I Can Do Math?!

All right, so for the few of you who knew me in high school you're probably laughing your heads off-- busting a gut right now. The other night Kev and I had a discussion that began with him telling me how when he was in high school he really thought he was pretty good at everything... with the exception of the visual arts. He told me about how as he has gotten older, he has realized that doesn't have as many skills and talents as he originally thought he had. I thought that was fascinating, because, while I do realize I know far less than I thought I knew, age (and little bit of wisdom) has proved to me that I can do far more than I thought I could do. In high school I sincerely thought I was an idiot space-case with no practical skills who could dance a little, sing a little, and play a few songs on the piano. My mom wanted to beat me over the head for all the times I put myself down. And math was one of those things I really thought I could not do-- that it was a weakness. In math class I felt like I was drowning completely alone, while everyone else seemed to be schmoozing on luxury liners. I struggled with the idea of being stupid, and being stuck with a class full of mathematic geniuses tortured me.

A couple weeks ago when Kev's parents were here they brought with them a suitcase full of old clothes, trinkets, and papers from Kev's growing-up years. As we looked through a file of old papers one night, Kev came across a paper outlining Darren's scores from the PSAT's back in high school. We wondered how that got in there, but looked at them-- I mean, heck, Darren's a pretty sharp tack, so he didn't have anything to be ashamed of. In looking at it, I got to wondering if my old tests scores were still in the same place in the file box. I checked. They were there, so I pulled them out. I looked at the first one. Ha! Math score is better than the English score. Funny... I looked at the second one. Huh, that one, too... I looked at the third. And that one, by a ton, too. I was astounded. I had seen these scores dozens of times before, but in looking at them this time, something dawned on me. Each time I had received one of those scores in the mail, I thought I had just "lucked out" on the math portion, because there was "no way" I was better at math than English. Suddenly, I began to think I had been totally wrong all along. Memories began to flood back to me. Like the memory of taking a math placement test in 6th grade and being placed in the accelerated class and attributing it to luck. Or the memory of being corned by Mr. Anderson and Ms. Noddings, the pre-cal and calculus teachers, respectively, at the beginning of my senior year-- they "ganged up" on me asking me why I wasn't in calculus. I went back and looked anxiously at my grades for my math classes in high school compared to my English classes. Not worse.

I started to get mad, extremely mad, at myself. I had wasted all that time, putting barriers on myself and keeping myself from excelling. I remember the first time math really got tricky for me, but before that time, I don't remember any problems. Maybe my parents have better memories of this. I remember fractions in elementary school sending me for a loop. It was a difficult concept. And from then on, I thought I just couldn't do math. So, I used that as an excuse to not have to try. Why try if I'll just never be good at it, right? Wrong.

Something else occurred to me. I struggle with patience, as I've said a million times before. I tend to get frustrated when things don't come easily, especially in subjects where I thought I had some ability. If I ever hit a road-block, suddenly I would label myself as not having any skill in that area. Since I had a hard time doing double-pirouettes on my left leg, then I obviously couldn't dance. Or since it was difficult to me to sing a high "G" correctly, that my singing voice wasn't any good. And along that same thinking, since fractions were a tough concept for me, then math just wasn't my thing.

As I pondered these things, I wanted to shout to the world, "I can do math!" And in a way I did. I ran out to the living room expounding upon all these things to my in-laws, and they rejoiced with me. Kev's mom encouraged me to sign up for a calculus class. Woah there! I don't know about that. Nowadays English, of course, is my strength between the two. It's what I studied in college, and what I taught, for Pete's sake! I do think I chose the right path for my studies. I mean, I don't believe, had I known about this earlier in life, that I would have made a career out of math, but I sure would have used the ability-- I would have learned a whole lot more. And just because you don't plan to make a career out of a subject, doesn't mean it's not worth learning.

I wonder in what other subject I'm a "genius"? Hmmm... maybe I'll take up neurosurgery.

In the Past Month

I seriously just barely posted an entry equivalent to War and Peace, so I'm gonna make this as short as possible. Of course, I know I've said that in the past, and that promise has almost always ended up being a load of malarkey. But, we'll see...

Kevin's parents came out to visit for a week, which was definitely one of the highlights of the month. It took a day for the girls to warm up to them, but they got used to them fairly quickly. Of course, the trip Kev and I took to Washington D.C. helped push that along (see previous post). We went to the zoo, where Allie got to feed the fish, the birds, and a giraffe... which, of course, never happens when we go alone 'cause you have to buy the food. And other than going to the zoo and letting them spoil the girls, I didn't really take them to do much. I really did offer some ideas, but they seemed to just want to stay around the house. Turns out that since they've been preparing to move, they haven't had time to just sit and watch TV or read books. And they definitely haven't been hanging out with grandkids. Although, it won't be long before they move to Utah, and then they'll have grandkids around to play with all the time! Pretty nice-- I know my parents are envious, that's for sure. The day after they flew home, when Kev came home in the evening, the door chimed as it opened, and Allie declared, "Grandma and Grandpa are home!" Poor thing. We're going to be making a trip to Phoenix come August, though, for her cousin's sealing to her aunt and uncle, so I've been getting her excited about getting to see them, my aunt Gina, as well as seeing Grandma and Grandpa, who will be there. Then the girls and I will hop on a plane to San Diego to see my parents. So, she's also pretty excited to see her other Grandma and Grandpa, and silly Uncle Evan who, according to Allie, "gives Dad hugs." Uh, okay, kid.

Earlier in June, Sami decided that walking would be her main mode of transportation, and since then hasn't stopped. The crazy woman can reach anything you think is out of her reach, and taught herself how to open doors. She's trying with all her might to run, and I must say she has gotten more agile, and, therefore, more difficult to catch-- juking me several times a day, trying to get away from me when she has popped something inedible in her mouth, like a hair clip or Barbie shoe.

Well, I suppose I'll end there, and try to keep to my word.

Florida Day-- the Novel

Father's Day turned out to be a pretty special day-- actually, the whole weekend was a treat. Unfortunately, the "Father's" part of the day didn't have much to do with it, though. Yeah, like a slug, I totally forgot about it. But I think I do have a pretty good excuse. I mean, we were in Washington DC after all... without the children... and with a gig for my choir to sing at the National Cathedral for the Florida Day service that Sunday morning. So, yes, Father's Day wasn't at the top of the list, but I honestly don't think Kev minded too much that I forgot until after the service. Heck, even the sermon had absolutely nothing to do with fathers, which I thought was strange... once, of course, I remembered what day it was.

We flew out there Friday afternoon, leaving the girls at home with Mom and Dad Smith who had come for a visit that week. While I perhaps feel a bit guilty for pawning our children off on them, I know they relished the time to get to know them better. And since Sami's such a Mama's girl, it definitely would have taken more time for them to create an attachment with her had I been around the whole time. Right, back to DC... After our flight got in and we took the Metro to our hotel, Kev convinced me to walk around with him and find some dinner. We ended up walking about six miles that evening, very unexpectedly, even walking through the Natural History museum-- all in flip flops, mind you, which I would not recommend to anyone.

The next day we hit the museums, tackling the Gallery of Art, the Air and Space museum, the National Archives (think National Treasure), the Holocaust museum, etc. So, add at least another six to eight miles to the previous number from Friday night. Saturday evening, my choir had a gig to sing postlude to mass at a nearby Catholic Church, St. Dominic's. Unfortunately, we forgot the camera, but trust me, it was a beautiful building-- old grayish stone, stained-glass windows, the works.

I had planned this whole trip, had looked at bus and Metro schedules, and knew exactly when we needed to be where. It was all somewhat for naught, though, because with getting around in an unfamiliar city, no matter how much planning you do, you really have to just get in there and do it to understand how it all works. It took until Sunday to really understand how the Metro worked, and to realize that the bus system is a joke. We woke up early to make a bus that would take us right to the National Cathedral. We stood waiting for the bus for about fifteen minutes, and no one came, the slackers. I told Kev, "Okay, the dude has five more minutes. If no one comes, we're taking a cab." So, a cab it was, which really bit-- it cost us, like, fifteen bucks to get to the cathedral (including tip), when, if the bus had come, we could have gotten there for $2.50 total. We told the cab driver about how we tried to catch a bus, and he said, "Oh no, you can't do that-- around here you could be waiting half an hour for a bus!" Of course he'd say that, though.

As we're winding around on this stunning tree-lined (natural foliage, mind you) highway, passing churches inviting people from their bell towers, the Cathedral suddenly rose out of the forest. Enormous. It reminded me of what it's like to see some of our temples, the ones that just appear out of nowhere, like the San Diego Temple. Time literally stands still, for just a brief moment. The cab pulled up, and we paid him and got out. I don't remember ever feeling so small. After an hour and a half of pictures and warming-up, we walked into main hall. The sun shone through the window pains displaying every color of the spectrum through the depicted scenes of biblical and national history.

I expected the acoustics to be amazing, but I honestly have no idea how we sounded, because it was like I was singing in this tiny box with only the people next to me and behind me. I had to just sing according to memory when it came to texture, volume, and phrasing, all the while praying that I wasn't sticking out as badly as it seemed. We finished and took our seats all together to the left of the podium. The service began with a processional of their choir and clergy. My eyes went to the Florida flag to see Kevin holding it. "What's Kevin doing up there?" I whispered, as everyone in the choir was also pointing and whispering, "That's Kevin! How'd he get to do that?" Turns out, at the beginning of our set, Kev started taking pictures, but then remembered he saw a sign prohibiting pictures during the prelude and the service. He looked up to see a man in a suit with an official-looking badge walking towards him, and he thought, I'm busted. This guy's probably going to confiscate my camera or something. Instead the guy asked him if he was from Florida and if he'd like to carry the state flag during the processional. Kev agreed, and was taken to this room called the slype where they prepped him on what he was to do. Too bad he still had the camera. Although, I guess I technically wouldn't have been able to take a picture of it anyway, eh? That dude probably would have confiscated my camera... or maybe he just would have asked me to give the sermon. Lesson learned: taking pictures during a service in the cathedral is like asking for a calling. Don't do it.

After walking about two miles with Fred and Cheryl to take the Metro back to the hotel (didn't want to pay for another cab, and didn't trust the busses), we grabbed a quick snack, changed, and hopped right back on the Metro to make the 40-minute trip to see our BYU friends the Maksymovs. Eldar picked us up from the station and drove us to his apartment, where Courtney and their daughter Brinley were waiting. I know I said it about our visit with the Sextons back in April, but seeing old friends reminds me of how much I miss them. And 20-month old Brinley is absolutely precious, especially with the croupy little cough and raspy voice she had at the time. They even drove us out to the DC Temple, about a thirty 30-minute drive, which was very kind of them.

Our flight home was late Monday morning. We had originally thought to stop by Arlington on the way to the airport, but that idea fell through when breakfast took longer than expected. So, we checked our luggage just to realize we still had two hours until our flight. So, with no luggage to worry about, we jumped back on the Metro and made the 9-minute ride to Arlington National Cemetery. We had just enough time to be able to walk around and see the JFK Memorial, as well as Lee's old mansion and the views of the site from there. Thirty minutes later, we ran back to the Metro station and took the train back to the airport, went through the security check, and made it to our gate before the plane even started boarding. Not bad!

We actually got to do a crossword puzzle on the flight, too. Anyone with children understands why we would relish in that.

Surgery Bites

I just barely walked in the door-- spent the morning at Wuesthoff getting hacked open. Okay, so it really wasn't that bad. I'll back up a bit... After having Allie, I realized my belly button was, for some odd reason, permanently an "outie." I had thought it would go back down, but figured since pregnancy and child birth tend to jack up your body, that my new "outie" was completely normal. My mom didn't think so, and encouraged me to ask my doctor about it. It took some nagging, but I finally talked to Dr. Foster... after I found out I was pregnant with Sami. I said, with this "you're going to think my mom is crazy" tone, "So, my belly button never went back down after giving birth to Allie, and my mom thinks it's a hernia." I'm sure I even had a smirk on my face.

He said, "Really. Hmm..." He walked over poked his finger through my belly button, and said, "Yup, it sure is a hernia. Small, but it's there."

The smirk faded. Dang it, my mom was right! She'll never let me live this down.

He told me I really should have it repaired after the birth of the baby, and I figured because of the use of anesthesia that I should wait till I was done nursing, too.

Anyway, so that's where I ended up this morning-- patching up a big (all right, small-- very small) hole in my abs right behind my belly button. To be precise it was an umbilical hernia. I hurt, and Kev's out with the girls rounding me up some Loritab. But I admit the pain is nothing compared to that of a C-section. So, I'll live. What really kills me, though, is that I'm not supposed to lift Sami for, like six weeks. Right. What, is she supposed to Spider-Man-it into her crib everyday? I don't think so.

Man, just two weeks ago, too, the same doctor removed a cyst from a location I will not reveal. Maybe this guy just finds enjoyment in seeing my guts.

I Don't Want to Be the Waltons, but Still...

Well, Mom and Dad Smith just barely walked out the door, loaded their suit cases in the rental car, and drove away. Allie was awake to say good-byes, but I don't think it has really sunken in that they're not coming back. She'll probably wake up from her nap in an hour or so, wondering what happened to Grandma and Grandpa Smith. Oh, it's hard-- living so far away from everyone. Growing up, I never realized how nice I had it. I mean, not everyone gets to practically live with their grandparents. But I actually thought it was weird that both sets of grandparents didn't live near us. Go figure. And while now, as an adult, I wouldn't necessarily want the same situation my parents had, I admit it would be nice to be at least a little bit closer to family-- you know, close enough to where we would be able to drive there in under two hours, or even just close enough to find a nonstop flight, which is impossible out of Orlando.

I do like living here, though. It has taken me nearly two years to come to that conclusion, but I honestly can say I like it here. The people are friendly, the air is fresh, we're near the beach and fun parks, its winter weather can't be beat, and it's green. It just really bums me out that everyone it so stinkin' far away. I miss them. I would love to be able to just drop the kids off for an afternoon while I go get errands run or go to the doctor. Or even while we go to the temple.

Although, being back here, completely alone, perhaps has strengthened the bond of our little family unit, having only each other on which to depend. It's a good thing we're pretty independent naturally. It' really not that stressful to just figure life out on our own-- sure, we make tons of mistakes, but thankfully we have the Spirit to help out.

One thing I have to fight, though, is that nagging little voice that has this knack for guilt-tripping me-- You know, you're the one that chose to live so far from everyone, or Do you know much it costs for anyone to come visit? or Think about how sad your parents are to not be able to see these girls grow up-- after all, your grandparents saw you grow up. How fair is that?

Yeah, that voice isn't helping. I wish I could smack it upside the head.

Trouble is, we really didn't have all that much choice when it came to living here. We had two choices when the offers came in-- San Jose, CA or here. Hmmm... let's see, live in a shack in the ghetto, or own a new home in a clean, safe neighborhood. No brainer. Besides that, we put a lot of prayer into our decision, and we know this is where we need to be right now-- that moving here was a good decision for us, the right one even. But sometimes I wonder if we're just going to have to be far away forever, torturing our parents with them never being able to see their grandbabies, or if eventually we'll get an opportunity out west that provides us with the means to also comfortably live out there, too. I don't know. That's one thing that can be tough about life-- having faith that the Lord sees all, knows what's best, and as long as we are obedient will help things to work out as he sees fit. And for a control freak like me, being humble enough enough to allow someone else to have the reigns is hard-- knowing the Lord sees what I can't see is pure torture at times.

I really need to stop squinting so hard.

A Simple Testimony

Last night we had our last choir practice of the season until mid-August. We've been practicing for our upcoming "gig" this coming Sunday to sing the prelude for the Florida Day service at the National Cathedral in Washington DC. After running through our entire program, David wanted to go through the beginning of each piece. See, our program is a capella, and rather than using the pitch pipe to play each starting note, he'll merely be playing the the "key" note (if there's a more technical name for it, I don't know it), and we have to find our notes from there.

After getting only halfway through the program, David noticed we were having issues with phrasing. He worked with us on it for about ten minutes, and then, as he often does, used the Mormon Tabernacle Choir as an example, in this case, of terrific phrasing. He adores MoTab. He went on about how amazingly their phrasing is in spite of having 300 people. Then one of the men, a really nice guy, chimed in with his usual dry wise-crack.

"And they're not even Christians!" Everyone laughed. I shook my head, with a smirk on my face, and turned a bit red. Unfortunately, although I knew he was just kidding, and Nancy reassured me of this, comments like that get my blood boiling a bit.

Trying to smooth-over the awkwardness of the moment, especially since I really don't think he knew there were any "Mormons" in the bunch, I waved my hand in the air in "sista" fashion, and blurted out, smiling, "Oh, don't even go there!" They all laughed harder. David also tried to smooth things over, by saying how he has never seen a group of people so dedicated to their religion and their families as members of the Church, which I thought was very kind. My wise-cracking friend couldn't leave it there, though...

"No matter how many wives they have!" Oy.

David smiled and said, "Don't even go there! Well, I think we're done here."

"Good call!" I said to him.

I really do know it was all in good fun, but at the same time, I'm sure my friend's comments reflect what he's been taught-- what many Christians have been taught. We've been told by Christians that we worship Joseph Smith, that we don't believe in the Bible, that we don't believe Jesus Christ is our Savior, and that (this is the kicker) that we're brainwashed. Well, for those that want to know, here is my testimony...

I know that Jesus Christ is my Savior. I know that through the Atonement, he suffered not only for our sins, but felt each one of our pains, frustrations, disappointments that he might better succor his people. I know that it is only through Him, that it is possible for us to return to live with our Father in Heaven. Just as Paul said that it is only through grace, the grace of Christ, that we are saved. If the Atonement did not occur, there is no way, that by our own merits we would be able to return home. Nonetheless, while it is by faith in Him that we accept that grace, it is also recorded in James, "...faith, if it hath not works, is dead..."

I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I know that while yet a young boy he saw God the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ-- two distinct, separate beings, but one in heart and mind. I know, that just like the prophets of old, he was called of God-- literally by God, like Moses or Abraham or Samuel. I know that the Book of Mormon is holy scripture, not to take the place of the Bible, but to be a companion to the Bible. Ezekiel talked of the "stick of Joseph" and "the stick of Judah" becoming one. The Book of Mormon tells the story of descendants of Joseph of Egypt that crossed the sea to come to the American continent to avoid the destruction of Jerusalem at the time of the reign of Zedekiah. Being the "other sheep" that would "hear (his) voice," spoken of in John, their decedents saw and heard their risen Lord and felt His wounds. For them, just as He had done in Jerusalem, He organized His church, giving the new apostles the same Priesthood authority He had given in the old world. I know the Book of Mormon is that stick of Joseph, and I know the Bible is that stick of Judah.

Have I been taught these things? Of course. But have I just left it at that? Not at all. In the Church we are taught of doctrines and principles, and are encouraged to ponder them and pray about them, on our own, privately, that we might gain our own witness of their truthfulness. I have done just that, and the Spirit, the Holy Ghost, has born that witness to me, through a powerful, invigorating burning of the bosom, that these things are true.

In bearing my testimony, I have not meant offend. I have only desired to share what is in my heart, especially in light of last night's happenings. Perhaps many of you now have a desire to Bible-bash with me, but I refuse to do that. I don't claim to be any expert when it comes to the scriptures. My testimony is not a matter of who was more convincing-- the Church or other Christian sects. It is a matter of what the Lord, through the Holy Ghost, has spoken to my heart.

Wow, that turned much more serious than I was originally planning. If you're now looking for something light-hearted, read the next post. :)

If Only She Could Do That For Herself

After hopping out of the shower yesterday, I noticed it to be eerily quiet. I started to quickly get dressed in anticipation of finding a disaster, but after a minute, I heard Sami's trademark whine as well as some noises from Allie I couldn't really make out. Relieved at hearing the noise, I went back to leisurely getting dressed, when I noticed Sami's whines to be getting a bit louder with more of an anxiety to them. I rushed to the girls' rooms, and saw both of their doors closed, but the sounds were coming from Sami's room.

I eased open the door to see Sami lying on the ground with her thumb in her mouth and her pink fleece "bwaydjuh" (blanket) up to her face. Her shorts were on the floor, her onesie unsnapped, and a diaper loosely attached around her bum. Allie was sitting on the floor near her, looking confused as to why I looked so confused. Suddenly I realized the diaper looked new, unused.

I calmly asked, "Allie, what did you do?"

"I changed Sami's diaper!"

I bit nervous about what was exactly in the used diaper, I asked, "Did Sami poop, honey?"

"No, she just whizzed."

She told me what she did exactly, and pointed to the used diaper. I looked a little ways past Sami's head and saw the old diaper open on the floor, with apparently used wipes laying around it. Thankfully, Allie wasn't lying-- no poop.

I sighed in relief, hugged Allie, told her she did a good job, but that she needed to talk to Mama first before changing Sami's diaper the next time. She really did do a pretty good job, though. Of course, she couldn't get the onesie re-snapped, nor could she put Sami's shorts back on, but the diaper, although a bit loose, was put on the right way and attached correctly-- I would bet there's many a dad in the world that couldn't do that.

Now if we could just get Allie to change her own diapers, life would be complete.

In the Past Month

What a pleasant surprise! We took the girls to the adult session of stake conference last night. Since the Young Women had been at girls camp all week and were all just returning yesterday at around 4pm (which I'm sure is why someone decided to not have them babysit children last night), and since I needed to leave by 4:30, I figured that wasn't enough time to round up a babysitter. Having gotten there an hour early, at 5pm, we ate our picnic dinner, and went inside to save seats in the chapel and then practice with the choir. After practicing we made our way to the chapel, trying to figure out on whom to pawn our kids while we sang. After rounding someone up, we began getting settled in our seats when Jill came over to us and said, "Hey, I just found out Linda Samuels has a nursery going in the back of the church. There aren't many kids, but they could definitely take Allie." Oh, wonderful, sweet Linda. We ended up being able to hand over Sami as well, so both of us sat with the choir in the stands the entire two-hour meeting. Linda is actually the stake Young Women's president, and perhaps she just understood that while her Young Women would be too exhausted from camp to want to babysit a bunch of wild kids, the members of the stake would soon be just as exhausted (not to mention completely missing out on the spiritual edification they were so looking forward to) from trying to keep their children contained-- they expect that in a family meeting, but not in a meeting designed for them. Needless to say, she humbled me-- her willingness to serve and sacrifice without being asked (at least, I don't think she was, but I could be wrong), and without anything in return. And while the topic last night wasn't one considered to be a favorite among church members (Family History), it actually did benefit me, which would have been less likely to happen had we been tending the girls the whole meeting.

Today was the general session of the conference, and I must say the girls did surprisingly well. On any normal Sunday we can't make it through the hour-long Sacrament Meeting without taking both of them out at some point. So, I figured in having to sit there for two hours, we'd probably see our own seats inside the chapel for about ten minutes of the entire meeting-- you know, for the opening and closing hymns. But, you know, we didn't have to take either one of them out once. Not once! That's not to say, though, that I was able to listen intently to the meeting the entire time, but I did catch phrases here and there, as well as overall meaning, and, most importantly, we did get to listen to the last few talks on the importance of temple attendance given by the members of the stake presidency because (get this) the girls both... fell asleep. That's right, folks, they fell asleep in our arms. Oh, glorious day! For those that know our active children, that never happens. Allie hasn't fallen asleep in my arms in, well, I can't remember how long it has been. And since we had to be at the chapel and hour early to practice with the choir, we actually got to sit in the padded benches up near the front, which is a heck of a lot nicer than sitting on the hard fold-out chairs in the cultural hall (a.k.a. gym) with all the other hyper families like us who got there too late for a good seat. So, other than our friends the Terrys who sat right in front of us, we were surrounded by nice, quiet elderly people. Of course maybe they didn't appreciate us invading their territory, but on the other hand, maybe they enjoyed having some wiryness around to keep them awake.

As for other happenings this past month, Allie finished her term of swimming lessons. Unfortunately, I forgot about the registration day for this term, and by the time my brain kicked in gear the toddler classes were full. I felt bad about spacing it, but she hasn't seemed to notice. I think the swimming lessons have helped, though. We went to a Memorial Day ward picnic on, well, Memorial Day. The ward tends to have their two yearly BBQs at Veteran's Park, which, like many other parks in the area, has a swimming hole. Of course, the deeper part of the "lake" is roped off, so the water never got above Allie's shoulders. But she jumped in there with her friends Aura and Jose and never once was nervous. She even seemed to try to swim, and spent a good portion of the time trying to see how long she could keep her face in the water. At the same time, I do believe she's still cautious enough not to jump into a pool of water that looks deep. And to ease my mother's mind, yes, I still watch her intently around water, especially after the incident at the community pool a few months ago when I happened to be there by myself. On that day Sami was sitting outside the pool, since she decided she hated the cold water, and I had been teaching Allie how to tread water. Sami began to cry for some reason, so I put Allie back on the steps, and said I needed to check on Sami, who had been sitting patiently not too far away from the edge of the pool. I said, "Allie, wait right right here." And I stepped out of the pool for not more than five seconds when I had the distinct impression to turn back around. I'm glad I heeded the prompting. There Allie was, struggling to tread water, with her terrified-looking face barely above the water on which she was choking, and her eyes as big as saucers. I jumped back in and pulled her up and hugged her. She was fine, but after that she refused to even allow me to hold her in the deeper water. Can you blame her? So, the swimming lessons have at least helped to undo some of the damage I did that day in the community pool. Although, what would have happened if I hadn't been teaching her how to tread water, since that's what was at least keeping her nose above the water? Food for thought...

As for news on little Sami, she is officially a walker now. While she has been taking steps for the past month, it has only been in the past week or so that she has decided walking would be her main mode of transportation. I think she started to see the benefits-- no rug burns, it beats trying to crawl in a dress, and you look bigger and more intimidating. I must say the tops of her feet have been much cleaner lately. I've also actually been surprised at how much she has been talking as well. I figured since she has a talkative big sister to do the talking for her, that she wouldn't have a reason to say much, but she has loved mimicking people. And really without being taught has caught on to "Thank you" (which sounds like a sing-songy "tay too") and "bless you" (or "bess oo,"and while saying it she imitates your sneeze... which means she basically yells it whenever I sneeze). And from all the counting we do around here to get her sister to hop-to-it when it comes to accomplishing tasks, she has caught on to that, too. The other day I was counting to ten to get Allie to do something, and after I got to five, she said, "sis." Then after I said seven, she said, "aht." Not bad, kid. Not bad at all.

Happy June to all! Oh yeah, and a happy hurricane season, which started with a bang on Thursday with the formation of Barry. Our stake president asked us today to fast for a mild hurricane season, which he thought was funny considering he just asked us a month or two ago to fast for rain. Good times.

Drat!

This weekend is stake conference, with the typical adult session being held tomorrow night, and then the general session on Sunday. For every adult session they have gotten the Young Women to babysit, so that it's actually an adult session. Plus, people don't have to be fighting over babysitters, or pay someone to be able to attend a church function without their children, since that is the whole point of the meeting in the first place. It always killed me in Wymount, BYU Student Family Housing, of all places, when the stake presidency would schedule an adult stake conference session... in a stake where there aren't any Young Women to even pay to watch your kids. And it's not like you could ask a friend to watch them, 'cause they were supposed to be at the meeting, too. So, the "adult" session ended up being full of screaming children, just like the session for families the next day.

After Kev got home this evening, he played with the girls for a bit, then messed around looking at some basketball highlights on You Tube. Finally he came in the kitchen where I was working and said, "I've got some bad news." Coming from Mr. Sunshine, that's never a good sign.

"Apparently, they're not having babysitting tomorrow night at the adult session."

"What?! I've been telling people there will be babysitting! And what are we going to do, 'cause we're both singing in the choir? Besides, that hasn't been announced to people, and guaranteed people are going to make that 30-minute drive with their kids in their PJs, thinking Young Women are going to be there to watch them. And, how is the Bishop supposed to get that message across to the entire ward by tomorrow?" I know I sort of bit Kevin's head off about it. I'll admit I'm bugged. I know it's not his fault, but I suppose I jumped down his throat a bit because he didn't seem to care all that much, which made me feel guilty for caring so much. It's almost like I felt like I had to convince him that it was a big deal.

I tried to email the bishop to see if he has any insights into this dilemma, but I haven't gotten a response yet. But I suppose I should start preparing for the worst, and come up with a plan to deal with this... rather than sitting here like a geek complaining to you all.