Rocky Mountain Hi--igh! Colorado

Almost two years ago we took a little five-month-old on a road trip to Colorado for a family reunion in Breckenridge.  It was so fun, so beautiful there, and wouldn't you know?  We're going again!  We're leaving tomorrow, this time with a 2-year-old and a six-month-old.  And my sister Kellie, who will hopefully help with some of the back seat melt down issues.

On our last trip home from Breckenridge everything went wrong that could possibly go wrong.  I didn't have a blog then (just my interior design blog) so I wrote this on facebook.  Now I'm remembering this bizarre but really fun day. (I added a few notes to help everything make sense)

How do you turn a 7 1/2 hour drive into 14?

1. Get a speeding ticket.
2. Decide to stop and see the delicate arch in Moab. Meet up with Andrew, Martha and Blake [brother, sis-in-law and cousin] and do a short little mile hike to the view point.
3. Accidentally run into your grandma and grandpa at Arches, where they ask you to pick up your stranded cousins in Price UT.
4. Get stuck behind a truck fire on the freeway for 45 minutes. Get out of the car and hang out with your bro and other "neighbors"!
5. Get to Price on fumes (because there is a serious lack of gas stations on the 6!) and pick up Billy and Cait [stranded cousins]. Drop off the rental car [Billy and Cait's rental car] and meet up with Andrew and Martha and Blake at Main Street Grill.
6. Grandpa calls to see if everyone is alright. Then, since he's pulling into Price, he'll join you for dinner, with grandma, Ann and De [more aunts and cousins]. We call this family reunion take 2.
7. Say goodbye again! Take Billy and Cait home to Provo.
8. About 3 miles from the exit to your house, run into some seriously awful construction traffic. At 11:30 PM. Take 45 MORE minutes than usual to get home.
9. Put a crying baby to bed and then hope you get into your own bed before falling asleep!

So glad to be home! What a super fun/awful/exhausting day!!!

*     *     *

I hope none of these things happen to us again, not now that we've added two new babies (Martha and I both had babies this year) but I really look back on that day with fondness.  And it made for a great story!

And now, a few pictures from our stop at the delicate arch and the truck fire.

Thanks to the zoom feature on our camera.  We did not get this close.  Way too hot that day to hike with a baby.

Ever the spitter, Olivia always had a bib on.

This was a huge fire.

Seriously awful pants, but they were so comfy.

The Parable of the Jello Jigglers

Even though I didn't notice it, a lot of my identity formed at a young age.  I've loved sewing since I was 6 or 7, always wanted to be an interior designer and I loved cooking dinner for my family even in elementary school.

One year for Christmas I got my first cookbook and my first set of measuring cups!

A treat I liked making was Jello Jigglers.  It was super concentrated Jello so that it would hold it's shape when cut with cookie cutters and the like. 

One day I asked my mom if I could make jigglers.  She agreed after making me (and my brother too maybe?) promise to clean the kitchen before I began.  I worked hard, cleaned the kitchen so clean that not a crumb could be found.  Then we carefully boiled the water, measured, stirred the entire five minutes until my arm felt it was going to fall off, poured into the molds and waited.  Jigglers take like ten hours to set up.  But our patience paid off and they turned out great! 

A few weeks later, remembering that fun experience, I asked my mom again if I could make them.  She reluctantly agreed, but no promise to clean the kitchen was made.  This was great!  All of the fun, none of the work!  I measured, stirred and poured, and ten hours later I had grainy blobs that tasted okay, but they just weren't as good.  What happened? 

I honestly will never forget that.  By working for something first and earning it I put forth my best efforts and carefully crafted my jigglers.  The second time I took it all for granted and slopped together a mess.  The lesson was clear: Hard work pays off. 

What taught you to be a hard worker?

Happy Halloween! (a story)

Four years and a couple weeks ago there was a boy I liked.  I met him at church and we worked together for a few months, visiting the people who were new to the area.  He was so friendly to everyone.  One night I went to an institute meeting (basically its like Mormon Bible study, I'm guessing.  I've never actually been to a Bible study before. . .) with some friends.  A famous woman in the LDS community was speaking so we got there early to get good seats.  I was wondering if I would see him there.  Five minutes before this lady was about to start speaking the place was so packed.  If he did come, chances are I wouldn't even see him.  But fate played a hand for me that night and even though they showed up just minutes before it began somehow he and his friend got seats right in front of me!  For a moment I had a slight heart attack when I saw him sit next to my gorgeous friend Tiffanie, but soon I realized she wasn't there to sit with him, but with his friend.

After (certainly not during!!) the wonderful lesson by this sweet lady was over he turned around to chat with me a bit.  I asked about his Halloween plans.  He said he had some, but nothing set in stone.  So I invited him to my Halloween party.  He said he might come.  Soon after that we left to go home.  When we got in the car I informed my roommate Elise that we were now having a Halloween party!

Elise invited her boyfriend (now husband) and a few of her friends.  I had one or two of my friends show up as well and we carved pumpkins, ate food and played Nintendo.  By 11pm I was about to call it a night.  He hadn't shown up and probably wasn't going to.  Seriously seconds before I went to bed I got a text.  Was my party still going on??  YES! 

He came over fully dressed in Billy Idol garb.  I was wearing ghost earrings with my non festive everyday attire.  It was a little awkward.  We played wii.  We partied with our three party guests.  At 2am he decided to call it a night.  Right before he walked away, he paused and asked me out for that Saturday.  I said yes!

And that is the story of how my husband was wearing eye liner the first time he ever asked me out. 

The Olymics are coming!

First I need to know: is the word Olympics a proper noun?  Like does it need to be capitalized?  Because if not it looks like I just felt like randomly capitalizing a word in my title.  Because I usually only capitalize the first word.  Oh my goodness, who cares?  Moving on. . .

Do you guys remember the 1996 Olympics?  That was the first and most fun year of Olympics for me.  I was 13 and in 7th grade and obsessed with the gymnastic team (but I really don't know why because I don't especially have an affinity towards
gymnastics. . .) My friends and I would talk about it at school and I would rush home to watch the competitions in the evening.  I thought those girls were just so beautiful.  And we were winning!  The team was doing so well. 

And the best part was how, in the end, even though she had hurt her ankle already, Kerri Strug did a final vault almost perfectly and landed squarely on both feet for a brief moment before raising her injured leg and then falling to her knees.  Even now, looking back, I remember the feeling of awe I had for that girl.  Plus I just thought she was so pretty and I loved her short hair.

Via

After that, the Olympics ended and everyone went back to their normal lives, but I just wished I could be friends with Kerri.  I just knew we would have so much to talk about and we would go shopping at the mall together.  She was just so cool.

Well, Kerri and I never became best friends.  I'm over it Kerri, no hard feelings.  I've never loved the Olympics as much since then, but I hold on to the hope that there will be an amazing story of courage that can make me proud to be an American (which of course I am all the time, but  its always fun to see our national teams do something awesome!)

The story of a very stubborn girl

It was Friday morning, which is Saturday in this house.  Adam was fast asleep after staying up to see the Batman movie.  Olivia was snuggled in my lap and every now and then she would look up and smile at me.  How I love my sweet girl!

And at 8am I decided it was probably time for breakfast.  So I whipped up some oatmeal for my girl and she started whining because she knew she was about to get food and it wasn't coming fast enough.  I got her in her high chair and as I lifted a spoon full towards her mouth she really started screaming. Sometimes she doesn't want what I'm giving her until she gets a taste and so I forced a small amount into her mouth.  No dice.  And then she was in full out bawling mode.  This was loud enough to wake up dad.  So Adam came and tried to feed her.  Sometimes switching up parents will help.  Not this time.  Finally I said, "What do you want?  The spoon?" and I just gave it to her.  And the whole bowl of oatmeal. 

And the crying totally stopped.

And she ate her whole bowl of oatmeal and it only took her an hour!  And I got to sit on the couch and read my book (the couch is like five feet from her high chair, I wasn't in the other room or anything).  Of course I paid for that later when I had to clean her up, but I guess she's going to have to feed her self with a spoon someday. 

My stubborn girl.

I know this one is a little blurry, but I just love her expression! 

Worst. Date. Ever. part 2

(just some advice, if you ever decide to write a "to be continued" post, write the whole thing out and just post part.  That way, if life suddenly gets busy/you have to adjust to a new routine, your readers don't have to wait for three weeks!)

Part One, in case you missed it.

This is not the guy I went out with, but if you need to picture someone, picture this jerk.

So here I am on my date with Kalon a boy whose name I can't remember, that had his friend ask me out.  We just finished watching the BYU Folk Dance Teams perform and they were amazing.  Best thing about the date.  My original plan for that evening was to visit my roommate at work and have some dinner.  I must have told this guy because he suggested we should still do that.  My roommate Becky worked at a Thai restaurant near campus so we drove over. 

They weren't very busy that night so when Becky had a second she sat down to visit.  She later told me I looked like I was having an awful time and she wanted to give me a break!  Awesome roommate.  She asked if he had served an LDS mission, and he had in Finland.  She asked: "Do you still read the Book of Mormon in Finish?"  And I just started laughing!  I thought she was asking him if he still read the Book of Mormon, which is a very personal question.  So I told them what I thought was so funny and he replied, very very serious: "Well, I do.  And I work at the Provo Temple on Thursdays." (If you're not LDS, working at the temple is volunteer service and its a great thing to do, but not something that you really brag about.  Its like bragging about how humble you are. . . )

Becky went back to work and we finished eating.  When it was time to pay, Dude asks Becky if they accept American Express cards, oh wait, except he called it AMex.  "Do you accept AMex?"  They did not.  Dude was clearly disappointed, but offers up another card.  "People ask us all the time if we take American Express, why is that card so special?" Becky asked.  "Well, this is my AMex business card and it has over 10,000 dollars charged to it.  I get a lot of free flyer miles when I use it."  Dude, can you say that a little louder?  I don't think the people across the room could hear you.

So we leave and Dude gets the car door for me and I thank him.  "You would be surprised.  One time I got the car door for a Utah girl and she looked at me and called me a pig!"  Oh, well, are you sure that's the reason why she said it?  I don't think I conveyed just how much this boy did not like girls from Utah.  Aside from all his money and businesses, it was all he talked about. 

We pull up to my house and get out of the car.  "So, Kim, I had fun.  Do you think I could get your number so we could do this again?"  And suddenly I had a revelation.  I could see the future of what would happen if I gave this guy my phone number.  Never answering, I would forever be in fear of the sound of my ring tone.  I would be scared he would show up around every corner.  And so maybe for the first time ever, I did the brave thing to do.  "I don't think so."  I don't know what he said to that, probably because I turned and ran.  I cried a little.  I felt really bad, but good for being honest at the same time. 

Now, everyone dreams of those perfectly scripted moments when you can really tell off someone that has done you wrong.  The following Sunday I had mine.  We were walking home from church on a seriously beautiful day.  I looked good (I think.  At least I felt good)  And we walked right past the boy that asked for nail polish and also asked me out.  For another dude. 

"Do you make a point of asking girls out for other guys often?"  The other guys around him chuckled.
"No. . .how was the date?"
"He was rude, stuck up and self centered."  And I flipped my hair rolled my eyes and walked past him.  Not too much anger, just enough to let him know: Seriously dumb move. 

Worst. Date. Ever.

When I was writing about the bachelorette, I mentioned that Kalon reminded me of a guy I went out with in college.  Julia wanted to know the story, and I decided this story deserves to be its very own post.  I tell it to my classes all the time.  Everybody has the really awful date story that becomes more of a legend than a truth.  This is mine.

One morning my friend Charley took some graduation pictures for me.  (not a critical part of the story, but I needed a reason to put this picture on the blog.  I have a distinct memory of what I wore on that date and I feel like you needed to visualize it with me) Later when I was at home a cute boy in my apartment complex came over and asked to borrow some nail polish.  He explained it was great for marking parts on your engine, it wouldn't wear off as easily as other things.  I told cute boy yes.  He had a friend with him, but I didn't pay any attention to him.  They returned a few minutes later and cute boy said, "We have an extra ticket to see [some BYU folk dance performance].  Do you want to go?"  I said sure, he said be ready by 6.  So I was.  Only it wasn't cute boy that came to my door, it was friend.  I asked about cute boy.  Friend informed me he would not be joining.  I got the impression that this had always been the plan, they just didn't feel the need to tell me. . . first flag.

So Friend and I get into the car.  What are you majoring in?  Family and Consumer Science, I say.  You?  Well, I'm at UVU for a very exclusive pilot program.  It was quite obvious that he didn't want me to think he was not BYU material.  I'm sure he came from a long line of BYU grads and was so ashamed his interested pulled him away from the Lord's University.  Also, he added, I have several small businesses.  He listed about four or five.  I can't remember even one of them!

While we're sitting down he asks, How many kids in your family.  I'm the oldest of six, I say.  Wow!  Thats a huge family!  There's just me and my brother in my family.  We're very close.  As if my family was way too big to be close. 

So Kimberly, what instruments do you play, you know other than the piano?  At this point, he's been talking up stereo types of typical Utah girls and I knew this would fit right it with his idea of the "typical Mormon girl".  So I'm sorry to say, I lied.  Did I tell you I played the piano?  No, I just assumed.  Oh because I don't.  I play the guitar.  He was stunned.  And I was going to tell the truth, that I do play both the piano and guitar, but I play the guitar very badly.  But he was just so smug I though I would be forgiven for this small white lie.

After the show was over he took me to get dinner.  Things were about to get . . . weirder.  To be continued. . .

The Nutcracker

I know, I know, Christmas is over.  But this isn't really a Christmas story, it just happened at Christmastime.  And I was telling it to my class, and I wanted to write it.  So I did.

When I was 8 my grandma invited me to stay at her house for a week.  I was really excited.  We planned to go to see The Nutcracker and also she was going to teach me how to knit!

She picked me up at my house, about a hour and a half from her house.  We drove back to Orange County a few days before the show so that we had time to shop for new clothes to wear that night.  I loved my dress.  It was a soft jersey tank with a full skirt attatched, with hot pink and purple flowers.  And the best part of the dress was the jacket that matched the skirt.  To this day, I still love a good bolero jacket.  I also got a hot pink scrunchie for my hair.  This was the end of the 80's.  Scrunchies were HOT. 

But the best part of this outfit, the reason I'm writting this story, was the shoes.  There is a big difference between little girl shoes and grown up shoes, and I was obsessed with grown up shoes.  I wanted high heels so badly.  My grandma didn't buy me high heels.  But she did buy me some cute little black flats with a strap that could be removed.  They looked so mature to me.  So grown up.  Even though they were a little big, and prone to falling off, I wore them with out the strap.  I never felt more beautiful.

Me in my dress and shoes with the straps still on.  Man, my bangs went on for days, didn't they!

And so the night of the show I got dressed in my new dress, my grandma did my hair in a bun (my favorite at the time, go figure) with my hot pink scrunchie, and I put on my shiny black strapless flats.  We drove to the performing arts center and I remember my grandma looking for the signs on the freeway to tells us where to get off.  I asked her if the signs said Nutcracker.  She said they didn't.  They only said the name of the arts center. 

When we were standing in line to enter the theatre I took a step forward and my shoe slipped off.  I turned around to pick it up, but before I could get to it, the very handsome man behind me bent down and picked it up and slipped it back on my foot.  I was very shy back then, I don't remember if I even said thank you.  My grandma told me I was Cinderella.  It was a magical night.