Interview with Elise

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

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

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

What else have you done this month?

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

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

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

Or Baskin Robbins.

Exactly.

Have you made any resolutions for the new year?

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

Gross.  How's the book coming along?

What book?

The one you told us you were going to write.

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

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

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

Witty Title

Update time. Let's go youngest to oldest.

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

Age: 2.5

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

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

Age: 4.5

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

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

Age: 6.3

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

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

Age: 7.5

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

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

Age: 29.9

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

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

Age: 31.1

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

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So there, Us magazine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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a gift for all of us

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

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

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

(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

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

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?

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.

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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