Siri it is.

We've never been a technology savvy family. We tend to watch everyone around us hop on the bandwagon of whatever new game system, computer, or cell phone has just been released. And we're cool with that. I really don't care that Tres has two gigantic flat screen t.v.'s, an iPad, and every other technological device he wants that will make him happy/improve the quality of his life. I really don't. He gives me his hand-me-downs.

I think we were the last people we knew to get a Wii (and we play it rarely). Our t.v. is still fat on the backside, our refrigerator has seen us through our thirteen years of marriage, and our cell phones, for the longest time, were low end with minimum gadgetry.

Because who needs that stuff?

Not me. 

Enter Siri.

A week or so ago, I was sitting on my chair watching my fat t.v. when Husband and O.S. walked in with a small, wrapped box. It even had a ribbon tied around it. They handed it to me. For a second it threw me off. It wasn't my birthday or my anniversary. Before I had time to think about it, the box began vibrating, which totally freaked me out, in a cool way. I peeled off the paper and saw the Apple logo. So then I thought, why did they get me an iPod? I mean, I already have a shuffle, which only has thirty songs on it. (I know, I ought to be ashamed.) Then I realized what this was.

Salvation, in the palm of my hand.

The new iPhone 4S.

Husband told me it was a congratulations presents for getting published; which made me laugh since I'm not published and don't know when I will be. Sweet, huh? But I secretly know why he really bought it. 

I have a terrible memory. I can't remember jack diddly. I forgot to pick O.S. up from school the other day! My own kid, and I forgot him. Well, the iPhone will beep and remind me I'm supposed to be at such and such in an hour. Salvation, indeed. As long as I remember to tell the phone to remind me.

Next Husband made the introductions. "Susan meet Siri. Siri, Susan." Have you heard about her, guys? She's the person inside the phone that takes over when you hold down the circle for two seconds. But I really didn't care that much at the moment, because I'm not the kind of dork who talks to imaginary half-wits who are going to screw up whatever I tell them anyway. I couldn't be bothered with Siri, so I snatched my phone back and continued drooling over all the cool apps I could get. Netflix. Facebook. Kindle!

For the next couple of days, things were going well with me and my phone. I had my texting fingers going, and I was dialing away on the phone keypad, checking email, listening to music.

And then I saw a commercial about Siri. You've probably seen it too. I swear, they play it once an hour during primetime. How do I tie a bow-tie? Tell my wife I'm going to be late? Call so and so?

So I picked up my phone to test out my own little digital servant because there was no way Siri actually worked like they were showing on the t.v. Right?

Wrong.

This chick actually does what she promises.

Case in point: The other night for mutual we were going to take one of the elderly men in our ward out to Coldstone. He lives in a nursing home and the bishop wants us to get him out more. A couple of hours before the activity, I realized I needed to call ahead and make sure the nurses knew we were coming. I decided to give Siri a try. I told her to call this particular nursing home, in my town. In three seconds she had the phone number and asked if I wanted her to call. My mouth dropped open. It couldn't be that easy, could it? I scrambled to the computer to google the number because I didn't believe she could possibly have the correct number.

But she did.

And yesterday when I needed directions, she found my destination and marked the way. She can text Husband for me, like she did last night as he was dozing off. She told him, You're a cutie, because I told her to. And I can just say, "Play Mean," and shazam! Taylor Swift is singing to me. 

This is luxury people! Time-saving, energy preserving, luxury!

One last thing about Siri. She might live to serve but that chick is no pushover.

We nicknamed Husband's iPod touch, Mona, a long time ago because he was spending so much time with it that we joked she was the other woman. The name stuck. Whenever he's in his Solitaire mode too long we tell him to step back from Mona.

At the dinner table last night, as I was showing my family some of the tricks I'd discovered Siri can perform, we decided the phone needed a name, just like Husband's iPod. In five seconds it was decided.

Genie. Like a genie in a bottle, because seriously, this phone can do anything. Grant any wish, fulfill any dream. (I wonder if I could get her to whip up that works cited page I need? Hmmm.) All we had to do was tell Siri we were changing her name, right?

So O.S. pushed the button, waited for Siri to beep and said, "Your name is Genie."

Immediately Siri replied, "No. My name is Siri. But you knew that already."

Hahahahahaha. I love a girl with a backbone.

Once you've had room service you always want it, right? Or so I've heard. Siri is like the concierge of phones. And I ain't never going back. 

Seriously, peeps. If you haven't already, you need to get you one of these.

Daisy Girl

I made a decision last night: A vet should never have to put his own dog down.

We love you and already miss you, Daisy.

Snapshot

Yesterday our family had one of those moments--the kind where everything goes right and at any given second you could take a picture and catch pure happiness on everyone's faces. It's rare, I know, so I'm blogging about it. Because moments like this need to be shared and remembered.

You've heard me talk about my kids awesome elementary school. It's only fitting that that's where we were when it happened.

The air was crisp and clean, fresh after a rain storm. The gray clouds were blowing off into the distance, the blue sky and sunshine taking their place. The air was cool, but not the kind of cool that chills you. That kind of cool that's refreshing and cleanses you from the outside in. O.D. played the soccer game of her life. Man, was she aggressive. And anyone who knows her, knows she is anything but. She had three shots on goal and all three were so close to going in. So close. I was so proud of her.

Husband brought a pizza and we ate at the playground afterward, as we waited for the PTA meeting to begin. The sun was starting to set and there was a nice breeze in the air. Our kids ate quick and then scampered off to hang on the monkey bars, dig in the sand, and hop on the swings. I walked over to Oldest Daughter, who was the swinger. I wanted to tell her for the fifth time how amazing she'd played.

"Mom, swing with me," she said. I hopped on the swing next to her and told her that I used to love swinging but now it made me nauseous. "It's so fun, Mom. Let's see how high we can go." I was sure I was going to get sick, but I wanted to make her happy. So I did. We pumped so hard and high, our feet almost touched the stratosphere. I looked over. Her face was still red from running, and her hair was matted to her forehead, but she was grinning, her dimple sinking in. Her eyes were sparkling. I laughed; she laughed. "See, you're not going to puke," she said. I nodded. "I forgot how fun this is." And then we swung even higher.

Husband came over and hopped on the next swing. Big Girl climbed up on his lap and off they went. Youngest Son yelled, "Watch me, Mom!" Sure enough he was four swings down, his feet reaching for the stars that were just lighting the sky. Oldest Son jumped on and took off. And just like that, all six of us were flying through the air in unison. Just like a picture.

It only last a few minutes and then we started jumping off, seeing who could land the farthest. That brought some laughs and some surprises. We walked into the school and watched the most fascinating Science show.

And then it was over and we were back to normal. Which is okay too, just a little less perfect and a little more real.

But those few minutes at the playground--those are the moments that make life worth living.

Have you had any great moments lately?

Christina and Me

I have a deadline to meet this week.  I can't remember if I mentioned it or not, but I have to write a 3500 word chapter on my ancestor, Christina McNeill Reynolds.

I've been struggling with this because honestly, truth is not as exciting as fiction, especially when your great-great-great-great grandmother was not a journal keeper. Why, oh why, couldn't I have been related to Levi Savage? Not that I'm complaining. I'm really not. Because Christina was kick-butt in her day. She just had an aversion to putting pen to paper, and it's causing me great anxiety at the present.

So I needed some motivation to finish this piece and I had no idea where I was going to find it. 

Enter 17 Miracles. 

You know the movie. The new one that everyone keeps mentioning on Facebook. The one where they had snot dripping out their nose and their eyes were puffed out of their head when they walked out of the theater. Yeah, that one. So it arrived at my house Saturday. I popped the DVD in thinking I would listen as I cleaned. 

Um, yeah. You know me and movies. It wasn't even that it was so exciting, though it definitely had it's moments. When I sat down in my big leather chair my eyes zoomed in because it hit me just like that--This is Christina's story. She's not portrayed in the movie but she saw all of this. Lived through it. And suddenly I couldn't tear my eyes away. 

She was disowned for joining the church. She sailed on the Thornton and landed at Ellis Island. And she pulled a handcart with only the friends she'd made since she left home six (or eight--stinkin' contradictory dates!) years before. She walked twelve miles a day and wore her palms raw pushing her handcart. Her skin got sunburned and she got to camp every night exhausted. And she was there when they made the decision to go on knowing they didn't have the provisions. She was there when they told them their rations were being cutting back even though they had to walk just as far. She was there when that first snow storm hit in early October. The wind blew straight through her dress, chilling her to the bone.

A colonel at Fort Laramie took one look at her and proposed marriage on the spot, but unlike some less stalwart people, she told him no, she would take her chance with the saints even if it meant death. 

And she was there when people started dying left and right, burying them in the frozen ground only to have the wolves dig them up the minute they were gone. She was there when they ran completely out of food, knowing they were about to die if help didn't arrive.

But she was also there when help came. Her future husband was among the rescuers. And she was there to push her handcart into the Salt Lake Valley with no family to greet her, only the promise of what Zion was.

She kept that handcart for the rest of her life, and one of her granddaughters wrote in her journal about how they would go play at Grandmother's and they would see the handcart sitting under their apple tree.

But Christina wouldn't talk about the trek west. It was too terrible, I think. Because of all those awful things she saw and lived through.

I feel a burden now, to do this chapter right. To pay a tribute to someone who is one of the biggest heroes of my life. 

I hope I won't let her down.

Because she didn't let me down.

I owe her everything.

I'll be hitting my knees a lot this week and if you have a few extra seconds when you hit yours, I wouldn't mind one bit if you keep me and Christina in your prayers.