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.

Price Points (Weekend Edition)

This weekend proved one thing: sometimes, all you need is a trip to LA, a bottle of percocet and the best ice cream sandwich this side of the 5 to make for an exciting evening.

Even with the back of a 90 year-old (we can only thank our lucky stars it wasn't damp that day), I managed to enjoy an Angels/Dodgers game - in the company of mi amor and a couple good friends.

Of course, that might have been due to the percocet. To be honest, the most I recall of the game was yelling at Manny Ramirez to "man up," and demanding that RP buy me a blue stuffed Dodger monkey.

Which he didn't.

Luckily, I was snapped back into seedy LA reality by a wild display of fireworks - because even the truly ghetto inhabitants of Dodger Stadium are patriotic.

Proving that $1.50 will buy you more than a can of pepsi and a homeless escort in LA, we hit Diddy Riese, a modern marvel of cookie-and-ice-cream-sandwiches.

Saturday was uneventful, aside from the following Price-ism:

At about 9 am, RP gets ready to surf, I limp out to the gym, for a wimpy workout and back stretch. Upon my return, I decided I wanted a back-ectomy and crawled into bed until RP got home two hours later.

RP: "So... did we do any cleaning today?"
K: "Did WE?"
RP: "Did we?"
K: "I certainly didn't. Did you?"
RP: "I guess we didn't. Will you hand me the softscrub?"

Sunday took RP and me to a classroom full of 4 year-olds, wherein we learned that I will most definitely be the disciplinarian in our future family. As I tried to teach the little tikes about the whisprings of the Holy Ghost, RP was busy explaining to them how to play Sardines.... in a 12x12 classroom.

Sunday evening took us back to the motherland - for a picnic birthday party in Del Mar. As it turns out, my reputation for chocolate hazelnut tortes precedes me, so I whipped up a confection for dear Julia's 29th.

What's next for this crippled Price? A trip to the (grand)motherland - Viva la Fourth en Salt Lake! And perhaps even photos that I'm not in, because by next week maybe my vanity will fade. Maybe.

Got Yer Back

If there’s one thing you can say about me, it’s that I definitely put my back into it. And I’m not even referring to dancing.

There was a time, not in the too-distant past, when I thought myself moderately strong. Even fit. In fact, I switched gyms because I found the classes too easy-peesy. Then came Wednesday morning boot camp. It started out so innocently – five minutes of mountain climbers, jumping jacks on the mini-tramp, a set of old-fashioned burpees.

Oh, but then we moved on to the core of the workout, which, ironically, made me wish I no longer had a core. Or a back. 18 hours later, I laid in bed in the wee hours all-too-conscious of my lower back – and making my new husband all-too conscious of it too.

“Bunny, can you sleep?”

“Uh.”

“My back hurts.”

“Your back always hurts.”

“But I’m lying down and it still hurts.”

“Uh.”

Unfortunately, the breaking morning didn’t remedy my low-back woes. RP caught me trying to slip on my running shoes at 5:30 am (old habits die hard) with the grace of a 90 year-old cripple.

“Can you help me tie my shoe?”

“No, but I’ll help you back into bed.”

“I need to go running!”

“Why? You can’t even move.”

Quietly: “I might get fat otherwise.”

By noon I had turned my office into the muscle-aches section at CVS, complete with a heating pad, a cold pack, a leftover bottle of Percocet (did you know some people actually throw that stuff away after surgery??) and a package of Halls Defense (I don’t have a cold; I just like the taste).

RP has been thoroughly supportive.

“I feel terrible.”

“Get some yogurt. That usually makes you feel better.”

“It won’t help my back.”

“Get some diet coke then too.”

It’s nice that someone has my (poor pathetic) back.

He Said/She Said

I’ve heard that marriage is all about communication (but to be honest, I haven’t really been paying much attention). That said, RP and I are lucky to get a good two hours of face time a day, what with our early-morning surf/pilates habits and my penchant for turning in around 9:45 (seriously, I’d be more comfortable in a retirement center than a sorority house).

But even those few short hours provide enough time for some good, old-fashioned miscommunication.

For example

K said:“This purse was such a good deal I had to have it.”

K meant:“This was a great deal, in that it was 50 percent off of its original $600.”

RP heard: “I got a great deal on this purse so I could sell it on eBay to make a profit.”


K said: “It’s so funny that now that I’m married I take the garbage out more than I ever have in my life.”

K meant: “Take the $&*# garbage out, you lazy dog.”

RP heard: “I think you’re funny.”


K said: “I had a long day.”

K meant: “Please cook me dinner and say something nice to me.”

RP heard: “I married you so you would support me. Why am I still working?”


RP said: “If you want two gym memberships you should buy the 2-year deal at Costco because it’s so much cheaper.”

RP meant: “If you want two gym memberships you should buy the 2-year deal at Costco because it’s so much cheaper.”

K heard: “I think you’re fat.”


RP said: “You look pretty. That dress shows off your curves.”

RP meant: “You look pretty. That dress shows off your curves.”

K heard: “I think you’re fat.


RP said: “Did you work out today?”

RP meant: “Did you work out today?”

K heard: “I think you’re fat.”

I don’t really see any problems here, folks.