Stake Conference

Lately, I really haven't loved being an adult. I don't really love going shopping (especially for new pants, which I keep on needing), calling places to ask about prices, going to said places to get alignment fixed and tires repaired, booking hotels, filling out paperwork for passports, going to the doctor or dentist (even for checkups), and basically anything that involves driving beyond the church or calling someone outside of my speed dial. Even now, I sit here desperately trying to ignore the fact that the brand new tire from 2 weeks ago has a slow leak that I should go get fixed (even though I know that they might even patch it for free and it ought to be quick). Considering I'll be an adult for the rest of my life, I ought to snap out of it soon. After all, people on the other end of the phone are paid to be friendly, otherwise I'll write a scathing review on Google. (I've never done that. But I might someday.)

And it's not like I've never dealt with tough situations before without my mom there. I mean, she didn't come to college with me. And she didn't make her voice sound like mine and do the calling for me when I had to remind people to come to Mutual or (gasp) invite boys over for a party. (I wrote a script the first time I invited people over.) So I've done grownup stuff before.

In fact, I remember the first time I felt like I had to act like a grownup. Once upon a time in May 2001 my family was preparing for my dad's sabbatical in New Jersey. This involved finding a place to live, so my parents flew over there one morning, leaving us older kids in charge of getting everyone ready for Stake Conference. It didn't seem to take too much work to have everyone dressed and ready, probably because Leslie took care of it all. As a bonus, she even made us lunch before we left -- scrambled eggs, which she made with profound finesse.

While we were eating lunch, there was a knock on the door -- the Winings had come to take us to the tabernacle. As we sat in the van, I think we kind of wanted to show off how cute nearly-3-year-old Spencer was to the Winings, especially to the redheaded teenage boys. We were surprised when he just sat there in silence.

"He usually sings all the time!" we exclaimed.

"He can be quiet if he wants to be," responded Brother Winings cheerfully.

He dropped us off right by the tabernacle rather than making us walk from wherever they found parking. Since we arrived so early, we scored seats on the main level rather than in the stuffy balcony. We sat there reverently for about 10 seconds before Spencer decided to end his vow of silence. He opened his mouth . . .


and unswallowed scrambled eggs came spilling out, all over the bench and the floor. Leslie and I looked at each other in horror. There was no mom or dad there to take care of things. Leslie went off and grabbed paper towels from the bathroom, and I think I just stayed there and tried to keep Spencer from getting too upset. I don't know. I don't remember. I was probably in shock.

Well, that mess got cleaned up, and I survived. And I'll continue to survive grownup situations -- the taxes will get done (thanks to Kevin), the tire will get patched (but maybe not today, cuz it's snowing, and it's not leaking that fast), and I'll find it in me to make every phone call to every insurance agent and receptionist that fate throws at me. Even if I only enjoy those experiences as much as Spencer enjoyed those scrambled eggs.