"Little" Red Dress

This dress weighs one hundred and ten pounds.  It was premiered a week or two ago at Couture Week in Paris. (Yeah, I missed it, too.  I don't know how these things slip past my radar.  Or, raise your hand if you didn't know Couture Week existed until reading that sentence.  High five!)

Doesn't this seem like a step in the wrong direction, ladies?  Doesn't this dress seem like a hearty slap in the makeup-less face of feminism?  We've managed to get rid of the whalebone corsets.  We can wear pants now.  Nylons are on their way out.  I have some serious beef with these Parisian fashion designers, I'll tell you what.  Give me something I can work with, guys. 

Just something on my mind today.  As you were.

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

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

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

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

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

Wheatgrass Juice in the Privacy of My Kitchen

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

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

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



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

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

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

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.4

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.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.4

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.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.4

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!

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.4

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.

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.4

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?

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.4

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!

Published with Blogger-droid v1.7.4