Alli Skrbek loved seeing her eldest son appear so happy over the holidays—nothing could have prepared her for what would happen just four months later.
More than two dozen kids from the all-girls private camp, Camp Mystic, remained missing Saturday after catastrophic floods hit the area Thursday into Friday.
Here's what we know about the camp:
Mystic Camp is nestled in Texas' Hill Country, along the banks of the Guadalupe River, which on Friday reached the second-highest height on record in the unincorporated community of Hunt. The campsite is surrounded by cypress, live oak and pecan trees, per the camp's website.
Roughly 700 kids were at the camp when flooding began, according to Lt. Gov. Dan Patrick, who said about 23 girls were unaccounted for as of Friday afternoon.
Campers Lila Bonner and Janie Hunt, who were both 9 years old, and 8-year-old Sarah Marsh have been found dead, per CNN.
Flashback: Founded in 1926 by University of Texas coach Edward James "Doc" Stewart, Mystic Camp is a nondenominational Christian camp for girls who have finished second grade.
It was purchased by another family in 1939 and has been operated by descendants since, per its website.
"In the Mystic spirit, their goals are to boost every camper's self-confidence and to nurture the development of their individual character," the website says of the current owners, Dick and Tweety Eastland.
Zoom in: Camp Mystic offers over 30 activities including many sports, arts and crafts, theater and more.
The camp offers two 4-week terms starting in May and a 2-week term in late July.
What we're watching: Authorities continue search and rescue efforts.
Editor's note: This story has been updated with the latest details on missing campers and flooding.
Simple traditions, like pizza night, are important to the author and her blended family (not pictured).
Imgorthand/Getty Images
When my boyfriend and I blended our families we made sure to honor past traditions.
We soon realized that it was important for our new family to create our own traditions.
New traditions like s'mores nights have helped bring our family together.
The morning my boyfriend and I met for our first coffee date, we both knew there was something special between us.
We spoke the language of grief, of solo parents, of young widows who'd lost their forever person to cancer. We understood the hurdles inherent in opening your heart after loss and the way heartache and hope coexist in a single breath.
We understood the unspoken things, and when we made the choice, last year, to blend our families, we understood the challenge we were undertaking.
With the goal of building a family of six out of our respective families of three — two adults and four children, ranging in age from 3 to 15 — we blended the things we can see including furniture, kitchenware, bedtime routines, schedules. We also blended the things we can't see such as rules, values, and most importantly, traditions.
There isn't always a perfect blend
Some of the traditions were easy to blend. Our sushi Fridays merged with their pizza Fridays and became an alternating schedule of pizza and sushi. Our weeknights watching dramedies morphed into starting the night with a round of Netflix cartoons before bedtime for the littlest kids.
Other traditions — the ones that involve extended family and grief and four children who had to learn resilience too early — were harder. There's no way to be two different places at once on Thanksgiving. There's no way to decorate a Christmas tree with ornaments that belonged to their person while lighting a menorah that belonged to ours without unsettling the grief we've learned to co-exist with.
When it comes to those traditions, we've had to accept that there won't be a perfect blend, there won't be a seamless way to shape two traditions into one. We've had to realize that we won't get it right on the first try, or even the second, and we've had to compromise, communicate, and forge a way that works for all of us.
Our new family needed more
It turns out, blending traditions isn't enough to build a family from the ground up. Because the heart and soul of any family lives, often, in their traditions. In the way they celebrate birthdays and special occasions. The way they spend their Saturday mornings and Sunday nights. The way they build a life in the little things that hold the most meaning. To truly build a family that was uniquely ours, we needed to build our own traditions. Ones that were new to all six of us.
When blending families with my boyfriend and his children, we made sure to honor old traditions and start new ones.
Courtesy of Elaine Roth.
Our traditions were small to start: s'mores on Friday nights, Saturday afternoons on the basketball court, weeknights dropping onto the couch to watch Wheel of Fortune — and it's hard to tell if we're on the right track. Should we have developed more traditions by now or are we right to hope the traditions will come on their own with time? Are we hitting the right balance of old and new or are we tipping the scales too far in one direction?
The truth is I don't know, and for our untraditional family, our crew of six which is so intimately acquainted with grief, the answers to those questions don't matter. For us, the only thing that matters is that whatever tradition we're honoring—old or new, blended or not, on track or way off the deep end—we do it with an open heart and an eye toward building a family.
Group D action at the UEFA Women's Euro tournament begins Saturday with two exciting matchups, the second one will feature a clash between France and England.
Pete Docter, Pixar's chief creative officer, doesn't think artificial intelligence will fully replace human animators.
LISA O'CONNOR / AFP
Pixar's Pete Docter said he doesn't think AI will fully replace humans in animated filmmaking.
However, the chief creative director said AI could relieve animators of some "heavy burdens."
Last month, Pixar released "Elio," a sci-fi animated film.
Not everyone believes AI spells the end for animators.
Pixar's chief creative officer, Pete Docter, recently said on comedian Mike Birbiglia's "Working It Out" podcast that he was unimpressed with AI so far, calling it "bland."
"AI seems like it is the least impressive blah average of things," he said.
AI is an anxiety-inducing topic in Hollywood. Critics of the technology are concerned that it could eliminate jobs across the entertainment industry. It was one of the reasons unionized writers went on strike for nearly five months in 2023. Those in support of integrating AI, on the other hand, like director James Cameron, believe it could make the filmmaking process more cost-effective.
From Docter's perspective, while he said everyone is "troubled" by AI, he doesn't think it will erase humans from the animated filmmaking process. Pixar's 29th animated feature, "Elio," hit theaters on June 20.
"If you look back in time, the number of hand-drawn animators that were really brilliant was in the dozens," Docter said. "A very small number of people who could draw well enough. Understood the dynamic of movement. Character acting. Had the right sensibilities."
Computers, he said, made animation more accessible, meaning people don't have to be a "brilliant draft person" to be an animator. "I still have to have performance and timing, but one of the heavy lifts has been done by the computer," he said.
Docter said AI, like computers, could alleviate some of the more cumbersome tasks associated with animation.
"I was wondering whether AI will continue to help us lift some of the heavy burdens that we have to carry as an animator and maybe put the focus more on the performance," he said.
Representatives for Disney did not respond to a request for comment from Business Insider.
The author (not pictured) decided not to enroll in graduate school.
ArtMarie/Getty Images
I was accepted into the University of Sydney's creative writing graduate program, and I was excited.
But then I realized how AI is ruining the media landscape and the book industry.
I decided not to enroll in the graduate program because I didn't see a future.
In early January 2024, I received a dream acceptance letter from the prestigious University of Sydney's creative writing graduate program. It wasn't just some program; it was validation.
Ever since I can remember, I have spent countless hours sitting in my room, writing stories. I was sure I'd write a bestseller someday. Although my parents didn't see writing as a career back then, I was determined to beat the odds and prove them wrong. Getting into the University of Sydney was the first step in that success.
But after my acceptance letter arrived, I realized the world was moving in a different direction. My sense of wonder and writing chops stood no chance against artificial intelligence. I talked myself out of the career path as it no longer seemed lucrative.
I couldn't ignore the changes AI is causing
I love language more than gardeners love dirt. I grew up reading Francine Pascal's "Sweet Valley Twin" series and Danielle Steel's escapades. I once refused to leave my room for days because my most beloved character in a book died, but since ChatGPT and other AI tools arrived, something in my creative radar has shifted.
In late 2023, I began noticing changes in the media landscape. Publications were laying off most of their writers, and friends in the industry lost out on great gigs and started competing with AI-generated writing.
As for the book industry, I realized AI will not spend years crafting a thrilling romance novel; it will instead churn out a thousand ebooks a month. For the commercial side of the industry, that will always be enough.
Meanwhile, MFA programs, like the one I was admitted to at the University of Sydney, still teach that the literary market is untouched. I've been struggling to believe that.
I wanted to ask my admissions officer: Are you preparing for the world we are entering?
I decided not to accept the graduate program's offer
Since I received my admission, I have been fighting a constant battle between staying true to what I believe and keeping up with new technology. In the back-and-forth, it feels like I'm losing my passion. Even though I tried to rationalize that a creative program isn't only about the job prospects, that it's about art, refinement, and bringing people together through written art, everything else around us is pointing to a devastating end.
I pictured myself two years later, with my degree in hand, querying agents while thousands of AI-written books filled bookstores. I imagined spending time writing amazing essays that editors would run through AI filters before deciding whether they wanted to assign cheaper versions of the story. The thought of being obsolete scared me stiff.
So, I made the heart-wrenching decision to walk away from the MFA.
Many people told me I was being overly dramatic because AI could never replace real writing and humans will always crave authentic stories, but I thought they were underestimating how quickly the market is shifting.
I also started thinking about what my master's program would do for me. Would I be proud of the credentials? Or would I feel depleted after a $50,000 investment for two years of study?
I'm finding my own way into the future
Since I turned down the program, I've been experimenting with different storytelling projects. While I've been freelancing full-time, I've also joined writing communities that focus on authentic stories.
There are days when I wonder what my classes would have been like, and it makes me sad that I'll never experience them. Many people are still pursuing MFAs, and it's still worth it.
But I know now that I don't plan to abandon writing; I'll just have to reinvent it.
