This summer we decided to start learning a bit more about our family history, specifically my Dad's family since the majority of my Mom's and his parents are done. My Dad is a convert so that involved starting with square one. My Dad is 100% Irish, which is something I really identify with. I love our Saint Patrick's Day traditions, corned beef, and spent a fair amount of my childhood doing the jig. I even own a copy of Far and Away, Riverdance, and The Secret of Roan Inish. I'm pretty sure that right there proves I'm hardcore Irish. Anyways, despite my love of everything Irish, I am a bit irked at my ancestors. For some reason unbeknownst to me, they decided to all be named the exact same thing. Every single one of my realtives are named Daniel, Thomas, Catherine or Mary. Not even 
kidding. Except for Mabel Mackey, which is such an original (and awesome) name that it was a pleasure to research her. She's the only Mabel Mackey. Ever. To make matters even more complicated, everyone with the last name McGrath lived in the same town in Ireland. And to further complicate things, they all moved to Chicago. So after researching all 57 Daniel Rooneys we completed a five generation pedigree chart. In order to continue we will be setting sail for Ireland in 9.5 years. It's going to be awesome.
La tía de Rory se casó con un hombre de Puerto Rico que se llama Pedro y por eso estoy escribiendo en español. Era un día bellísimo y ellos eran una pareja muy linda. Ellos se casaron en el templo de Bountiful y el abuelo de Rory fue su sellador. También fue nuestro sellador. Era la primera vez que fui a un sellamiento que no era mía, y fue una experiencia muy bella. El espíritu era muy fuerte y el cuarto era lleno de amor.
Married life is wonderful. It's actually the best thing ever. The only time it's not the best is when your husband has to work until 9:00 at night, because than you actually have to study. No matter how hard I tried to get distracted from the hours of homework that lay ahead of me, it is impossible when sitting in a ten by ten foot apartment by yourself. Usually Rory came home and I cried out exasperated, "Why didn't you answer your phone?" and he would find approximately ten text messages and three missed calls. Pathetic, I am so aware. Then I would distract him from his homework for the next few hours until he would say, "Maybe we should start studying in the library," which always got me right to work because the only thing worse than studying in a ten by ten foot apartment by yourself is studying in the library.
Most married couples think staying up past 10:30 is absurd. We, however, count ourselves among the young whippersnappers and often find ourselves falling asleep at the unearthly time of 12:45. I would not advise this because it leads to falling asleep in the most awkward places, and missing all of your 8:00 classes. Just ask Rory.
sic blaring. They even pulled out a Sam Bradford Pinata which people began to beat. I was fortunate enough to grab the leg and keep it as a souvenir. Then we headed over to Lavell Edwards Stadium and discovered another 2000 people. Rumors then began flying about when the football team would get in to the airport. We decided to get some rest before they got in so we could be ready to cheer when we got there. By rest I mean going to bed 12:15 AM and getting up at 1. We got there and cheered until we were hoarse. I finally got to bed around 3 AM and slept like a log. I didn't need to dream that night because my dream had come true; we beat Oklahoma.
dvantage of it by going on a romantic getaway. Now, when we combine 'romantic getaway' and 'student budget', the only logical possibility is camping. I know many of you are thinking, camping, romantic? Let me give you a little background on the kind of I did growing up. We would travel about 3 hours north of Chicago to Durand, Illinois, population 25. Once we arrived we would set up our avocado green pop-up trailer and head into downtown Durand to the only restaurant (besides that one sandwich joint with the "our water has an excessive amount of nitrogen in it and will damage your body" warnings posted. yah, we don't go there anymore.) and devour 5-6 taco pizzas. Then we return to the campsite, eat s'
mores, and spend the rest of the week at the beach and eating out. (Susan, you probably now understand why I like camping.) I think that sufficiently explains why I would equate camping with romantic. We decided to head up Provo Canyon and camp at Big Springs Park because I am so dang city-fied and terrified of being eaten by a bear. We set up our tent and were building a fire ring, when suddenly a woodland creature appeared. This wasn't just any woodland creature, this was a 4 year old human, and after discovering our s
weet set-up she decided to find every single child attending her family reunion and bring them to our campsite. They were all adorable and all wanted to help build the fire pit and the fire, but it's pretty tricky to keep track of 10 kids under the age of 4, especially when there is a creek, a fire, and a ravine nearby. After about an hour and a half, their parents must have realized, 'hmm this is a relatively dangerous place and I don't know where my children are.' and they came and retrieved them. Needless to say, we did have a great time and I had my first taste of real camping. I think I prefer the beach:)
