Practice makes perfect

Day our items arrived from the U.S. - William giddy to see his long, lost John Deere Gator

I used to believe in the saying, "Practice makes perfect." You know, the more you do something, the easier it gets. It's not that the task self gets easier, it's your ability to perform the task. Well, I am not sure I am drinking out of that water cooler any more. No, my absolute incompetence at moving has proved that this truth is not true for me.

Bill and I have moved way too many times. You already know this because you get my "We've moved! Here is our new address," email year after year. I am sure you are thinking, "Moved again! Those Davidsons are crazy!" Yes, we are nomads, but I am no more proficient having moved seven times in eight years than when we made our first trek from Utah to Chicago.

Throughout those many moves, I often needed rescuing as I drowned in the details, "Help!" Mom flying out, sister flying out, mom flying out, whew… This move to China was no exception; the Bettendorf, Iowa, schooner sent out an SOS signal. My niece Becca babysat our kids while we looked for a place to live in China. Bill's sister, Heather, flew out and helped us go through our Mt. Everest of stuff to determine what was Goodwill, Go to China, and Go to Storage. Tracy, also Bill's sister, helped us wrap up all our loose ends, watched kids on packing and moving days, and bought last minute items to help us survive the China Wilderness. (Thank you again for all your help!)

Bill tries to give me some perspective saying, "Well, not everyone relocates their family to China from beginning to end in a total of six weeks." Getting Chinese visas, medical visits, house hunting trip to China, selling a house in Bettendorf, sorting through every item we've ever owned, etc.

Our decision to move to China was a quick one and we still feel like we are just getting off the roller coaster. However, I have lied to myself about this before, always having a reason why this move or that move was crazy. No, I have serious moving disease; we have been in our new house about six weeks and I still have boxes, loads of junk that needs to be organized and put away and I have a full time maid that does my cleaning and laundry. What is my excuse? After careful consideration and much contemplation, I have determined that I have an allergy to unpacking moving boxes, organizing piles, and putting away the same things time after time. This allergy forces me to throw myself into other projects and activities, like playing with my kids and being the PTA president. My unpacking and organizing avoidance is one that I have yet to manage. Maybe I just need a little more practice…

Moving in day - you can see why many of our items were broken when we unpacked. We are missing many, many boxes that no one seems to know were they are. Maybe pirates seized them at sea. More paperwork for us to fill out to try and recover the value of all our lost goods. (Gracie is devastated because she is missing her stuffed penguin.)

Trip to IKEA in Shanghai with my friend Sarah. I replaced many of the lost items and I picked up just a few thousand extra little things. Can anyone leave IKEA without jepordaizing your children's college fund? IKEA and I have a love/hate relationship.


William as "box head." He loved his box head and wore it around for long periods at a time. We made a large fort out of our moving boxes.

"Box Head"

Bill and William asleep suffering from jet lag the day after we got to Shanghai.

William in Shanghai airport after the long journey. He obviously didn't mind the 14 hour flight. Twelve hours into the flight he starting crawling up and down the isles and barking like a dog.

Family with all our luggage.


William on the airplane.

Ruth and Grace on the airplane eating dinner.


Moving day at Bettendorf house. I miss my flowers.

Ruth had surgery two days before we left. She reacted negatively to the anestesia. I took care of her, throwing up, trying to direct the movers what to do with our stuff.

William taking an ice cream break. He found this gas funnel in the garage and wore it around.

Chaos in Bettendorf

Chaos in Bettendorf II

United Nations Day

Ruth and Grace attend Access International Academy Ningbo. It is a small international school with about one-hundred thirty students from twenty-six different countries. Americans are the minority. Ruth is the only American in her class (eleven students) and Grace has one other American (ten students). Most of the students are from Korea and Japan (about 60%), next Europeans and Indians and then South Americans and last, but not least, Americans. Interesting, most of the teachers are from America and Canada.

The kids here are amazing. Most of them speak at least three languages. For example, one boy in Ruth's class has a German father and Chinese mother. One day after school we were playing on the playground. He was talking with me in perfect English, his dad walks up and he speaks to him in fluent German, then my driver spoke with him in Chinese. This is not unusual and is quite the norm. We are the backwards ones only speaking English. One of Ruth's good friends is half Italian and half Japanese. She speaks Japanese with her mom, Italian with her dad and English at school. However, most of the Asian families hire tutors and also have their children go to school on Saturday. Ruth's friend goes to another private school on Saturday so she can keep up on her Japanese. The Koreans are hard core education and are consistently asking the teachers for more homework, hire tutors, and have their children skipping grades. It is an interesting educational environment.

One of the neat events that the school holds is UN Day. It is a day celebrating the nationalities of all of its students. They have a parade of nations with each country dressing up in their native dress. (Yes, I cried when the students sang and I saw them all dressed up.) We had a very lively discussion on what should American/Canadians wear. Our girls were quite passionate about the fact they are from three countries – America, Canada, and Germany. I told them we would only do America and Canada since that is where their parents are from. So, they opted to wear 4^th of July t-shirts we got at Wal-Mart this past summer. In order to marital harmony they had U.S.A. painted on one cheek and a Canadian maple leaf on the other. Ruth represented America and Grace walked with Canada. They have already figured out that next year they will switch. (We couldn't find our Canada Roots shirt for Grace since everything was still in boxes!) The people from the other countries wanted our costume to be cowboys and Indians - maybe next year.

After the parade the students go on a world tour. Each class chose a country to study in depth and then the other students go around and see their projects and what they learned. They give them passports to get stamped as they travel around. For lunch the PTA organized food from all our different countries. There was so much food, a lot of which I had never seen before so I can't even describe what it was. We did have imported cheese and salami from France, Gummi Bears and warm potato salad from Germany, salmon sushi from Japan, delicious Korean noodles, Brazilian meat, Taiwanese tea, and chili and hot dogs from the good ol' U.S.A.

It was so funny because I brought Twizlers licorice in our shipment and I thought I would share them for UN Day at school. Well, I had them sitting out and no one would take them. I kept asking the kids if they wanted some Twizlers. They all politiely declined except my girls. It took me awhile to clue in that most of the students had no idea what in the world I was offering them. So, I starting asking if they wanted some American candy. A few started taking it. Well, word on the playground spread quickly; the kids told their friends and they kept coming back for some more of the American candy.

After I was out, an Asian boy about eight years old asked me while showing me with his hands the length of a Twizlers,

"Excuse me, do you have any more of those long, skinny, red things?"

"You want some more licorice?" I asked.

"No," he replied. "I want some more of the long, skinny, red things."

I felt so bad I didn't have any more to give him. Most of the kids had never had licorice before and it is not something you can find in this part of the world. Add it to the list of things to buy when I go back to America.

Mr. Lopart and the violin lessons

Ruth waiting before the performance

Stage before performance -I wish you could see the thousands of fresh Roses and Gebera Daises they had in front of the stage

Ruth playing during performance.



William trying to melt bottle on light

Video during practice

It all started when the phone rang and the concierge informed me that they scheduled violin lessons for the following day at 6:00 p.m. Would I be able to make it? How did the people at Howard Johnson even know our girls played the violin? Well, the staff noticed when they unpacked our 1,000 bags out of the van the night we arrived. It just happened that the best violin school in Ningbo, our city of six million, was right across the street from the Howard Johnson. They pulled a few strings and the director agreed to listen to Ruth and Grace play their violins and see if they would take them on.

We met our two Chinese escorts in the lobby and crossed the street to a Soviet communist style building that was literally crumbling. We walked around what seemed in circles, out one door, into a courtyard, through another door, into a parking lot, and finally up a large set of stairs and into the small, hot and humid room. Sitting there, behind a large dusty desk was an older Chinese man with the most far reaching "comb over" I have ever seen. He looked and walked like Mr. Lopart from the cartoon Handy Many.

After a few pleasantries, he soon started barking orders in Chinese, translated by our hotel translators, and told my girls to play something. They were both nervous and very rusty (not playing for over three months) and fumbled through a few songs. He put up a book on a wobbly music stand and ordered the girls to play. I obviously didn't do a very good job explaining the "Suzuki" method of violin and how Ruth was just learning to read music and Gracie couldn't read a single note. Well, he figured it out pretty quickly and questioned all American music education. His Chinese students could read music at four and five. The earliest beginner was farther along than these two. He asked me how long and how often the girls played. I told them their lesson schedule; in China the students all have hour long lessons, no matter the age, and practice hours every day. Well, I told him that is not how it is in America. (He was very interested in where I bought Ruth's high quality violin strings. They came with the violin and I didn't realize they were anything but average.)

While the violin playing may not have impressed the Chinese teacher, William was thrilled with the music. While the girls played, he pulled up a small stool, got some paper and put it on an extra music stand rusting in the corner and proceeded to direct the music as if he were the guest conductor at the New York Philharmonic. With pencil in hand, he led the music with gusto. Our two translators had a hard time listening to Mr. Lopart, as I affectionately call him, because William's conducting was so enthralling.

At one point I literally started laughing out loud because the scene was one that even a Pulitzer Prize Novelist couldn't create – buckling laminate flooring, rusting metal, piles of dust, mosquito swarms feeding on our warm bodies, two year old leading his own orchestra, sweat dripping down my face, Mr. Lopart's comb over being misplaced by the blowing fan, two young Chinese translators trying to figure out how to nicely tell me that the expert violin teacher thinks my girls are not exactly on track to become the next Hilary Hahn, me winking and giving the girls thumbs up encouraging them on, all the while curious Chinese students and parents smashed their faces against the window in the door like we were animals in a zoo that they paid and entrance fee to observe.

After all of this excitement, Mr. Lopart told us to pack up our violins and go. He was going to show us how it was done. We walked back through the maze of corridors, staircases, courtyards and walked into an auditorium with an orchestra practicing some music. We sat down and he showed us how it was supposed to be done, Chinese style.

Oh, if you think the violin adventure ends there, you are mistaken. We made arrangements that one of Mr. Lopart's English speaking protégé's would teach Ruth and Grace violin. All was rolling along, until one week our teacher, Mr. Yu, informed us that Mr. Lopart wanted Ruth to play the violin in front of thousands of people at the premiere concert hall in Ningbo. They were holding an International Fashion show and they were asked to perform there. Oh, and by the way, she only had five days to learn the piece that the Chinese students had been working on for months. She was to dress like a "princess," while all the other students wore black pants and sequin vests. The teacher wanted to meet with her every day so she could memorize a simplified version of the piece being played. Ruth was hesitant at first and then agreed. He also told me more than once, I am not sure if he was trying to give me advice, that his other students' mothers hit their children if they miss a note and it helps them play the piece perfectly. Not exactly my style. The Chinese take playing the violin so seriously because it is one way for the children to get a head in life. For some, it is their only hope in life. Without it, there will be no career, no college, no money, no marriage. It is literally their ticket to survive. Luckily, we are fortunate enough to have options and don't have to live with that type of pressure. Anyway, Ruth worked very hard learning the difficult music, getting up at six in the morning, practicing after school, etc., however, hopefully for the learning experience, not because this is how she will survive in life.

The day of the performance was a culture shock for all of us. We walked in and we were surrounded my Chinese children ages 6-16. I mean literally surrounded. Mr. Lopart and Mr. Yu continually shooed the kids away, but like flies around a summer BBQ, they always came circling back. The whole afternoon and evening we were the only Caucasians in sight. Ruth was constantly bombarded with curious kids, looking at her stuff, watching her, and trying out their few English words, "Hello! How are you?" The few parents that were allowed through security into the event were, I shall say INTENSE, and the rest of the mothers waited outside screaming to be let in. (Even in China, boys will be boys; I saw a small group of boys trying to melt empty plastic water bottles under hot performance lights. Unfortunately, William saw this and also tried this experiment. ) The fashion show was Broadway like – with a Chinese twist. Ruth was the focus of the violin performance, specifically positioned so she could stay on track by watching the bowing of two other players.

While the whole thing was a good growth experience for Ruth, I have a little pit in my stomach knowing she was not there because of the way she played the violin, but because of the way she looked. Over two hundred students were selected to play for the show, but only one hundred could play in the end because they didn't have enough sequin vests. Apparently, the mother's of the other players almost rioted. Ruth was asked just a few days before, when the other Chinese students worked long and hard. It just doesn't seem fair.

"Honey, I think the staff is slipping..."

As Bill and I stood at the sink getting ready for bed, I asked him, "Do you have a wash cloth? I can't find any." I was extremely surprised because normally the maids have a basket of 5-7 wash cloths rolled neatly in a basket in the master bathroom at all times. I checked the basket again to see if I was imagining it being empty. No, my mind wasn't playing tricks on me. So, I just washed my face with my hands. As I was brushing my teeth, Bill walked up the bathtub steps to shut the blinds. He started to laugh when he looked in the bathtub. I knew the last person in the bathtub was William. What was Bill laughing at?

While Bill and I were getting the girls ready for bed, William decided to finish his bath early and came in dripping wet and declared he was done. Bill put on his pajamas and put him to bed. We had no reason to look for a washcloth until we were going to bed. So, Bill was laughing at his mischievous son. William obviously needed a few towels in the bathtub. We concluded that William either was conducting an experiment to see if anything white and fluffy would float or he got soap in his eyes and needed a few washcloths, hand towels and bath towels to get it out.

We have visitors!

Brad and Suzanne just left after spending nine days in China. (more coming, stay tuned...)

DIY: Chinese Style

Our new Home Sweet Home




Video courtesy of Brad Davidson
view of our neighborhood

Kitchen


Allyson and Suzanne in construction zone

Front living room


Main living room


Place we bought new wood flooring

Contractor negotiating for my new floor

Place I bought new carpet, I had 8 samples to chose from

Kathy, Bill's assistant, and contractor negotiating for carpet

When I left the good ol' U.S.A. I was on a first name basis with the sales people at Lowes and Home Depot, in two different Iowa cities and four different stores. We have bought four homes and worked on all of them: paint the entire house, (yep), paint all the trim/doors/kitchen cabinets in a house, (that too), rip out trees, bushes, and flowers, plant trees, bushes, and flowers, haul dirt, build retaining walls, dig holes for over 1000 bulbs (check), rewire and install new light fixtures, (yes), put in laminate flooring, (no problem), put up crown molding, (that was a challenge), tile a back splash, (simple), tile three bathroom floors with ½ inch mosaic tiles, (that was probably the most tedious) – yea, I have some experience in remodeling. So, why did I think coming to China it would be any different?

We found a house to rent that is built to Chinese standards: falling apart before they finish building it. The house is seven years old, which is like being built before Columbus discovered America for us. They cannot figure out why I want to remodel something that is so old. They don't build things to last here. The development is owned by the government and is run with Chinese government efficiency. It is only about 30% rented. They will only let certain people rent; the houses are reserved for someone that no one knows and never comes. They look very nice from the outside, the grounds are well kept, but the insides literally look and smell like an unplugged fridge full of leftovers. The houses have been vacant in subtropical weather for years with no AC running. When I first walked in our house I had a difficult time overcoming my olfactory shock. Mold, mold, everywhere! Could I really live here? Well, considering the other options, or lack thereof, I had to put my creative juices, bargaining skills (getting the landlord to replace some items) and bank account to work.

When I went to pick out the paint and flooring it was not exactly the, "Hi, can I help you," experience of the Home Depot. I went with Bill's assistant and the general contractor to buy the materials. You are talking to a person (me) who repainted rooms just to get the right color; matching flooring, curtains, and paint took me weeks of trying out different options. So, when I was expected to pick all the items independently without coordinating any of them in about an hour, I got greater insight into why the Chinese decorating I saw didn't exactly excite me. We went to open air markets with little store fronts – rows and rows what looked like building blocks stacked side by side each selling flooring, or carpet, or paint. I was very hesitant to buy Chinese paint because of the horror stories I had read about Chinese chemicals; I didn't want my children to grow extra appendages in their sleep. So, I opted for a reputable Japanese brand. I figure if we love their cars, why not their paint?

After making all the necessary purchases, we made all the decisions to remodel my entire house in a single morning! The schedules were set and the work has started. It is very weird for me to not be doing the work myself. We went today to view the progress and everything is almost done, getting ready for our move in date late next week. YEA! I made a misjudgment on the paint, it is too light, but other than that I think it will turn out nicely. The workmanship is horrible. (Why do I need to cover the banister, phone, light switches, etc when I am painting all surfaces around them? You don't like the drippy, speckled, streaked look? Why not?) I don't know what I am going to do about this. Knowing me, I will sand the entire banister and repaint it myself because it will keep me awake at night. (Can anyone out there tell me why I am troubled with paint speckles and smelly dish rags, when somehow my cluttered corners full of papers, bills, a week's worth of newspapers, and an old pair of shoes don't seem to bother me?)

We are all getting excited to move out of our Presidential Suite into our own home. While visiting the house today the girls planned where they would put their beds, their American Girl Dolls, and all their stuff. William went up to his room with his bag full of cars and ordered us to leave so he could play. I was in the kitchen planning how I could make my IKEA island fit.

I know it really doesn't matter what our house looks like, but what it feels like. It is not what you have that makes a home, but what goes on inside that makes the difference. I hope we can create home, not just a house, here in China, full of love, of the Spirit, and, of course, free of paint drips.

Shanghai and Elder Oaks

Conference room where we go to church in Shanghai

Famous Shanghai landmark

"Mom, I think these would fit Shrek."

Shopping for Crocs in Shanghai

Gracie really wanted this shirt, she put the hood up to try it out. She looked so cute I had to take a picture and buy it too.

Last weekend we went to Shanghai for District Conference and to listen to Elder Oaks speak. (For my non-Mormon friends, we believe Elder Oaks in an apostle, just like in the Bible.) We were to leave on Friday and return Sunday.

Friday afternoon was busy because it was also the day we had to go to pick up our permanent resident visas here in Ningbo. One of the places we had to go was only open from 2-5 on Tuesdays and Fridays, so we didn't have a lot of room for error because we needed the permit so our shipment could be processed in the Shanghai port, and you need your original passport for that, but Bill was going to the U.S., and this permit took a week and if we didn't get it right then Bill couldn't go to his meeting, and almost all our worldly goods would sit in Shanghai piling up import fees, but he also needed temporary documentation because he had to travel to Beijing and they had our original passports. Got all that? Point is, we really needed the paperwork, and we needed it right then. After traveling to two different places, waiting in lines, taking pictures, filling out paperwork, signing our lives in blood, three hours passing, everything was done. Actually, it wasn't that bad because Bill's assistant did all the talking, paying, navigating, etc, while we chased William around. He only broke one window shade during this process, not bad considering his activity level. However, the enormous scoreboard like screen flashing red Chinese characters and the ear deafening announcements, all directing human traffic, did get on my nerves.

The most challenging event at one of the bureaus, was trying to help Gracie go potty in a Chinese toilet.

Mom: "We are going to Shanghai now and if you have to go, you better go now."
Gracie: "Mom, I just can't do it."
Mom: "Well, can you hold it for three hours?"
Gracie: "I have to go now!"
Mom: "I'll help you."
Gracie: "I'm too scared! It stinks!"
Mom: "Let's go in together."

We then performed an amateur version of the Chinese acrobatic show trying to keep Gracie's pants dry while relieving the pressure in her bladder. We were relatively successful. I'd give us an A-, deducting points for a few sprinkles on her jeans, but earning extra credit for foul odor endurance.

So, we got underway with a few snacks and all excited to get to the hotel. The trip to Shanghai lasted longer than expected. After 3.5, and at least another .5 hours from the hotel, nerves started to get raw. The driver was suppose to drop us off at IKEA to eat, leave me there and then take the rest of the happy family on to the hotel to swim. However, the freeway was shut down, our driver got lost, we couldn't communicate with each other, and the tension between Bill and I started to increase. The kids were starving, to the point they believed if they didn't eat in the next 5 minutes they would shrivel and die: snacks already devoured, horns blaring, stuck in traffic, no one knowing our coordinates, and Bill and I actively debating if we should feed the kids at the first place we saw or just get to the hotel, check-in, and then get food. We spotted a McDonald's, told the driver to stop (he was almost in tears at this point) we quickly ate and all agreed to scrap IKEA. We finally got to the hotel, put the kids in bed and called it a night.

By morning, tensions were gone and we had a great time in Shanghai. We shopped, ate good food, went swimming, etc. The highlight was of course listening to Elder Oaks. The church doesn't have any buildings in China. The Shanghai branch meets in a nice conference room above a large BMW dealership. (William loved looking at the "fast" cars as we went into church.) We had an adult session on Saturday night which was great and then a Sunday morning session. I took extensive notes and will share just one of the points he taught us.

He talked about the concept of "becoming" and the parable of working in the vineyard from the Bible. The phrase we often hear, "it doesn't matter where you serve, it just matters how you serve." This is true because God cares about us becoming like Him, not what positions we have held. If we are suppose to learn to be patient, you can learn that serving in the nursery or serving in a stake presidency. God cares about us becoming patient. Some people need to work harder at being patient (enter in the vineyard earlier and work longer) others have an easier time being patient (enter later, yet are still given the same reward of becoming patient). This translates to every area, so we work in the vineyard longer on some issues, and on others we enter in on the eleventh hour. I don't know if this makes any sense, but I found it quite profound. He stated, "What we become, that is what is important." Reread the parable with this in mind. I felt the Spirit very strongly while he was speaking. I do know he is an apostle of the Lord!

Because we were a relatively small group, after the sessions he came down, shook our hands, and spoke with us. On Sunday we waited around with the kids so they could also say hello. During the session, William didn't really pay attention to what was going on. He was more interested in his cars, he colored, walked back and forth on the row, teased the girls, ate snacks, typical two year-old stuff. Bill was holding William when we were talking to Elder Oaks, even when we were standing there, William was looking around, not paying attention. Elder Oaks is not that tall so William was taller than him in Bill's arms. Suddenly, William notices Elder Oaks standing there, looks right at him, thrusts his pointer finger in a downward motion a couple inches from his face and loudly exclaims, "Hey! I saw you on [com]puter!" We started laughing, everyone around us started laughing, Elder Oaks started laughing. He then said, "Well, that's a first. I've never heard that before." I never thought our little William payed attention to us reading the Ensign and listening to Conference talks on the computer. Well, he noticed.

"May I take your toilet order?"

Whoa. I was a bit startled when I went to the bathroom and when approaching the toilet, the seat opened by itself. How did that happen? Then I was a bit bowled over (pun intended) when I sat down on the toilet, it was warm. We have all experienced the cold toilet seat in the middle of the night: we shall not experience such barbarism here in the Presidential Suite. (This is a very nice feature until you try potty training your two-year-old and he tells you that he can't sit on the toilet because it is too hot.) It was when I looked for the handle to flush, that I realized this was truly no ordinary toilet. It not only flushed, it cleaned and dried your bottom as well. After experimenting with the different options, I have determined that I shall start an import/export business. I will sell these toilets, not for everyday use, but to hospitals for use in the Maternity Ward. You don't have to gingerly bend over and lift the toilet seat, no more plastic squirt bottle, sitting there waiting for the running sink water to get warm. Oh, no - it is all self contained and ready to use for a women who have just given birth. If that fails, I can sell it to children (or immature adults) as a toy. My girls have gotten plenty of laughs out of experimenting with the different options. I am convinced I will make millions; if I have any readers who would like to invest, just let me know.

Mark Your Calendar, Olympics 2028

William ready to swim
Practicing his strokes

Children's park in Ningbo

William being the gunner on the boat

Shopping with the ladies

Turtles for sale at the market

"No, I'm not touching them."

Treat from Happy Meal at McDonald's

While being in China and living in a hotel has it challenges, one of the great benefits is that I have been able spend a lot of time with William, my little buddy. I was having some serious mother's guilt when we were getting ready to come to China. I felt like my children were orphans, being taken care of by everyone but their parents. Running here, going there, traveling to China looking for a place to live, constantly being left behind or put in front of the cheapest babysitter, Noggin, otherwise knows as brain-cell killing T.V. I am pretty much convinced my children were emotionally starved during this period, so being able to spend time with them has been so much fun for me.

William and I do a variety of things while the girls are in school. We go on walks, explore the fabric market (which was completely overwhelming for both of us), binge at McDonald's, read Richard Scary books over and over and over while stuck in traffic, run lots of errands, shop in various markets, visit children parks and go swimming. Here at the hotel they have a very nice swimming pool, however, swim caps are required. I have never, ever, in my entire life had the occasion to wear a swim cap. When I put mine on, I almost shrieked at the bald monster in the mirror. Because I have an unfortunately long face, adding a rubber egg shape to the top creates nothing short of an alien from Star Trek. The sacrifices we make for our children. William, on the other hand, looks so cute that all the women gather around to ohh and ahhh at the "beautiful boy."

He loves to run and jump in, but actually getting him to let go of me once he is in the water is like trying to get super glue off your fingers with a wet wipe. It doesn't work. He is so cute because when we are swimming he morphs into a variety of people or animals: a dolphin, Ruth or Grace, or one of his friends from Iowa, Andrew or Arianna. They are on a swim team and we went to one of their swim meets. Because he saw them wearing swim caps, he is convinced he is racing like them and swimming, "fast!" Of course, it is nothing more than me walking or swimming faster. Who knows, maybe he will be a Michael Phelps repeat in 2028. If he puts the same amount of determination into being an Olympian as he does into holding onto me while in the water, he has a very good chance.