Thanksgiving: Vegas Remix

We had a Las Vegas Thanksgiving this year.  It's so crazy to me that this is the last time we'll have Thanksgiving while still doing the student-thing (ie while Harry is still doing the student-thing).

We found dirt cheap airfare by coming early and leaving 24 hours after Thanksgiving dinner.  Over the course of the week we got in some R&R and hung out with family and friends.

Oh wait, except for the part where Harry was stuck writing a 30 page research paper that will revolutionize the movie industry.

I felt so bad for him.  He had to spend the better part of his waking hours chained to his laptop, tippity typing away.  He even pulled an all-nighter.  On vacation.

I can't really complain because he's working so hard for our family/future, and I appreciate that more than I can express, and he never complains, but I do wish he could've had more time to just hang out.  I can happily say I don't think there are many more (if any) papers like that in his future.

The things we did manage to do together in his few off hours were:

• Tapas and walking around at the Bellagio with the in-laws (800 pound pumpkins!  Horses made of twigs!  Babbling brooks!  Sculpted glass!  It was like Disneyland).

• Two nights of volleyball
• and can I just toot my own horn for a moment?  I no longer break out in a nervous sweat when everyone says, "Volleyball tonight?  Volleyball?  After dinner?" because I've now played so much with these people that 
• a) I am totally accepting of how lousy I am at it
• 2) I actually am not afraid of the ball anymore
• d) I've gotten to the point where I score points about as often as I lose them

• "Muppet Movie"
• Recommending this to people
• Thanksgiving dinner!  45 family members/friends and amazing food!
• The most adrenaline-fueled game of Taboo I've ever been a part of (things got crazy when two brothers who will not be named Bob and Harry developed a secret language that enabled cheating that everyone caught on to immediately)

Since Harry was stuck with his paper, I cooked our portion of Thanksgiving dinner solo.  I wanted to make my grandmother's recipe for orange rolls.  We have them at every Thanksgiving in my family and they are always my favorite part.

After calling every single grocery store and bakery within a 30 mile radius of the house, I still couldn't find the fresh yeast cakes that the recipe calls for.  So I found another recipe for crescent rolls on the interwebs and combined that with some homemade Garlock orange butter and some orange zest/juice that SIL Sally zested/juiced herself.

Orange Roll Triumph

And if I may say so, the rolls were like crack... on crack (having never actually tried crack I'm unable to say firsthand if they were or not, but that's my assumption and I'm sticking to it).

What made it so difficult to come home was saying goodbye to all the amazing together-time.  I love getting to just sit and talk with family and friends.  I feel really blessed to be part of two families I cannot get enough of.

Now, bring on the Christmas times (I will be decking our 500 sq. ft. halls today with a mini tree, garlands, ribbon, and the two Christmas ornaments that we own!  And you know our balcony bannister is getting some white lights.  Even the blog gets a Yule Log).

Wishing everyone a Harry Christmas (they really are the best kind).

Bro

What is it about General Conference that makes me so excited for my brother to come home already?



When the number of missionaries serving in the world was read over the pulpit, I burst out with "One less missionary in two months, boys!"

I have the sweetest, kindest, best brother in the world.

(I'm talking about Eaton brothers here, not Reynolds brothers or guys who married my sisters... they are entirely different things, because only this Eaton brother actually endured the childhood/adolescent pandemonium of his sisters and managed to become a normal person.)

Since he left 22 months ago, his absence has been apparent at every family gathering. But it's all been worth it, and he'll be home before you can say "Where's my freakin' nametag?!"

Only this brother was sweet and thoughtful enough to bring me a Mango Mantra 3x a week with his Dining Plus card without being asked, go boogie boarding with me on Saturday mornings, to jump in the car with me and drive to California with 5 minutes warning for a weekend break from school, to wake up with me at 6 am to make the Thanksgiving Turkey Trot, to teach me how to drive stick when I couldn't get it down from anyone else, and to always be my partner in crime.

And, according to Joe Garlock, he's the white Jay-Z, which is like a HUGE bonus.

And through every discouraging experience on his mission, every week his emails always include some obscure line from Season 2 of "The Office" that sends me into hysterics.

61 days and counting.

Bad-A

When I was a kid, my mom used to take me with her to her aerobics class each week. A whole bunch of young to middle-aged women would dance around in the gym



while us kids would play with our tonkas.



Anyway, it was the same CD every week, so I really have this engrained heritage of 80s songs that are on automatic play in my brain every time I work out. The trouble is, they're not exactly the kind of songs that I would ever listen to on my own, so I only know the songs through the filter of a three-year-old mind.

Like today, after Sarah and I ran to the gym, worked out, and ran back, I just couldn't get the "guacamole" song out of my head. The trouble is, I couldn't get enough of it in to my head to explain to Sarah what song was stuck in my head. So I went to www.midomi.com and spent three unsuccessful minutes singing "guacamole, mo mo mo" with no tangible results. Aparantly I sound more like Daft Punk's Technologic. Bummer. Anyway, I finally figured it out.

It's Billy Idol's "Mony Mony." Maybe I would have guess that if Mony was actually a word. So, I had to hear the song again, which meant coming across this little gem of a video:



I think I understand now why those women wore those leotards. I mean, Billy Idol was pretty bad-a.