Talkin' About My Generation

I know I've ranted about this on Facebook--so I'm sorry for beating a dead horse--but this is just something I cannot wrap my mind around. The fact that there are people out there with internet, smartphones, TVs, WiFi, etc who are oblivious the biggest civil unrest that has happened in the Middle East in decades.

The protests in Egypt has been going on for a entire week.. I'm sure you turn on your TV once a day. Have you seriously not seen CONSTANT footage of MASSIVE demonstrations on MULTIPLE CHANNELS as you flip your way to "The Bachelor"? You go on Facebook every day. Has not one person posted something about it? You walk on campus every day. Do you never glance at one of the THOUSANDS of newspapers that are available at the entrance of every building? Do none of your friends talk about it?

American Sleaze

After ample time at BYU, Brock and I have determined that:

1. Brock wants to be a lawyer on Wall Street, and possibly run for public office later in life.

2. I want to work on Capitol Hill or in intelligence, and possibly run for public office later in life.

Law. Wall Street. Politics. Congress. CIA. How is it that after so much education, we are seemingly wanting to be involved with everything that's wrong in America?

(I'm pretty sure Michael Moore would have an aneurysm knowing that such a couple exists.)

Random Thoughts. Literally.

The only BAD thing about doing laundry, washing dishes, scrubbing the bathrooms, washing the dog, vacuuming, dusting, and running errands? Now we don't have energy to do anything else on this beautiful Saturday. (55 degrees and sunny--thank the Lord!)

On the bright side, we finally changed out five dead light bulbs upstairs. We'd literally been living in the dark ages for weeks. Why is it that I always procrastinate the stupidest, quickest little errands? I've been meaning to drop off some donations to DI since last summer--a trip that would probably take me a half hour--and yet there my donations sit in the guest bedroom. They've slowly accumulated over time into little second-hand mountains.

All this Cairo business has me really worried about my study abroad. Not because I'm afraid to go there--I'm afraid I won't go there.

Last night Brock, Caleb, and I went to the BYU men's volleyball team season opener against UCI. It was a fun game with a great crowd! We beat them in three, and then came home and drank smoothies while we watched this funny stand-up comic on TV.

Tonight we're meeting up with Caleb and a girl (OOOOooooOOOO!!) to head up to the Sundance Film Festival. We're seeing a Norwegian film called "The Troll Hunter" that looks really great.

I have a new camera that I want to buy. It's the Olympus PEN E-P2--my dear friend Tiffany recommended it to me. I really should buy it soon because I hate this whole being-cameraless thing, but I feel like buying it means that I've fully given up hope that my old one will come back.

I really wish I could meet the scumbags who steal cameras. I would punch them in the balls. Or ovaries. Stealing a wallet is one thing--you can always just cancel your credit cards and get new ones. But stealing a camera is stealing memories, and you have to be a pretty disgusting person to feel okay doing that.

I was carrying around $100 in my camera case, so I doubt I'll ever see it again. Although if said thief has any sort of virtue, he/she has the information needed to return it to me: my driver's license was also in there, which has my address on it. Sadly, the reality is that I'll probably just end up cameraless anyway and--adding insult to injury--waste away a few hours of my life at the DMV.

The last picture I took was of Kiana sleeping (actually my dad took it). Her mouth was wide open and it was funny.

Words To Live By

"Have no fear of perfection--you'll never reach it." - Salvador Dali

You know what kind of bugs me? Those blogs you read where it seems like the person hardly ever has bad days. I'm not advocating for deeply personal blog posts--obviously the internet is not the place for that, and it's not like this world needs extra negativity. But I think we could all benefit from a little more honesty. A few less blog posts that talk about what an awesome weekend you had, an awesome trip you went on, or an awesome thing you did, and a few more blog posts that are willing to admit, "You know what? Today sucked." I don't think your blog should be your journal, but I do think it should be real.

I'm thinking of this because I read an article in TIME magazine today called "Misery Has More Company Than You Think, Especially on Facebook." It cites a recent study that Stanford researchers conducted on college freshmen. The results?

"The students estimated that 54% their classmates had felt lonely or missed their friends and family back home in the last couple of weeks, though in reality 83% reported feeling that way. And while the freshmen thought that 62% of their peers had recently been to a fabulous party, only 41% had."

Why do we do this to ourselves? I think it's important to realize that bad days are normal, a little anxiety is normal, a little down-in-the-dumpsness is normal. MOODS are normal. You know what? I think I'll just stop beating around the bush and say it.

I got me some Prozac today.

MAN! That feels good to say. Here's why.

I'm not depressed. I'm not bipolar. I don't suffer from body image, self-esteem, or self-worth issues. I just started noticing that I was moodier than I used to be. More than I wanted to be. In high school, I was never one to really have PMS, but all of a sudden I felt like I had it all the time. I couldn't let things just roll off my shoulder like I used to. And the small stuff? I sweated it.

There were so many things (read: excuses) that I attributed this to. First, I just blew it off. "Moods are normal! They're healthy!" I would say. (I still hold to this--we shouldn't be afraid to feel. It's human, and numbing yourself is wrong.) Then I said I just needed a change of pace--that things will get better once we're done with school and leave Provo.

It takes of lot of courage to finally own up to the fact that gasp! You can't conquer all. In fact, you may have something funky going on in your brain. And you may need a small dose of medication to help you with that. But now that I've owned up to it, I feel liberated. I feel like I've opened up a new chapter where I can be honest with myself. Where I can quit trying to be invincible and just be me.

I think the hardest part about this process was swallowing my pride and admitting that I can't get over this weakness alone. As a person who has never broken a bone, has never been to the hospital, never had braces, beats her body to a pulp only to see it recover freakishly fast, and has never taken prescription medicine for anything other than zits, this was quite difficult to come to terms with. That, and getting over the stigma of taking an anti-depressant, when I don't even consider myself anywhere near depressed.

Aside from the fact that I think anti-depressants are way over-prescribed, just the thought of my not being able to overcome something on my own ate at me. Plus, it's Prozac. Isn't that for just for people who sit in bed crying all day? Well, yes. But just because you don't need an intervention doesn't mean you wouldn't benefit from a little help. I take solace in knowing that Prozac isn't addictive. You don't have to take it every day if you feel like you don't need to. (Girls, if you're good at tracking your cycle, you can even pinpoint the ten or so days during your cycle when you're most prone to moodiness and just take it then.) It doesn't numb you like other drugs, it doesn't give you a high. It doesn't make your personality fakey-fake.

It just helps you be yourself.

So I'm ready. I'm ready to start being fair to myself, to my husband, and to you, my readers. Because you know what? I'm an upbeat person, but I certainly have my fair share of bad moods. And if I need some happy pills to help me roll with it? Folks: there ain't nothin' wrong with that. Life is to be enjoyed, not just endured. We're blessed to live in an age where there is medicine to facilitate that enjoyment, so why not make use of it if you feel the need?

I would be remiss to not thank my husband in this post. People, I married a saint. I am not exaggerating. His patience, love, and understanding are truly more than I deserve. Brock, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. For standing by me, loving me, and holding me together when I felt like I was coming apart.

If my sharing this made any of you uncomfortable, I'm sorry. I started out by saying that I wasn't advocating for deeply personal blog posts. Oops. This kind of took on a life of its own (initially, I was only going to post the quote and picture). Don't feel like you need to comment, or like you need to validate what I said. I just hope someone out there who reads this will feel compelled to be more honest with themselves. To care for themselves. Because now that I've started that process, my yoke is easier, and my burden lighter.

I share these things because I know I am so not the only person out there with imperfect mental health.

And it's about time somebody got real around here.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

There are many forthcoming posts about Ecuador, but I thought I'd tease you with a couple quotes from the trip:

Caden (8), after we have just recovered NINE LOST PASSPORTS that were taken when one of our bags was stolen at the airport in Quito. (Apparently the idiot thief was unaware that passports sell for THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS on the black market. Hahahaha sucker.) The bag that the passports were in, unfortunately, was never recovered. Other than the passports, it contained one of our video cameras and some fruit roll-ups.

Lips quivering, brow furrowed: "Awwwww! They took the fruit roll-ups?????"

Connor (6), at the airport in Miami: "Kristi, you're almost always the meanest person in our family."

Juan (???...literally. He doesn't know how old he is.), our sickety-sick guide Amazonian guide with long, flowing black locks of wonder. He'd just told us about the WORST tourist he'd ever hosted--a girl who was going to Ecuador to try to get off drugs, and decided to take a naked swim in the pool at Yachana. Which happens to be filled with caimans. The whole week, our family joked with Juan that if he slipped up once, we'd all get naked.

On a particular trip into the jungle, Juan pointed out wildlife and then we'd all look at it through his telescope. To say that guy had eyes like a hawk would be the understatement of the century. He was a freaking FREAK. If there was a tiny speck on a tiny twig half a mile away, he'd be all "Oh hey guys. Look at the toucan." And it would be a freaking toucan. FREAK. Anyway, so we're having all sorts of fun when Brock says something to the extent of, "Hey Juan. If you ever misclassify one of these animals, I'mma get naked right here, right now."

To which Juan retorted: "Oh. I'm glad I brought my telescope then."

Juan, 1. Brock, 0.

SIL

This is my sister-in-law, Tara. She's an Indian princess. Obviously.

If this picture doesn't make you want to get to know Tara, you're dumb. I really don't know why I'm posting this. Brock and I just had a lovely, rambling conversation with her for the better part of two hours. During that conversation, we started talking about blogs, and I DIED LAUGHING at her most recent post. You should all read her blog because she is ridiculously funny 90% of the time and the other 10% of her posts are so beautiful that they'll make you cry.

Anyway, I really like my SIL. You should get to know her. No really. You should.

Awkward

This.

University Parking Enforcement

I will not detail a comprehensive list of my grievances concerning this despicable, vile, wretched excuse of a company. However, after an experience I had today, I feel compelled to issue a warning to fellow BYU students:

UNLESS YOU'RE A RESIDENT, DO NOT PARK AT THE RIVIERA. EVER. FOR ANY REASON. EVEN IF YOU'RE DYING BEHIND THE WHEEL AND NEED TO PULL OVER SO AS NOT TO INJURE OTHERS. EVEN IF YOU NEED TO DELIVER A BABY. DO NOT PARK AT THE RIV.

THEY. WILL. TOW. YOU.

I parked at The Riv today for five minutes to deliver an old textbook to a guy who I'd sold it to on Amazon. Literally five minutes. No, really, LITERALLY.

I returned to my car just as a UPE tow-truck was about to hook up my car in its hateful $200 grip of doom. He let me off because I arrived at the scene before he was fully connected to my car, and legally they can't just finishing hooking up and drive away with you standing right there. BUT HONESTLY. Is every parking lot wired with video surveillance?? Am I unaware of combination stealth-bomber/tow-truck Transformers that fly over parking lots? Circling like vultures for the next sorry soul who dares park their car for--I repeat--FIVE MINUTES?!?

Boyce Family Christmas Letter 2010

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WE’RE EXPECTING !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

. . . you to be wondering why we don’t have kids yet. As a Mormon couple coming up on four years of marriage, the eyebrows around us are starting to rise. Case in point: When we arrived in Fort Collins for Christmas vacation, there were ten stockings hung on the fireplace. Weird, seeing as how my parents + their kids + Brock only equals nine. The tenth one was a tiny baby stocking hung up as a “hint.” Also, my mom is already buying outfits for a baby girl. Complete with bonnets. You think I am making this up.

There are, however, plenty of things we’ve been doing in the meantime that prepare us for parenthood in various and sundry ways . . .

o We started the year off by running the Boston Marathon together. As Boston takes place at the end of April during BYU’s finals week, we were somewhat mentally frazzled. This may account for why we spent the entire day before the race on our feet seeing the sights of Boston—including walking up the 294 steps of the Bunker Hill Monument—and why we thought fish and oysters constituted a suitable pre-race dinner. All of this, coupled with the fact that we literally had not trained a single mile for the marathon, led to a finishing time that Oprah has beaten (sadly, I am not exaggerating). But in retrospect, the lessons we learned that day were invaluable. During the race, I felt like a total fatty and Brock was a huge support and great liar (“You’re lookin’ awesome, honey!”). If that doesn’t prepare us for nine months of pregnancy, I don’t know what does.

o In an effort to repair my wounded pride post-Boston, I trained for and ran a 50-mile race in the mountains of Steamboat Springs, CO. With an average elevation of 10,000 feet and 9,000 feet of total climbing, it was definitely a force to be reckoned with. But 13 ½ hours and ten ibuprofen later, I crossed the finish line with a fist pump. The take-away lesson of this race had great maternal application: Drugs are wonderful, wonderful things. Be they ibuprofen or epidurals.

o Speaking of endurance, we are ALMOST DONE WITH OUR UNDERGRADS. In April, Brock will graduate with a B.S. in mathematics and a B.A. in communications, with a minor in business thrown in there, too. At that point, we’ll move to Washington D.C., where I’ll finish up the last of my political science credits with an internship on Capitol Hill for Congressman Jason Chaffetz. After that, we’re off to Cairo for four months while I complete my Arabic minor in an intense language study program. As you might imagine, footing the bill for all of this does not bode well for our bank account. Although we nearly have aneurysms just thinking about the cost, it’s actually great mental preparation for parenthood: What mother or father doesn’t have an aneurysm when trying to pay for hospital bills, diapers, formula, shots, a new car (because the only way a baby seat would fit in our two-person Tacoma would be if we threw it in truck bed), more diapers, more formPQ@#(URP$^OIJFOPS?!?!?!? (sorry . . . aneurysm).

o Brock keeps busy studying things like advanced probability, Bayesian statistics, cryptography, and financial derivatives on top of a rigorous LSAT study schedule (he takes the test in June). I spend a considerable chunk of my days لعربية اللغة تعلم and teaching 90 freshmen a course on American history, government, and economics. Between Brock’s mathy-lawyer speak and my Arabic-George Washington ت كلما, I’d be lying if I said we didn’t have communication issues every now and then. Consequently, if anybody is equipped to interpret the googoo-gaga-babble of a young child, WE ARE, PEOPLE.

o I dyed my hair purple. I don’t know how this prepares us to be parents, but it was rad.

Maybe next year we’ll have some baby news for you. Actually, don’t get your hopes up. J Until we do, we’re enjoying this time we have to grow as a couple while we both figure out who we are, where we’re going, and how to get there. The Lord has truly been instrumental in that process, and we are so grateful for the abundant blessings that He continually grants us

May that same abundance pour into your life this upcoming year, the year after, and always.

Merry Christmas!

Brock and Kristi Boyce (and Mojo)

P.S. For year-round Boyce coverage, follow our blog: kristiandbrock.blogspot.com

P.P.S. . . . Yeah, I totally just plugged my blog in a Christmas letter. Go ahead. JUDGE ME.

Photography compliments of Tiffany Rebecca.

Thanksgistmas

In my conscious effort to not be one of "those" bloggers--you know, predictable, saccharine, and boring--sometimes I forget to blog about actual life events, as opposed to just random embarrassing personal stories. So prepare yourself for THANKSGISTMAS: the post where I blog about two months' worth of holiday happenings.

THANKSGIVING: We spent this holiday in Huntington Beach with my in-laws, and it was grand I tell you. Just grand. Tammie (my MIL) made an unbelievable homemade Thanksgiving spread for THIRTY PEOPLE. It was rockstar status! Around this time, the news story had just broke about the guy who told TSA not to "touch his junk." Grandma Tanner didn't quite understand what this terminology meant, and had us all rolling on the floor when she proclaimed that she wouldn't mind this at all, and would in fact wear a shirt to LAX with "TOUCH MY JUNK" displayed in bold letters on the front. Awesome. Later that evening, we all headed over to Grandma and Grandpa Tanner's for--what else?--Santa Bingo. 25 rounds (and eight boxes of See's Chocolate) later, we all exchanged our winning tickets for small gifts, ate leftover turkey sandwiches, pie, and Grandpa's famous "slush." I just about needed a dolly to wheel me out of there!

The best part of Thanksgiving was that Gary and Tammie surprised us all (me, Brock, Ryan, Tara, Allie) with a quick trip to Catalina Island! We sailed on over the day after Thanksgiving and stayed for three nights and two days. During the first day we played a killer round of family mini-golf (SURPRISE: I lost) and ate dinner at a pizza place with extremely suggestive cross-stitches on the wall (you don't want to know). Later that night, we all played 99 (a card game) and read the gossip magazines that Tammie had bought at a grocery store :)

The next day, Brock and I enjoyed a nice morning run together before family pictures at the beach! Our photographer was--well, he knew how to physically take a picture, but not much beyond that! Consequently, we ended up with some very funny photos, but eventually managed to get a good one! Later, Brock and I rented a tandem bike that we rode up to botanical gardens, and then met Gary at the pier to catch some fish (line of the day, by Tara: "PEAS FOR EVERYONE!!!!"). The vacation ended with a yummy seafood for dinner to celebrate Tammie's birthday, overpriced ice cream at a place called Big Olaf's, and a movie night back at the condo :)

CHRISTMAS: Hmm. This post is already getting quite long. I'll spare you all and just list highlights:

1. Visiting the Great Stupa of Dharmakaya in Red Feather Lakes, CO. Seriously awesome. All of you Fort Collinsers need to go if you already haven't!

2. Seeing the Trans-Siberian Orchestra LIVE at the Pepsi Center! My eardrums are still ringing. And my eyebrows are singed.

3. My best friend's wedding!!!! (Always wanted to say that.) My dear friend Tiffany Whitsitt (née Christensen) had a beautiful wedding at the Denver Temple on December 28th! The entire day was beyond fun (we probably shook our groove things a little too much at her reception), and their wedding dinner at Sonny Lubick's Steakhouse was awesome. Brock and I also went on a fun double date with the to the Cheesecake Factory in Denver a few nights prior, where we saw the true extent of their fanatical healthiness. Get this: They didn't order cheesecake. AT THE CHEESECAKE FACTORY. However, they did eat out at Uno's once the got home to Chicago, so they are forgiven.

4. Christmas just wouldn't be Christmas without going the movies! We saw "True Grit," "RED," and "Unstoppable," which were all fantastic!

5. Movie night with the family. One night Connor (6) suggested we "make hot chocolate, curl up with blankets, eat popcorn, and watch 'How to Train Your Dragon' as a family." Too cute! :) So that's exactly what we did.

6. PING-PONG. I pwned Brock multiple times.

7. Rock climbing on Christmas Day on the cliffs above Horsetooth Reservoir.

8. Avalanche-Redwing game for Brock, Caleb, Colby, and my dad. I let Brock go to this instead of Tiffany's wedding dinner . . . yes, I am a good wife. Although he missed out on killer filet mignon.

9. Playing games at the church's cultural hall. All us kids got together and played epic games of dodgeball, freeze tag, soccer, tail tag, and kick the can. Straight up Brady Bunch style.

10. Family pictures. Always a joy.

11. Sleeping in!

12. ANGRY BIRDS.

13. Having the whole family together for the first time in years.

I Really Just Want . . .

Some people to learn basic grammar principles.




. . . hear that? It's the sound of a contraction dying.

GRAMMAR NAZI STRIKES AGAIN.  whuh-PSSHHHHH. (That was the sound of a cracking whip, obviously.)

The Flasher

There's this boy. We'll call him Jefferson. Jefferson is about the same age as my brother Colby (16) and our families are friends. A few years ago, both our families went up Poudre Canyon to Picnic Rock. It's a fun place where you can, well, picnic, as well as play in the river and such.

At this gathering, I was wearing a swimsuit with a halter neck that clasped in the back. Don't ask me how, but that little clasp came undone as I was playing in the river and before I knew it, I was free-boobin'.

Jefferson's bulging eleven year-old eyes were the only ones to see my breasteses in all their raw glory.

Unfortunately for Jefferson's future wife, her boobies will always play second fiddle to mine. (After all, how can you be satisfied with the Rockies when you have seen the Himalayas?) I kid, I kid. They were more like the Great Plains. BUT, I am happy to report, they have nearly graduated to sand dune status.

Anyway, we all had a good laugh at this and moved on with our lives.

Or so I thought.

Jefferson is now a 16-year old in my ward back home here in Fort Collins, which has made the past three Sundays progressively more awkward.

Sunday #1:

Brock: "Hey Jefferson, you and I share a special bond, y'know."

(It takes Jefferson three seconds to realize what Brock is reffering to, and he runs from the room blushing.)

Sunday #2:

Colby (in Sunday School): "Hey Kristi, try to keep your shirt on."

Sunday #3:

Jefferson, to Colby: "Tell Brock that I saw them first."

SOLUTION: BURQINIS FOREVVVERRRRR.

(google it)

The Perils of Spellcheck

I just read a blog post where someone said they wanted to put something on record "for the anals of history."

I'm not sure where those are, but I don't think I want to find out.