I am a mature adult.

On Sunday, Chris and I spoke in church. I would love to say I loved the whole experience, and it made me a better person, but really, I just wanted to throw up the whole time on the stand. As I sat in my seat re-reading my talk again and again, as many times as I could before it was my turn, my hands just kept shaking. As I held my hands together, to try to get myself under control (!), my legs started bouncing up and down. I was a wreck. It was pathetic.



You would think my super laid back husband would have helped things. Instead, he kept offering his kind advice, such as, "What is your deal!?" and "Taylor. Really. You've got to stop." As motivating as you think those words would have been, for some reason, it just made me want to get up and walk out. I actually considered it a few times, as my offspring were making their presence known on the back row. With every yell, cry, and "MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM" I heard, it just motivated me even more to do a disappearing act. I figured if I left the building with my kids in hand, at least I would have some kind of excuse.


Alas, my turn came to speak. It was mortifying, really. The simple task of introducing my family seemed like a unsurmountable task. Seriously people. We are talking major high drama. As I forgot who we were, or where we were from, things we were interested in, I decided to stick to the basics. As I revealed the most simple qualities of our family, "I am Taylor. That is my husband, Chris. Those loud children are mine." I thought to myself: Grow up.



I did my best to relax, and thought, "You got this! You totally got this!" Because, I did. I had studied, and read talk after talk, scriptures, articles, etc. I knew what I wanted to talk about, and I was excited to share what I had found. But, when I looked up from my paper, for heaven-forbid a SECOND, I lost all prior knowledge of any preparation that had existed. I knew nothing.



I realized it would just be easier to stare at my paper, and get out what I had come to say; trying to look smooth, and intelligent, was just not going to cut it today. So, I did what any normal 1st grader would do, and gave the last half of my talk, staring down at the paper in front of me. Now, if I actually knew how to read English, this wouldn't have been such a big deal, because at least they could forgive my lack-of-public-speaking-grace, with the fact that I left them with great words to ponder.


Not to be so.



I wanted to crawl under a rock, and give the rest of my talk. I was skipping lines, re-reading lines, mispronouncing words, and just falling a part. As I fumbled around reading (READING PEOPLE!!) my talk, I eventually reached the last paragraph. I refrained from yelling, HALLE-FREAKING-LUJAH, when I realized the torture was almost complete. Instead, I finished what I started, without any poise.

And then melted into my chair.



Chris gave his talk all from memory.



Show off.

How was your Sunday?