Christmas 2011: A Photo Essay

Oh, Christmas, you leave us so quickly. In fact, I'd hardly have known that you came and went had I not found these pictures on my camera.

So, without further bravado, I give you RP's and my first Christmas:


Possibly the best part of Christmas was meeting this little beauty: Astoria Rose Radford

And hanging out with these handsome fellas:

And decorating (read: licking icing) cookies.

Christmas Eve (note the excitement)

A Christmas cake (or, as Jon put it: "This isn't one of those birthday cake for Jesus things that weird people do, is it?")

Finding out RP has such a way with children:

Utter chaos.

How I could be found 96% of the vacation (the other 4 I was baking)

Cutest reindeer I ever saw.

Or elves, for that matter:

Until.....

Christmas morning, once we woke up the children (6 am found Nicole, Vern, and myself awake and waiting for three kids to get off their duffs and realize it was Chrsitmas)

I made them myself, no big deal.

My Christmas stollen for mi amor. Ich Liebe dich, Ricardo.

Two pretty kiddies:

Papa in his Christmas best:

Our first Christmas portrait:

Lessons from TMZ

The subject with A child (not with child, as previously-assumed)

If Bon Jovi has taught me anything, it's that announcements of life's key milestones can go viral before the subject is even aware they occurred.

Take this weekend, for instance. I wanted nothing more than to celebrate a simple Christmas evening among family: opening presents, playing games, and stuffing myself silly. I didn't know -- and therefore didn't care -- where my iPhone was or who might have access to it.

Rookie mistake.

Among a family of five brothers, one brother-in-law and three practical-joke-playing nephews, who would have thought it was RP that needed to be watched?

Well, I should have known.

Neck-deep in a game of mafia, I was amused by text Rick received from his dad:

"Is Kristen pg, or is this a joke?"

I found myself amused by the text, but was quite baffled when my own grandmother texted 10 minutes later (yes, my grandmother is hip):

"Congrats! I'm excited! Can't wait to hear all the details. Love you! Grandma."

My first reaction was natural: I'd better check Facebook.

By then, the damage was done.

"I'm prego" written by yours truly (or her charming ghostwriter) at the top of the newsfeed.

30-something comments and 45 likes showed that the news had gone viral. I'm still regularly receiving congratulatory texts/emails/phone calls.

On the bright side, it's a great coverup for Christmas-fudge-induced-weightgain.

Thanks for the Christmas "gift," RP.

Bunny Lovin'

I don’t want to make this awkward, but I may as well be open: RP and I have been trying to have a bunny.

After the wild success of Albert The Unidentified Plant (success meaning that RP remembers to water it at least twice a month), we’ve decided to move onto something that needs to be acknowledged at least twice as often.

That’s why we’re getting a bunny. Truth be told, it was RP’s idea, but that’s probably because he assumed that having an actual bunny may keep me from referring to him as “bunny.”

His assumptions are wildly incorrect.

Nonetheless, the last few weekends have found us casually bunny-shopping (not to be confused with bunny hopping). On one particular Saturday afternoon in San Diego (where all true love stories begin), we met Suli.

It was love at first hop.

It took us a week of careful reasoning to determine whether we had the mental and emotional capacity to bring another mammal into our family (and whether that mammal would live inside or in the shed – the jury’s still out, RP).

But last Saturday, two brave Prices drove back to San Diego to adopt their very own rabbit.

That’s when we noticed something strange in little Suli’s eye. We suspected it may be a cataract.

Besides the obvious questions of age and health, cataracts can be uber creepy. And lest I snap and go all Tell-Tale Heart on our newest addition, we decided to have this little Silver Marten checked out by a vet.

RP is just worried sick about her. In fact, when they first confirmed the diagnosis, he hung up the phone and said,

“You didn’t pray hard enough.”

But alas, all is not lost. There may still be treatment for our little long-eared fur ball. And now we play the waiting game (bunny edition).

So, this holiday season, please think of this little lonely Price duo, struggling through the emotional turmoil of adoption – and send some love and good bunny karma our way.

Even through his own emotional roller coaster, RP was supportive enough to bring me new-bunny flowers.

Gifts of the Magi-c Mind Reader

Jesse James and Tiger Woods excluded, keeping secrets is hard when you’re married.

And that makes Christmastime a tad bit tricky. Especially when you’re married to someone who’s far too practical for surprising and superfluous Christmas presents. RP doesn’t seem to see the point of receiving a gift he may or may not be excited to use/wear/have; whereas I delight in the element of surprise, but find myself far too impatient to stand the suspense and end up hunting through the house for any hint of yuletide giftery.

Our conversations regarding gifts have gone something like this:

RP: “What do you want for Christmas?”

K: “Eh, I don’t know; surprise me.”

RP: “But like with what? Clothes? Jewelry? Entertainment?”

K: “Don’t get me clothes. But surprise me.”

RP: “Okay, but like… what do you want most?”

K: “Fine. A Canon Rebel EOS DSLR.”

RP: “Cool.”

On the other hand…

K: “What do you want for Christmas?”

RP: “A wetsuit.”

K: “Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

RP: “But the only one I want is an XCel Infiniti Chest-Zip 3/2 in size MS.”

K: “Umm… okay, I’ll see what I can do.”

RP: “But they come on sale on Whiskey Militia during the spring, so if it’s over $200, don’t get it and I’ll buy it this spring.”

K: “Okay then what do you want for Christmas?”

RP: “Just cash for the wetsuit. Or jeans, but I need to try them on first. Or a fishing vest, but I’ll have to send you the link so you know exactly which one.”

Guess we’ll leave things to Santa this year.

Will the Real RP Please Stand Up?

I should just be frank about it; I’ve seen too many Lifetime Original Movies. And about half of these educational masterpieces warned me against marrying a man who had a second life to hide (the other half gave me tips on bulimia and illicit affairs with younger men).

Well, I’m beginning to have my own Lifetime Original suspicions at the Price house lately. Sure, RP’s a standup guy. Just last week when I dropped a wooden iguana in a cheap gift shop in Costa Rica, it was RP who insisted on going back to pay for its broken tail.

That said, I’ve been receiving some unsettling mail. Well, to be fair, I’ve been retrieving some of RP’s unsettling mail.

It appears that Richard F Price has been neglecting his child support duties in West Virginia.

And while my husband is Richard W Price, I have a few ideas of what the F could stand for.

Thus far, we’ve been ignoring these messages. However, while basking in the Central American sun, RP was apparently summoned to trial in West Virginia.

For someone who refers to children as inanimate objects and has, more than once, suggested putting a baby in the shed to live (where we can’t hear him/her), it’s not overly surprising that he’s neglected his fatherly duties.

That said, I don’t want to be played by Delta Burke or Shelley Long (you know they’d end up choosing Delta) anytime in the near future.

For now, I’m turning a blind eye to RP’s West Virginian indiscretions. And, as long as he continues to clean the bathroom and wash my car, we might be able to come to a permanent agreement.

In the meantime, will the real R(W)(F)P please stand up?

I Love Those J-I-N-G-L-E Bells

The only complaint I have about spending Thanksgiving in Central America is this: I missed some primo Christmas decorating hours. Nonetheless, I tried not to waste much time upon our return to California.

RP seemed more inclined to please his obsessively weird wife than to get into the yuletide spirit, so he put up with me dragging him to the tree lot after work on Friday to select our first Tenenbaum (and then singing the coordinating song ad nauseum for several hours afterward).

Behold, our first Christmas tree (cue the German carols):

It should also be mentioned now, that I finished a second craft in the last few months: Introducing: my first Christmas wreath (apparently I only have talent for greenery).


While I've never wanted for ornaments, RP and I (read: I) began our own collection of ornaments this year, featuring a couple of our past months' destinations:


(Don't hate: there's only so much selection in Central America).


RP pulled out the big guns by getting us Saturday night tickets to Vivaldi's Four Seasons at the San Diego Symphony. On our way, we decided to remind ourselves that we don't live in beautiful La Jolla Cove. But delightfully, snowmen do this time of year:

(As a side note, I'm thankful Vivaldi didn't live in La Jolla Cove either -- as the Four Seasons might have been quite bland.)

And before our little musical treat, we had a little snack -- or a giant one -- at the Hash House. Sometimes, you're forced to ask yourself if your salad bowl is coming between you and your husband:

And/or why your wife won't put the camera down and let you eat, already.

Pura Vida

Pura Vida: (Poo-ra Vee-da) As Costa Rica’s official slogan, tourists may hear this term very often. Directly translated it means “pure life,” although Costa Ricans use it in a plethora of different contexts. For example, locals use it to replace the word goodbye, you’re welcome, and thank you. It is also a common response to many questions (for example “how are you?” or “how was your day?”) and it translates to “awesome” or “great.”

Well, that's according to Google's dictionary.

According to the RP/KP dictionary, "Pura Vida" = "Thanksgiving is awesome."

The nice thing about Costa Rica is, it’s so hot that your skin constantly glistens to the point you look like you’ve been lubed up for a Mr. Universe competition (see photos below). Not to mention that using a hairdryer or applying makeup in Central America are complete exercises in futility, so getting ready for breakfast is a 10-minute tops process.

That left approximately 23 hours and 50 minutes each day to enjoy the pura vida in Guanacaste, Costa Rica.

And we did. I thought I’d spend this vacation splurging on sleep (read: sleeping in til 7 am). Instead, I was up at 5:30 most mornings just because the sun was too and the landscape was calling my name.

The landscape, of course, included 80-degree ocean water, long dirt roads (perfect for a sweltering run), picturesque beach-front cafes, black sand, and a personal infinity pool. Of course, it also involved beetles the size of my thumb, tiny jellyfish that had their way with RP, and enough mosquitos to provide West Nile virus to a Russian Army (not a bad defense were we to wage another cold war).

Our five-day Price Familiy Vacation (we brought the kids), included all of the following:

• Sunset swimming on Avellanas Beach upon our arrival
• Girl’s Thanksgiving lunch at Lola’s, an adorable beach-front café with their very own pet pig (see photo – that’s actually not me after Thanksgiving dinner)
• Thanksgiving Dinner at Villa Daveena, a French Restaurant in Costa Rica, owned by a Portuguese couple and decorated in the Balinese style. Diversity aside, it was delicious. RP ate my pumpkin pie, but I got both our portions of whipped cream. Score.
• Holding a moment of silence (and trying not to kill our friend Pete) upon finding out he’d ran over a monkey and her baby. RIP, sweet monkey family.
• Getting pulled over for speeding along a dirt road and told that a Costa Rica speeding ticket was “Sixteen-hundred dollar. Muy Caro. No bueno.” Luckily cops are easily bribed with $40 cold hard USD’s.
• Surfing with RP at Playa Grande. He ditched the boys for the afternoon and surfed the small stuff with his wife (the fact that my swimsuit top came off every time I got off a wave might have swayed him to stick around).
• Swimming with RP in a tropical rainstorm. Warm ocean water below; warm rain water above: nothing better.
• Taking cold showers all but one day before RP showed me the difference between the hot and cold water handles.
• An 11-cable zip line tour through the jungle, where we saw howler monkeys and determined that they’re even more obnoxious than me.
• Breakfast date with RP at KonTiki, where breakfast is “French toast, or oma-let.” We went for oma-let.
• Frying up some plantains with RP, then sadly assigning him to sprinkle the sugar. Said plantains were INCREDIBLY salty. Go figure.
• Spending our entire month’s grocery budget on staples like peanut butter and Coca Light. Totally worth it.
• Realizing that, if left hungry long enough, boys will eventually cook you dinner.
• Falling asleep in the sun on the hot sand. Rinse. Repeat.
• Chatting it up with a Costa Rican waiter named Javier (who asked if we were “movie girls” – the flattery worked and we tipped generously), an Israeli surfer boy named Eran, and a Dubai-dwelling, British pilot named David.
• Getting an in-house (ocean-facing balcony) couple’s massage with Rick’s friend Pete (RP was suffering skin disease). Mine was deep-tissue and sometimes bordered on excruciating, but the masseuse threw in some boob-touching free of charge.
• Treating RP for jellyfish stings upon returning home. Pobrecito.
• Coming home to Christmastime. Let the winter games begin.