Oh Oscar.

As many of you know, I love the Oscars. If you didn't know that, you obviously haven't been reading my blog for more than 11 months.

The rest of my post has been demolished by Gwenyth Paltrow.  Now I will hate her for the rest of her life.

HAT.

I made this hat. (instead of cleaning my room.)

It's pretty hard core.  (says the stay at home Mormon mom.)

word.

Today I will crochet a hat.

So I am an amateur crocheter which means I know just enough about crochet to make home-made gifts for friends and loved ones but not quite enough to make home-made gifts that friends and loved ones actually like.  This has made for some awkward Christmases where I think I have done the most awesome present and feel really good about myself and all the hours and love I've put into this gift and my friends and loved ones feel really bad for me and try to act happy and pleased with their semi-terrible scarf or flat-out laughable crocheted stuffed animal.

Brett keeps telling me to stop making home-made gifts.  (In fact he flat-out refuses to let me crochet anything for his side of the family.) He says they aren't things that people ever actually wear unless they are 100% positive they will bump into you that day.  And even then they have to convince themselves to wear that thing just this one time.


So to find out how terribly magnificent my homemade gifts are, I will make myself a hat.  And if I can wear it out in public because I actually like it I will know that I am truly a successful home-made present giver after all.

But if I am embarrassed to wear it out in public, I will secretly know I should stop making home-made gifts.  But I will still wear it and tell Brett how truly awesome I am.  Just to make a point.

Either way it doesn't look likely that the home made gifts will ever stop.  So if I ever draw your name in the annual Christmas swap we should start doing you know what you have to look forward to.

49 Questions Your Spouse Will Answer.

So I was on pinterest and I came across this blog post with 50 questions to ask your spouse.  And as I was reading through it I was imagining how Brett would react if I tried to ask him any of these.  And huge eyerolls abounded.  And then he tried to get up to leave.  And then he fell asleep.

So here is a list of 49 questions my Spouse will actually answer without any serious eyerolling.

1. Do you want a shoulder massage?
2. Did I do anything that annoyed you today/this week?
3. Would you ever consider taking a (insert hobby) class with me?
4. What could I do for you that would make you interested in taking a (insert hobby) class with me?
5. Would you like me to scratch your back?
6. Do you like your classes/ job?
7. If you could change anything about your class/ job what would it be?
8. Do you want spaghetti for dinner?
9. Would you like to help me make dinner?
10. You're a great dad, you know?
11. What would you do if I ever died?
12. Do you know all of my passwords in case I died?
13. Have you been working out?
14. Have you lost weight?
15. Where do you see yourself in 10 years?
16. Where would you like to travel with me?
17. What would you like for dessert?
18. What is your favorite way to eat chocolate?
19. If we were stranded on a deserted island, and you died before we were rescued, and I was
      starving, would you mind if I ate you?
20. Could you eat me if you were starving to death and I was already dead and you had no other
      alternative?
21. Would you like me to put the kids to bed?
22. If you could change the color of the sky, what would you choose?
23. Would you rather design a sky scraper in New York City or a high end Casino in Vegas?
24. Would you like to watch a movie with me?
25. Would you like to pick the movie?
26. What are 5 of your favorite all-time movies?
27. Why do you think my 5 all-time favorite movies are dumb?
28. If you could change one thing about your body, what would it be?
29. Do you want to hear a joke?
30. Why did the toilet paper roll down the hill?
31. What is your favorite way to make popcorn?
32. Would you like to hang out with the boys this weekend?
33. Did you finish your homework?
34. Is there anything we need to get at the store?
35. Do you mind if I vacuum in here really quick?
36. Did you get a haircut?
37. Would you like some milk with your cookies?
38. Do you think I would make a good exotic dancer?
39. Do you want to arm wrestle?
40. Is our home fortified against a zombie attack?
41. What is the worst thing that as ever happened to you?
42. Would you be able to cut through your own arm if it was caught under a boulder and you would
      die if you didn't sever it?
43. What horror movie would be the worst to have to live through?
44. Do you want to answer 5 more questions and then have sex?
45. Who do you think is the most amazing, beautiful woman in the world?
46. What song do you think best represents our relationship?
47. Will you buy me that purse I've been eyeing for the last month?
48.  Will you fix the broken handle on the Honda?
49.  Will you watch the kids tonight during girls' night out?

top 10 reasons I hate the Gym.

In no particular order, I just started at 10 to throw you off and make you think that #1 was going to be this huge epiphmatic™ moment.   (BTdubs, epiphmatic™ is a %100 Kristina word.  You may use it as you wish.  Just remember to include the ™ whenever you say it.  You know, in your head.) 


10. There are Lions.
I know I shouldn't let this bother me, but c'mon, LIONS?  They are bronze statues, standing majestically on this great fountain that pours down into a goldfish and turtle pool.  Don't get me wrong, love the fish.  Love the turtles.  But the 8 feet tall lions I could do without.  Maybe they are there to remind me that unless I lose some poundage I will always just be a tasty lion snack.  Or maybe they are there to add some class.  Because nothing screams "CLASSY GYM!" Like 8 foot bronze lions.

9. Sheridan's Frozen Custard
Is practically built in the gym parking lot.  That way you can 1. Think about all the Frozen Custard you aren't eating because you are trying to be a skinny fit person or 2. Hate yourself as you bury your cellulite-induced woes in 3 heavenly scoops of creamy, delicious frozen custard.  With Hotfudge, raspberries and whipping cream.  And pecans.  I'll take 2 please.

8. Work-out clothes make me look fat.

Can't they just bald-face-lie like my regular clothes do?

7. People expect me to work out when I'm there.
Seriously, can't I just go to the gym, drop my kids off at the daycare and read a book on the nice squooshy couch in the locker room?  Stop judging me!!

6. It is full of skinny fit people.
Who are secretly judging me.  When I go to the gym I don't want to be surrounded by beautiful women with perfect hair and make-up.  Shoot, I don't even want a Robin Sherbatsky who is wearing sweats and no make-up but still has a perfect body so she can get away with it.  I want to go to the gym and be surrounded by sweating fat people, who will look over at me on the treadmill, give a little wave and psychically tell me, "I feel you girl.  I hate this right now.  I would totally be in the locker room reading a book on the nice squooshy couch except people expect me to work out when I'm here."

4. Constant reminders of my grandma-esque physique
Remember when I naively ran that 5k?  And the slowest grandma on the planet casually jogged past me?  Well getting shown-up by grandma once is enough humiliation for a life-time.  But apparently I feed on constant humiliation.  I attend  a step-class (which I love to hate) that is full of 1. skinny fit people 2. grandmas 3. pregnant ladies and 4. ME.  And guess who leaves the risers out of her steps?  Nope, not the grandmas.  It's the pregnant ladies.  BECAUSE THEY ARE 8 MONTHS PREGNANT.  Oh yeah, and ME TOO.  Because I'm 33 months POST PREGNANT.  I can't handle that extra 4 inches in my step.  Ask me again when I'm in my late 70s because hopefully by then I'll be able to hack it.

3. It is full of witnesses to my failure.
So today I did the P90x Kenpo DVD.  Wait, no I didn't.  I  did about 30 minutes of the P90x Kenpo DVD. And then I got bored and decided I didn't want to do it anymore, and so I stopped.  (and consequently sat down and drank some chocolate milk.)  Guess who cared and noticed??  NO ONE!  (well actually my 4 year old daughter did say, "Mom, You're missing your exercises!" But I accept the fact that she knows I am overweight and undermotivated.)  NO ONE!  Where as at the gym, you get on those eliptical machine deals, do about 10 minutes and think, eh.  I don't want to do this anymore.  So you step down and the grandma on the machine next to you raises an eyebrow and thinks loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, "really lady?  10 minutes?  on an eliptical? is that all you got?" And you weakly stutter in thought response, "oh, oh, I was just uh, heading on over to the treadmill instead." and grandma smiles smugly.  "don't kid me hunny, I've seen you run.  I'm the old biddy that lapped you that last 5k.  SUCKAH!"

2. I feel unconnected to my children when I'm there.
My kids like to go to the gym.  They beg to go there.  So I drop them off at the Kid's club and they run off sqeeing in delight.  "I love the gyyyyyyyym!!"  WHO ARE YOU??? Can I continue rearing children with such a backwards philosophy on voluntary physical exertion?  I don't know if this is going to work out.

1. I could only think of 9.
But "top 9 reasons I hate the Gym" just sounded stupid.  Okay I lied.  I only thought of 8.

Why the new Ender's Game movie is STUPID.

I read Ender's Game for the first time when I was 11 years old.  It was instantly my favorite book (still is)  and like anyone who read it as a kid (who am I kidding, just like anyone who has EVER read it) I immediately wanted to be a part of that book.  In the battle room.  Kickin' butt with Ender Wiggin.

My older brother told me they were thinking of making it into a movie and me, the ever excitable pretweener  filled my days dreaming of playing a role in the film.  I was too old to play Petra - the only girl at battle school - but I would be ok playing Valentine, or they could make up a new role for me.  Or if worse came to worst I could always be an extra. There was no doubt in my mind I would have been cast for this movie.  It was my destiny.

But of course there was no movie.  They were all dirty rotten rumors.

The internet started to exist, and I am sure I was one of the first inhabitants of Hatrack River - back when it was an extensive forum with no members because no one had the internet.  And then something beautiful happened - they were going to make the Ender's Game movie, but for real this time.  I knew it was true because I read it on an internet forum.  I think I was 14.  And although I was technically too old to be in battle school, most likely they would have to hire an older cast anyway, right?  What 6 year old could successfully pull off Ender Wiggin?  I was back in the game.  I would be in this movie.

THE INTERNET LIES.  There was no movie.  Not that year, or the next year, or the next.  And so I grew up, and I grew up content knowing that although I would never be in battle school, although I would never fly through the air and shoot little light lasers and freeze peoples limbs or play in flight simulators or be in the Dragon Army, neither would anyone else.


Until today when I find out that Asa Butterfield will fly.
Hailee Steinfeld will shoot laser guns.
Aramis Knight will go to battle school, courtesy of Sister Carlotta.
And Harrison Ford will take them there.


And me, Kristina Foutz, who once as an 11 year old girl was guaranteed the leading girl-child role in the movie (seriously, I was a total shoe-in) is left out in the cold.  Alone.  Too old to go to battle school.


So even though technology and movie-making magic has finally gotten to a place that will make this movie possible, and even though Harrison Ford is one of my favorite people ever, and even though I will definitely go see it, it is 100%- undeniably -for sure gonna be dumb.  Cause I am not in it.

The True Story of the Last Thanksgiving.

Once upon a time in a far-away, dreary land, a young family struggled to get by.  The economy was bad at this time, but luckily the family remained mostly untouched as the father and husband of this family was still a full-time student and didn't have time for a real job anyway.  Don't misunderstand, he was a very hard worker and he still had a job, just not the kind of job that really gets affected by the economy. So though the family struggled, they worked hard, had a lot of love and recognized the blessings in their life.  They truly had a lot to be thankful for.
As the 4th Thursday of November inched closer and closer, this young family's thoughts turned to their blessings, and the traditional feast in which they would indulge to near vomiting.  Normally the family would travel to celebrate with their relatives, but this year they would remain in the far-away dreary land that they currently inhabited.  Several generous dinner invites were extended towards this family but Father, being wearied with work and school, decided that this year he would like to over-indulge in his own home, surrounded by the loving comfort of his wife and two small children.  Mother, hearing this plan, suggested they order-out chinese.  But Father insisted it would not truly be the blessed occasion of thankfulness without the traditional basting and roasting of a delicious turkey.  Several pans of rolls.  A few pumpkin pies and mashed potatoes.  Mother, loving her own traditions from childhood, couldn't bear the thought of eating showing gratitude without her beloved sweet potato casserole, green beans and pecan pie.  And so they set about making an entirely over the top dinner for only 2 adults and 2 children under the age of 5.
Father did the shopping.  It was obvious that one turkey would not be enough for his family, for Father wished to have a jalapeno injected turkey -- something that his children would find undesireable.  It was therefore requisite to purchase 2 turkeys.  A 15 lb turkey for his wife and 2 small ones, and a 6 lb boneless turkey for himself.    The night before the blessed event, he injected his turkey, so that it could marinate through the night.
"But Father!" cried Mother, "What of the 15 lb turkey?  Did you not purchase an injection kit for the family turkey?"
"Why no," replied Father. "I thought you could eat a boring turkey while I made my own personal fancy awesome one."
"This does bring me great displeasure," Mother sighed.
"Do not worry Mother," replied Father.  "A delicious injection we will make in the morning.  Already it is growing late, and truly all you need to make a magnificent turkey is butter.  Let us wait until tomorrow.  I will make some pumpkin pie."
So Father made not one, but two pumpkin pies.  And a chocolate cream pie.  Although he had purchased the wrong type of jell-o for the chocolate cream pie, mother tried not to be wroth with him.  Mother managed to make a slightly over-cooked pecan pie.  She was a little unhappy because she did not like pumpkin pie.  And her beloved pecan pie was ruined.
"It is not ruined," declared Father, plucking several pecans out of the top of her pie. "It is delicious!" But now it was missing several pecans off of the top. "By the way, I am going golfing in the morning."
Mother tried not to think of Chinese food as she slipped off to sleep.

When she woke in the morning, Father was gone.  And her two dear children were covered in chocolate cream and pecans.  Mother tried not to be angry, but she was.  For she was not good at making pie crusts, she didn't have any more, and the only two pies she liked eating were now ruined.  The turkey remained un-injected, the greenbeans un-braised, the potatos unmashed and the sweet potato uncasserolled.  The two dear children went crying into the tub.

Mother busied herself with the rolls first, giving them plenty of time to thaw and rise while the turkey cooked.  She placed the prepared pans of rolls on top of the stove, where the heat of the oven would help them rise.  Then she took the turkey out of the fridge and wrestled it into the sink.  It seemed much bigger than before.  She realized she had never actually cooked a turkey before, and was a little dismayed when she finally had to resort to scissors to get it out of the netting even though the turkey clearly stated, "easy open! no scissors/ cutting required!"

Raw turkeys are disgusting.  Mother began rinsing the turkey off because it seemed like the right thing to do.

Now her dear children were out of the tub, and their shiny, dripping bodies bounded all around the house, up and off the couch, in and out of the kitchen.

"Please settle down, my dears!" she lilted sweetly.  Mother never yells at her children.

Brother climbed up onto the couch.  Mother watched terrified as he began to lose his balance, and came tumbling off the arm of the couch, his arms reaching out wildly to catch a hold of anything.  They caught onto the floor lamp, which instead of steadying him came crashing down along with him.   The glass bowl of the lamp crashed suddenly into Sister's head, exploding dead bugs all over Sister and the kitchen floor. Both children let out terrible squeals of pain and fright.  Mother, only a little covered in turkey goo, gathered them up into her arms, cradling them together, trying to comfort them.  After a few minutes, the tears finally subsided.

"Is everyone okay?"

"Yes!" They wailed together.  Mother pulled them away from her body, then looked horror-stricken at daughter's face, smeared and streaked with blood.  Mother's shirt was likewise afflicted, as well as brothers neck and shoulder.  After a terrible search she finally located it's source, an angry, lamp-bowl shaped gash on Sister's crown.  Both kids went back into the bath, and Mother googled what kinds of head wounds required stitches.

Finally, once everyone's head wounds had been cleaned and doctored, children were dressed and watching the Macy's day parade, Mother went back to her turkey.  The turkey should have been in the oven an hour and a half ago, and was still un-injected.

"Un-injected it must remain," thought Mother.  And she went off again to google what would be a quicker, easier way to season the turkey.

A few sticks of butter, some salt, pepper, garlic and 35 minutes later, Mother contemplated the best way to get her true butter ball into the roasting bag.  She wasn't sure quite how it happened, only that instead of gliding safely into the bag, the turkey somehow wound up on the floor.  In a pile of bugs that had been expelled from the broken homicidal lamp.

Mother tried not to cry as she wrestled the turkey back into the sink, rinsed off all the bugs (and coincedentally all the butter, garlic, salt and pepper as well.)  30 minutes later she managed to get the turkey in the bag, and the bag in the oven.  She was only 2 and half hours behind schedule.  She only had 3 more dishes to prepare.  She was only covered in minimal amounts of turkey goo, bugs and blood.  She didn't really need to eat pie on Thanksgiving.  Father shouldn't have picked this moment to walk in the door.

Mother was a raving monster.  Father couldn't understand all she said but a few key phrases included "stupid pumpkin pies," "your own personal turkey," and "chinese food."

At that moment the rolls exploded.  And instead of cleaning up the debris in her kitchen, mother took a shower.

And that is the true story of how Thanksgiving stopped being a tradition in the Foutz household.