of work and it's a big fat, scary risk, but we'll see. Nothing's phasing me at this point.

That's what's new with us. What's new with you?

It's just me and the moron twins.

Who's ready for a nice, hearty laugh at my expense? (I can picture you all looking around and whispering to eachother, "...uh...I thought that's why we were here." Thanks for the support.)

Around 12:35 this afternoon I gathered all of my offspring, put on their jackets and shoes, woke Tess up from her nap, found Macey's backpack, loaded the youngest two into the stroller, and made the trek to the elementary school to drop Macey off for Kindergarten.

And then I realized that school starts tomorrow.

JewwwDUSS!

"Well, children," I said, smacking my forehead, "There's no school today but at least the walk was cold and miserable."

P.S. If you can name the movie from which I plagiarized the title of this post you win a prize!

14 Ridiculous Resolutions

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

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

A Weary World Rejoices

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

Christmas Haikus, 2009

Knock knock on the door

Wrapped, shiny presents for kids

How can I thank you?

and

When money is tight

I'll forever be grateful

For ding dong ditchers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Number of pictures I took with my broken camera: 0

I'd like a different card, please.

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

Dear Parents, (breathing into brown paper bag)

Your child's vision was recently evaluated...

Whew!

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

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

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

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