Jeepers, Creepers

Guess who said, “Look Ma, new eyes!” this week?

Well, not RP, because if he ever called me “Ma,” he’d be spending some loooong nights alone.

Nonetheless, my little Bunny* did get himself some LASIK this weekend, giving him 20/20 vision and a great excuse to wear some sick Jersey Shores sunglasses.

Patient Price was so brave that I took him for a treat directly after surgery. That’s when he learned the mathematical equation:

Xanax+FroYo = Heaven**

After returning home, RP was put to bed, where he stayed for roughly 23 hours. I killed time cleaning, baking, and reading about Japanese POWs, intermittently attending to my own POW (Prisoner of Whoa-you’re-boring), who slept through my offers of juice, ice cream, homemade bread, and any hint of intelligible conversation.

That, of course, meant that when Sunday came, I braved the miniature humans alone. Aside from two of them sobbing for a solid hour and a half, I’d say my lesson was a screaming success (in that I never broke into tears).

Welcome to wakefulness (and visual clarity), RP.

*RP does not endorse the use of this pet name.

**Mrs. Price has long been acquainted with this equation.

The Long and Short of It

In the Price household this week, marriage faced the ultimate challenge:

I cut my hair off.

Loyal followers might recall that when RP and I met, my hair was slightly longer than boy short.

This is a fact RP refuses to acknowledge.

Despite the evidence:




Yet, RP took the change well. When he first saw me fresh from the salon (a bit traumatized and shy), he was full of reassurance:

RP: It doesn't look terrible.
K: It doesn't look terrible?
RP: No, it's cute. You look like a Yorkie.
K: A Yorkie?
RP: A Yorkie.
K: Like the dog?
RP: The dog with nice hair.

This is interesting only because, when I stumbled into the bathroom to get ready for church this morning, this is what I found:



I think Alanis would call that "ironic."

Children, and Other Mysteries

I’ve noticed that sometimes, God realizes talents within you that you haven’t perceived for yourself, and plucks you from your comfortable garden level to bloom in one untended.

And sometimes, he just likes a good comedy.

The case of “Sister Price” being called to teach primary is a firm example of the latter.

I admit I thought I had this in the bag. I sat in on my little class a week before their former teacher left, and chuckled at how easy this would be. These four-year-olds FLIPPED for goldfish crackers and thought the Liahona was the coolest thing since Dora (is she still the most popular explorer?!).

So I showed up with my lesson and a homemade batch of my tried-and-tested BEST EVER chocolate-chip cookies, to be unveiled as a ploy to keep the kiddos quiet.

SP: “If you can be reverent, guess what’s in my bag? (with an air of incredulity)”

Miniature People: “What, what?”

SP: “Chocolate chip cookies!”

I sprung the chewy goodies from my bag and tried to hold back my smugness.

Miniature Person #1: “Oh. I don’t like chocolate chip.”

Miniature Person #2: “Do you have sugar cookies?”

Miniature Person #3: “My daddy makes better cookies.”

One child didn’t verbally complain, but threw himself on the floor in front of his chair, for reasons unknown.

10 minutes later I’d finished my lesson and had nothing left to say to these people.

“Um, who can tell me about a time they felt the Holy Ghost?”

Every child raised their hands.

SP: “Yes?”

Miniature Person #1: “One time, my Daddy dressed me up for Halloween like an X-Man!”

SP: “Hmm...That’s interesting, but not really applicable. Anyone else?”

Miniature Person #2: “Have you ever had strawberry ice cream?”

SP: “Can anyone answer the question about the Holy Ghost?”

The same child threw himself on the floor.

And finally,

SP: “Who wants to play duck-duck-goose?”

Liberty and Jumping for All

This Independence Day, Utah welcomed back her prodigal son (and daughter), for a weekend of patriotism (read: Toby Keith music and illegal firecrackers). This year, the 4th weekend also corresponded nicely with the Nordstrom Family Reunion (read: aged relatives and caffeine deprivation).

RP was a sport, putting in a two hour meet-and-greet prior to fleeing to the river for an afternoon of fly-fishing. I, however, spent a good 10 hours getting to know the extendeds (or rather, hanging with my brothers while the extendeds mingled around us).


Other highlights of the trip included:

- Two runs in the July sun (Temperature: 90 – 99, elevation: way higher than the beach)

- A birthday dinner for a cute niece and nephew

- RP digging our wedding cake out of his parents’ freezer (the treat that keeps on giving – in five-pound increments)

- RP forcing me to eat a pound of icing from said wedding cake


- A fantastic Fourth BBQ with the Prices


- Lunch w/ mis padres at Café Rio

- RP helping me make black-bottom cupcakes

- RP helping his father make lemon sherbet (he’s so helpful when something sweet is at stake)

- RP making me eat more icing

- A morning hike to a waterfall (and uber-flattering self-portraits



- A weight-lifting-and-chat session with an adorable sister-in-law

- Trying out sleeping bags on the floor of REI in prep for Alaska backpacking trip

- Witnessing RP’s childhood street turn into a warzone of explosives (I still have PTSD)



- Watching fireworks with mis padres, Preston and Marisa

- Finding out they actually make sugar free sweet pickles – color me happy (and full of sodium)

- Getting up at 3:30 am California time to fly back to Long Beach – then heading straight to work


I’m still paying for that last one (and all the icing).


Consider freedom rung.