Image Slider

7.10.17

I'm Still a Blogger


I lost my domain. You know, the special URL name you pay money for so your blog seems more legit. Apparently some asian anime lover really needed the domain www.kristenruiz.com - so there's that. But in all actuality, what really happened is I let it expire because I was lazy and then someone scooped it up hoping that I would pay them heaps of money to give it back to me. NOT TODAY, SATAN! 

I remember when blogging was literally LIFE. I jumped on the bandwagon when everyone else was doing it. Those were the good old days of blogging. But then it all just became a crappy contest of marketing yourself and the world of blogging ended in a forgettable oblivion, similar to Occupy Wall Street. The 1% of blogs that began shamelessly selling themselves still survive, while the 99% hung out in tents for a bit and then just gave up and went back to real life. 


I recently had another kid. Yup, that's three now. Pretty weird to think that I now have as many children as my parents. Anyways, after being pregnant and recovering it ended up being almost an entire year since I had gone for a run. Was I even a runner anymore? I couldn't help but wonder as I set out on that first run, but after a couple slow kms my heart was so happy I couldn't believe I even questioned whether or not I was. I may not be as fast as I once was, but yes, I am STILL a runner. Which made me wonder, am I still a blogger? Although I've really only typed out a crappy couple of paragraphs, it's making me happy, so I think the answer is yes. I'm still a blogger. And I'd really like to start doing this more regularly again. 
16.4.17

Easter Thoughts

I went to Peru once a long time ago. While I was there I got to visit a lot of ruins and beautiful cathedrals and other culturally rich aspects of that humble and breathtaking little country.

I got to climb to the top of the terraced farming ruins of Ollantaytambo and gaze out across the Sacred Valley.


I got to see poverty beyond comprehension and the resilience and joy that still resided therein.


And I got to see the revered and sacred places of worship that meant so much to the people of Peru.


What I most vividly remember about the chapels and cathedrals though is the detailed, and for lack of a better word, gory depictions of the great sacrifice made by our Saviour.


The reality of the crucifixion is well known in all of Christendom. However, as a teenager venturing out into the world for my first time, I remember feeling quite disturbed by these portrayals. Today I was reminded of this experience and, with the years of maturity I've acquired since then, was then able to grasp my Saviours death and resurrection in a much more personal manner.

As a Latter-Day Saint, as much as the crucifixion is taught and reverenced, I have always understood and saw the Easter holiday as a time to celebrate the greatest news of all, that He is risen. His sacrifice was incomprehensible and to much of society today, would be viewed as disturbing and gory. Yet He did it anyway and He did it for me and for you. But what happened three days later is what Easter is all about to me. It's about the empty tomb and the tremendous amount of hope and light that was brought into a seemingly hopeless and dark world. He is risen and He lives. 


As I sat in sacrament meeting today comparing these two vastly different depictions of the Saviour and his atonement, I suddenly realized how I am able to focus on my own life in a similar fashion. After a tough couple of days dealing with an incredibly stubborn two year old and taming some feelings of frustration for my husband, I was beginning to look at my life as a series of lost tempers, unchristlike thoughts, and a state of perpetual shortcomings. My life and efforts seemed to be grim and disappointing. Fortunately, I soon realized how similar this line of thought is to focussing on the death and gore and sadness of the crucifixion, rather than choosing to see the light and hope that the atonement and resurrection has made possible in my life. Because he lives, I have a new chance every day to try again, to be better than before, to forget my shortcomings and start anew. Just as I view the Easter holiday as one of hope, I need to view my own life in the same manner. 
29.11.16

8 Minute Memoirs - Day Eighteen

Day 18 - "Drive Bys"


Okay, I'll get the most embarrassing type of drive by out in the open first.  Yes, I have driven by a boy's house that I liked merely for the joy of glancing at his place of residence.  And to see if his car was there.  And then to text him.  But only once.  And nowadays the place that he grew up still kind of haunts me because he haunts me.  So I don't drive by there.  And if I do, I look at the other side of the street.

The majority of my "drive bys" are sentimental looks at places that were once "mine."  If I'm ever on the south west outskirts of my home town, I can't help but take a creepily slow drive by the houses that used to belong to my neighbours.  As for the house that I grew up in, I don't think I can honestly call it a drive by because the speed resembles that of a crawling baby.  But for good reason!  The new owners have changed the place SO MUCH!  Instead of a simple pasture and yard surrounding a plain house, there is now the "nice" yard and a "play" yard, complete with a giant jungle gym.  Heck, they even planted some pretty big trees in this "play" yard which was once a section of the pasture.  As for the pasture, I don't think you can call it that anymore.  They've broken it up into so many smaller sections and corals that I pity the livestock they keep trapped in there.  They've built a bigger porch, a larger shed, and even erected one of those big spotlights most farms have to light up the yard.  It really isn't the place I grew up in anymore, but one can't help but drive slowly by and wonder if the bedroom I grew up in still has the painted black and white checkered floor.
24.11.16

8 Minute Memoir - Day Seventeen

Day Seventeen - "A Sibling"



I only have two siblings.  So it seems kind of mean to just pick one of them to write about.  But the funny thing is, when I think about my relationships with my sisters, the best memories I have with them are one-on-one situations.  My husband would blame this on the fact that we are an uneven number, and I might have to agree.  You see, when the three of us are together, nine times out of ten some kind of fight is going to happen.  I assure you we love each other very much, but there's just something about the three of us together that equates with someone getting offended and some kind of fight erupting.  It's been that way since we were little.  Two of us would be playing quite nicely, then the odd man out would want in on the fun and BAM - we're fighting.  It's like some kind of chemical reaction, where one and two combine nicely, so do one and three and two and three, but as soon as you mix one, two, and three together, the reaction combusts.  That's not to say that it's always going to be like this.  We're starting to calm down a little, so in the future I see us being able to get a long just fine.  Heck, the other night the three of us were FaceTiming together and we had a hoot.

Some of the memories I have with my sisters, individually include:

Kassidy: picking the rhubarb from my parents garden with her in Westlock and wearing the big leafs as hats; picking little curly pumpkin or cucumber vines from the garden and putting them down her pants (for some reason I thought this was hilarious); getting in a fight with Kassidy on Boxing Day and using the plastic shape holder my brand new watch came in as a weapon - I broke it on her head, I still feel bad about that to this day (sorry Kass); getting to tag along to her clogging competitions and being amazed at her coordination - whenever I tried to clog she'd laugh her head off at me; playing post office, writing and delivering letters to each other ...

Hannah: laying her on a blanket as a baby and dragging the blanket around the house; playing house with her as a baby and putting her into my new doll high chair - she got stuck and my parents had to play a game of tug-o-war to get her out (Dad holding the legs of the high chair, Mom pulling on a screaming Hannah); pinning Hannah down and spit torturing her, or squishing her face into crazy looks; watching her play with her "pet" ants - at the acreage I grew up at, there was a huge ant hill at the end of the driveway - Hannah wasn't old enough to have a pet, but was jealous that Kassidy and I each had one, so she claimed the ants as her pets and would go sit in the pile and let them crawl all over her - when she was done she'd come home, still with ants all over her ...