A trip to St. George!

I think this shall be dubbed the year of the traveling.

Over the first weekend of May, we traveled to St. George, Utah to attend two of Ronnie's sister's graduations.  His oldest sister, Aubrey, graduated in nursing and his youngest sister, Kari, graduated in computer science and technology.

I was much better prepared for this trip, than I was for our trip to Aspen and the 12+ hours of driving went surprisingly well.

We did hit one snag though.  Our first potty break came in Idaho Springs, Colorado.  I ran inside with Kendree and Devynee and Ronnie decided to top off the tank while we were stopped. Devynee stayed in her car seat and I was planning to change her diaper when I got back.  As Ron started filling up the tank, the keys in the ignition were beeping annoyingly.  He took them out and threw them down on the middle console, then proceed to finish filling up.

When he was done, he tried to open the door and it was locked. You know where this is going, don't you? All of the other doors were locked as well. When I came out with the kids, he asked me where the extra keys were.  I asnwered that they were in my diaper bag in the van. Awesome.

Ronnie went inside to use a phone (our phones were also in the car) and the store clerk happened to know the chief of police.  (Oh, the beauty of small towns). Two policeman arrived in under 5 minutes and immediately went to work.  During this entire time, Devynee was happy as can be, except for one time when she could see the rest of the family walking away from the van (to the sunshine, it was cold outside and none of us had our jackets on).  We were able to calm her down and she didn't ever cry again.

As the police started the process, one of them mentioned that the other was the fastest person he had ever seen break into cars.  Unfortunately for us, the van had gone into security mode and pushing on the unlock button didn't do anything. 45 minutes later, they were able to pull up on the lock stick thingy (what are those called?) and it unlocked the passenger side door.  The alarms on the van went crazy.

We thanked the policemen for all of their work, changed Devynee's diaper and went on our merry way.  Unfortunately, we did not get any pictures of this experience, so the story will have to do! [For your reference, the police will only break into your car if a child is inside the car.  Otherwise, you have to call a lock smith, etc.]

A few other funny things from this time - Easton came up to Ronnie while they were all working to get the car unlocked and said "Dad! He has a gun!" and then "And he has those, those things!" Ronnie said, "Handcuffs?" and Easton answered, "Yeah."

Easton, Kendree and I started out passing the time by picking dandelions in the rocks.  We got quite the collection and then I was freezing, so we went inside the store to continue to wait.  The sweet store clerk made Kendree a portable vase to keep her dandelions alive in the car.  Kendree was thrilled and gave her a dandelion as a thank you.

For the rest of the trip, Ronnie kept the extra set of keys in his pants pocket.  You can bet we won't make that mistake anytime soon.

Now, after that little adventure, we continued on our way and arrived in St. George that evening at 9:00 p.m.

Along the way, Easton made me take this picture of him in Green River, Utah.

What was the first thing we did when we got to St. George?  Stop at In N Out, of course!

After a late night, a day packed with swimming, family fun, graduations and more family fun, all three kids fell asleep at 5:30 p.m. Awesome.

The next day before everyone went their separate ways, we enjoyed some Pier 49 pizza and drinks from Swig (when will one of those open in Cheyenne!?!?) at the park and then kids got some energy out on the playground.

 Then, we went to Kari's apartment and took a few pictures with Grandma and Grandpa Cali.

We loaded up again and drove up to Pleasant Grove, Utah to visit my grandparents.  On the way, we took a detour into Provo to show the kids where we lived when we were first married...

And where we lived three months later (the bottom, garden-level condo).

Of course, a shot of the Y was appropriate as well.

We grabbed some Taco Amigo - oh how I love that place! and headed to Grammy's house to eat with her. I love this woman!

We then headed up to Grandma and Grand Dad's house, where we were spending the night.  We went down and tried to visit the cow, but it was terrified of us, so we visited the neighbor's goats and chickens instead.

We were able to spend some great time with Grandma and Grand Dad and grabbed a picture with them as well!

After attending a sacrament meeting, we headed for home! It was another uneventful ride and the kids did great.

Instagram: September 2013

Courtesy of Devynee #servesmerightforimpulseshopping

Sick baby girl. The worst.

First ballet class! #heavenblessherteacher

Imagine a (gasp) with this face and you've got Devy's new favorite expression. #myfavoritetoo

I know we are being blessed as Ron serves as the Bishop of our ward, but there is a part of me that wishes those blessings could come in the form of our basement NOT flooding while he is out of town. #pardonmydebbiedownermoment

Who was in a hit and run today? This girl. #seriously #dumbdrivers

View from the Wildcatter Suites. Go Pokes! #perkofthejob

A little Cotton Eyed Joe

Oh the Random

Last week we dog-sat for one day.  I would have volunteered to do more, but going into this little adventure Kendree was terrified of dogs.  Even this sweet little one.  When we have gone over to our friend's house before she has required that either Ronnie or I hold her the ENTIRE time and even then is whining or crying.

I was hoping that dog sitting would help cure the fear, but since I didn't know if it actually would, I didn't think I could do more than one day of holding Kendree.  Little did I know that after about 15 minutes of whining, we wouldn't have any more issues.

Buster loved hanging out under the piano and Easton spent some time laying with him.

 There were times when both kids felt like Buster should be "doing something", this was one attempt to play.

I think I'll just continue to dog sit when I feel the kids need some animal exposure.  Saves me from actually getting a dog...

Also last week we hit a milestone with our Mazda:

That's right.  50,000 miles.  Crazy that when we drove this baby off the lot, there were 32 miles on it. :)

We were also able to go to the Rockies game last weekend with our good friends.  The kids did remarkably well.  Easton wanted to know the name of every batter and Kendree was her normal crazy self.  We had a lot of fun though.  Perhaps the most fun was when Chelsea (who is having her 3rd child in 2 weeks) and I walked halfway around the stadium with our pregnant bellies and a kid in each hand.  Oh and it was raining as well. We got not just a few stares. Good times, good times.

Let's just assume she's a super-hip grandma

I don't think I've mentioned it on here, but I've found a new store where I love to shop.

I'll admit, it's kind of an olderladiesmightshopherebutthereisstillcutestuff kind of store.

You might have heard of it.

It's called Christopher & Banks and I'll admit that some things in there are things I would never in my right mind own, but for women of my ahem, proportions, it is like the best store ever. Things just fit. Without going up to larger sizes just for my chest, or having to alter things after I get them home.

But anyway, so some things are a little old for my taste but other things are cute. Take, for example, this shirt. See? It's cute, right? [please don't tell me otherwise, my ego can only take a limited number of hits a day]

Now, on to the point of this post. I arrived at work last week and stopped to ask a co-worker a question. A co-worker that is approximately 30 years my senior AND A GRANDMA. She was wearing a shirt that I bought about two weeks ago at Christopher & Banks. Different color, but still, same shirt*.

I'm trying to tell myself that it's not that I have the same taste of a grandma, it's just that she is super cool. I've almost got myself convinced**.

*Not the shirt I linked to up there, I couldn't find the exact shirt online.
**But let's be honest, I could use some convincing. Why else would I tell the whole world internet about this experience?

Sometimes, I just love people

My drivers license was set to expire this year.

I knew that if I waited until closer to the expiration date, I would have a pregnancy-fat face staring back at me for the next 5 years, and I couldn't accept that, so off to the DMV I went.

It was slow (thank goodness) and I was helped right away. As the lady verified my identifying information, I realized that because the last thing I had done was a name change, my weight had not been updated in close to 8 years.

And, I hate to admit it, but I weigh more now than I did 8 years ago.

So, I corrected her with my current weight.

She looked at me and said, "But honey, you don't have to put down baby weight."

I could have kissed her.

Bless her for thinking that my high school weight was accurate.

She completely made my day.

Kara Alvarez

A few weeks ago, I had to speak* in church. I suppose I should say that I had the privilege of speaking in church--but who are we kidding?


First, when I got to church and looked at the program (a printed agenda of the religious service for the day), I noticed that I was listed as Kara instead of KaLee. No big deal. I told the bishop (who was conducting the meeting) and he announced my name correctly.


I finished my talk (which went pretty well, if I do say so myself), and sat down to listen to the two other speakers. The third speaker was an older gentleman. About five minutes into his talk he said, "And as Sister** Alvarez mentioned, ...." I looked at the woman sitting beside me, and then at the bishop and yes, he meant me. I chuckled to myself and continued to listen.


And then he did it again.


And again***.


By this time, I was openly smiling, (as was most of the audience) and for the rest of church, I was addressed as Sister Alvarez (by friends, who were joking--of course).


It was a funny day, but I hadn't thought much of it again until I received this package in the mail.

Yes, my name was crossed out and Kara Alzarez was written in its place.

And yes, my UPS man is LDS.

*Members are asked to speak during the first hour of church.

**Members of my church also address each other as "Sister" and "Brother." It helps us feel like one big family. :)

***The elderly gentleman did realize his mistake later and has apologized to me no less than five times. He is adorably cute in that wrinkly, old man, kind of way.

Taxes

Nothing is certain but death and taxes. ~Ben Franklin

I was astounded by a human being last night (as opposed to when I am astounded by butterflies, Bear Grylls—I don’t care what you say, he is not a human being, or science).

It’s the first of two finals weeks for Ronnie. Have I mentioned that? Well, let me say it again. It’s the first of two finals weeks for Ronnie—translation: our house is a little hectic.

So I went to Little Caesar’s to pick up a pepperoni pizza, crazy bread and sauce. I walk in behind another lady (AL) and patiently begin my wait.

AL orders: “One cheese pizza please” and then hands over her five dollar bill.

The worker-guy-with-greasy-hair-that-I-am-trying-not-to-notice-or-think-about (WGWGHTIATNTNOTA) finishes pressing all of the buttons on the cash register and announces, “That will be $5.30 please.”

AL looks at him. WGWGHTIATNTNOTA looks at her.

He waits.

And then repeats, “That will be $5.30 please.”

AL finally responds, “But the sign outside says $5.”

WGWGHTIATNTNOTA: “With tax it comes to $5.30”

AL (as she digs in her purse for spare change): “You guys should really change the sign then.”

WGWGHTIATNTNOTA: “The sign says ‘plus tax’ at the bottom.”

Completely frustrated now, AL slams her change on the counter, takes her pizza and storms out of the building.

And I am left to wonder, are there really people who never think about taxes? (besides those people who live in states that don’t have taxes—I’m talking to you, Carissa)

Flu Shot?

I have never, in my entire life, had a flu shot.

It’s not really that I am against them, but more that the inconvenience of getting one was never outweighed by the flu that I did catch.

For the last month or so, my doctor’s office has really been pushing them on me—using phrases like, “We REALLY recommend them for pregnant women” or “ Are you SURE you don’t want one?” or “You will die a horrible death without one.”

So at my last appointment, I gave up.

When the nurse asked me for the third time if I was interested in getting a flu shot, I said yes.

She proceeded to giggle, blush, and skip out of the room in excitement to get me a permission form and then stood over my shoulder as I wrote out the check (because they REQUIRE pre-payment of course).

I filled out the form, but left one question blank, since I was unsure of the answer.

It asked if I was allergic to thimerosal (a preservative found in contact solution).

I have had much frustration with the wearing of contact lenses. My eyesight is really not that bad, but the truth of the matter is, I just don’t wear glasses like I should, so contacts seemed to be the obvious choice.

A year and a half ago, after all of the tests, etc, I was fitted for my “special” astigmatism contact lenses. I happily wore them for 3 weeks and then my eyes turned blood shot red.

I went to the doctor and tried a new solution. Same problem, this time within a week.

Again, to the doctor. AGAIN, another solution. Same problem. Same day!

So, I gave up. We were moving, I was busy and didn’t want to take the time or money to fix what was going on. (Remember, my eyesight isn’t THAT bad.)

Fast forward to three weeks ago. I went to a new doctor here in Laramie, told him about my frustrations and was prescribed a new contact lens and new solution. For the first time, my eyes actually felt normal as I was wearing the contacts. I was happy and the doctor was happy.

The only thing I was told was that I was allergic to *A* preservative in regular contact solutions. Not the specific preservative.

See my problem?

The flu shot form did not say what would happen if I was allergic to thimerosal. For all I knew, my arm could have fallen off.

The nurse returned and I asked her about thimerosal. She looked at me as if I was speaking a foreign language and then proceeded to tell me to call my eye doctor. As luck would have it, the doctor was out as was the contact lens consultant, so I forced the poor receptionist to go get a bottle of my solution and read me the ingredients.

My solution had no thimerosal, so I concluded that I was, in fact, allergic to that specific preservative.

The result?

I can’t have flu shots! Ever. (Well, at least not until they develop one that is thimerosal free).

How’s that for making your day?

ETA: Since my cousin was so kind to point out that there are such things as preservative free shots (see the comments), I suppose I can't use this excuse for the rest of my life as previously planned. [Insert rant about how MY doctor's office is completely clueless as to the availability of such a shot.]

Evaluations

Disclaimer: There is one swear word in this entry. I am retelling a story—a story that would not be funny without it, so try not to judge me.

I work at a University. I also talk to professors (surprise, surprise).

A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of hearing the following story.

Professor A (PA) was new to the faculty. It was time for class evaluations. Each professor was assigned to proctor another professor’s evaluations and PA was assigned to proctor Professor B’s (PB) evaluations.

PA went into the department office to collect the evaluations sheets before heading up to do the evaluations. PB happened to be in the office at the same time.

PB: “Are you proctoring my evaluations?”
PA: “Yep.”
PB: “Let me tell you how I would like them administered.”
PA: “Great.” (PA was assuming at this time that every professor liked to have evaluations administered a certain way.)
PB: “After you pass out the evaluations, it usually helps if you go to the board and write the following words: marvelous, outstanding, and fantastic. Those words come up a lot on my evaluations and it gets annoying when you have 20-30 people ask how to spell them.”

It was then PA realized that he had been the butt of a joke. They laughed together and PA proceeded to the classroom to proctor the evaluations.

Later that same day PA and PB happened to be in the department office again.
PB: “So how did the evaluations go?”
PA: “Fine, the students just had one question.”
PB: “Really? What was it?”
PA: “They just wanted to know whether or not to add a hyphen to asshole.”

PA and PB have been great friends ever since.

A Reason for my Absence

I apologize that I have been MIA this week. I was in charge of a work meeting with many, many important contacts from around the state of Wyoming and it took up more of my time than I care to think about.

At least one good thing came of all of my stress. Seeing as I was the coordinator of all of the events over the weekend, a few of the people who came were introduced to Ronnie and proceeded to call him Mr. KaLee (which I quite enjoyed). :)

But Ronnie's answer to Mr. KaLee was my favorite part.

Important Person: Ronnie, nice to meet you. So you belong to KaLee?

Ronnie: Well, when people ask me who wears the pants in the family--I always let them know that I wear the pants, but she tells me which ones to put on.

And that, my friends, is why my husband is the absolute best!

Don't tell me I'm alone on this

I like to think that I am considerate.

I have been taught how to address adults, the proper manner of responding to requests, and to write a thank-you note whenever necessary.

Because that is what nice, considerate people do.

I fear that our youth are not getting that education.

This morning I received the following text message:

“Hey coach. I’m not sure if you got my text yesterday but i verbally committed to boston college yesterday”

Obviously this text was not meant for me. I can only assume that it was meant for a sports coach at the University of Wyoming and that the person who sent it was being recruited and has since decided to go elsewhere.

Since when is a text message an appropriate way to decline an offer? Especially a text message that is poorly written?

I can only hope that the first text message (the one sent yesterday) was sent to the correct number so that Wyoming does not continue recruiting this person and that as a result of the stupidity shown they have now ruled out anyone who was educated in the same household and/or school.

I could continue this post by giving you my opinion on text messaging in general, cutting in lines, phone call etiquette and many other topics, but I think you all get the gist.

I HAVE BABY!

First of all, I just wanted to publicly announce that I finished Harry Potter on Sunday, so those of you who have been waiting for the go-ahead before you posted your spoiler-full posts have free reign of the internet.

Now, on to a story from California.

The day before the wedding, Ronnie’s sisters and I decided to get manicures and pedicures. Due to my nail-biting habit (gross, I know) a manicure was pointless for me, but I was in love with the idea of a pedicure (never mind that I was actually wearing closed-toed shoes to the wedding.)

We went over to the nail place and three of us settled right in for our pedicures. I saw the lady turn on my sister-in-law’s (Aubrey) massager and Ronnie’s cousin’s (Maggie) massager, but she didn’t turn on mine. I figured she forgot.

So, Maggie kindly found the control on the side and pushed start. The machine had not been running for more than 10 seconds when the nail lady (NL1) runs from the other side of the store yelling, “No, No, NO! YOU HAVE BABY, YOU HAVE BABY!”

I had totally forgotten that I can’t have a massage unless it is a specific pregnancy massage. I apologized and continued to enjoy the massage that my feet were getting in the water.

A few minutes later a different nail lady (NL2) came to actually treat my feet. She noticed my massager was not on and turned it on. Instead of explaining everything to her and having another awkward conversation in broken English, I just turned it off.

She looked at me quizzically and asked, “You not like?”

Meanwhile NL1 had seen the whole thing from across the store and ran over again.

She was, of course, yelling. “SHE HAVE BABY, SHE HAVE BABY!” She then proceeded to give a stern lecture to NL2 in a language I am not privileged to know.

By this time, the entire store knew that I was pregnant and probably assumed that I was a complete idiot for turning on my massager twice.

And for the rest of the weekend, whenever one of Ronnie’s sisters would see me standing too long, etc they would yell. “YOU HAVE BABY, YOU HAVE BABY!”

Blind Dates

I am going to assume that most of us have been on a blind date. I’m even going to assume that some of those blind dates have worked out for the best. (i.e. my aunt and uncle). While I was not blessed with good blind date experiences, I also haven’t had the worst.

As I have mentioned before, I grew up in Wyoming. I really enjoyed living there, and would even like to go back—someday—for a predetermined amount of time. Both of my parents grew up in Pleasant Grove and came from largish families. Most of their siblings (read: all of my dad’s and half of my mom’s) have stayed in the vicinity.

Naturally when I decided to come to BYU for school, they all began to scope out boys that would be “acceptable” for me to date. I’m still not convinced that there wasn’t a contest between my mom’s sisters on who could get me married the fastest. This resulted in a blind date every weekend for the first two months of my freshman year.

Most of them were run of the mill, not too horrible, but definitely not people I would care to spend any more time with. There is one that exceeded my every expectation, and not in a good way.

Blind date #1 (BD1): This particular aunt was extra excited and set this date up before school had even started. My mom was in town to help me move all my stuff in, but we couldn’t get into the dorms until the next morning. He picked me up at my Grammy’s house and when I opened the door I was nearly floored by the strength of his cologne. I’m pretty sure my head even did that backwards-movement-with-a-slight-eyes-closing thing. We said our pleasantries and were on our way.

He opened the car door for me (point BD1) and made his way around the car. I took this opportunity to take a look at my surroundings. I was in a lime-green Honda Civic with leather seats, lime metal interior accents, manual transmission and what I could only assume were speakers taking up the entire back seat. BD1 got in the car and turned on the radio, causing me to jump from the sheer force of the sound.

We drove to a restaurant, ate, and then he decided that the best thing we could possibly do to get to know each other would be to drag State Street. Every red light was a race, and every race resulted in my head slamming into the leather seat. After an hour or so of this, he answered the tenth call that had come through on his cell phone to talk to his mother. We met the whole fam-damily for shakes and awkwardly talked about me. The night ended with a drive back to my Grammy’s that consisted of talking about his recent ex-girlfriend and music too loud to even think. I finally got out of the car and feebly waved as my head and ears continued to pound. He gave me a peace-sign (no—really!) and drove off in a cloud of music-filled smoke.

I invite you all to share an experience that may have helped you to love/hate blind dates. I’m sure mine pales in comparison with some.

Our New Ward (Church congregation)

Ronnie and I attended church with my grandparents yesterday. This is our first experience with a family ward. (We have been spoiled and going to BYU Student Wards for our entire marriage, so everyone was our age and in basically the same situation.) I thought church went really well, I met a lot of new people, and now have to remember all of those people’s names. AHHHH!

Two things happened of note:

1. An elderly woman told me I was beautiful. I LOVE when they do that. Especially when this is the first time they have met you and you have a larger-than-normal zit on your face.

2. Ronnie was told that he has an accent.

Not just any accent, but a Southern UTAH accent.

I laughed for several minutes when he told me the story. I thought that his family might enjoy that, since they have claimed that he has a Utah accent for over six months and he always denies it. Proof girls! You have proof!