First of all, I must thank you for the good hair comments from the Dollywood pictures. I’m not sure what prompted those comments as my hair was OUT OF CONTROL.

This was, I’m sorry to admit, due to the fact that Ryan and I rode the log ride multiple times throughout our visit to Dollywood. Sure, it was freezing cold outside. But no one else was in line.

Riddle me this: why was no one else on the water ride while it was 54 degrees outside?

Silly, silly people missing opportunities left and right.

I want you to know that I kept my priorities in line and pulled up my hoodie to protect my precious hair while on said ride. I also want you to know that, right before we went down the big hill with the water waiting at the bottom, your best friend Ryan pulled my hoodie down and then put his hoodie up.

Oh. Yes. He. Did.

When we got off the ride, Allie took one look at my hair and said “He always does that! He always does that!” And then we both gave him very stern stares.

I’ve forgiven him, but mainly just ’cause Jesus said I have to. NOT ’cause I want to.

Since several of you expressed unbelief that the large blue suitcase held only my hair supplies, I decided to give you a little peek inside. Here’s some of what I travel with (as demonstrated below in my bathroom this morning): four sets of hair rollers (46 total rollers with some being hot rollers and some being regular ones); two, maybe three curling irons (small, medium and large but sometimes I don’t use the small one); my Chi flatiron; my hairdryer and a couple of types of diffusers; all my hair products and an assortment of hair accessories (clips, bands, etc.).

My hair rollers take up most of the room, but a girl really can’t leave home without them. I bring along the rest of the stuff, too, because how am I supposed to know if it’s going to be a straight hair; big hair; flat hair; curly hair; wavy hair or hot rolled hair day?

And yes, I realize how ridiculous that last sentence sounds but I stand by it. I may have no idea what each day is gonna bring, but you better believe I’ll have appropriate hair for it.

At one point during our day at Dollywood, Ryan and Allie went to watch glassblowing (you think I’m kidding, but I COULD NOT MAKE THAT UP IF I TRIED). Roomie and I made a far healthier choice, finding a little table beside a bookstore where we could enjoy a chocolate chip cookie (or two).

We didn’t talk much (probably because our mouths were full and we are nothing if not mannerly). At one point, I looked over at Roomie and was just struck by how pretty she is. She’s always been pretty (ask any of our friends from college), but the longer we go in this pregnancy, the prettier she seems to become.

And so, without telling her, I grabbed my camera and took a couple of quick shots of her before she had the chance to begin yelling at me (Roomie does not like being photographed when she is, um, with child). The photographer’s skills aren’t anything special.

But she sure is.

Oh, and look who ended up joining us at the little table after they had finished their glassblowing field trip.

Absolutely repulsive, aren’t they?

I mentioned earlier this week that I took Roomie on a little vaycay this past weekend since I had Friday off from work (fall break, I love you!). She knew we were going out of town and part of what we were doing, but I had a few surprises thrown in as well. Because I’m sneaky like that, yo.

The vacation actually began on Thursday afternoon when I took a half-day off from work and came home with a little something I like to call Love In A Bag. You might know it as Chick-Fil-A:

With Roomie properly fed and loaded into the car, it was time for the biggest surprise of the weekend. I had told Roomie that I wanted to get my hair done at a nice salon in A Big City which wasn’t a lie: I really was going to get it done there. What Roomie didn’t know, however, was that I had secretly booked her an appointment as well!

In a feat that I still don’t understand, I was able to keep it a surprise until we were actually in the salon. When I told the receptionist that we were both there for appointments, I wasn’t sure if Roomie was going to hit me, cry or dance.

For the record, I was hoping for Option 3.

We had a lovely time in the salon just pretending to be girls without any cares in this world, including the baby growing in her belly and the monkey of a ministry that usually rides around on my shoulders. After we finished at the salon, we headed to meet my mom and my pastor’s wife for dinner at a nice restaurant on the lake. I didn’t fall in, in case you’re wondering.

And, if you know me in real life, you know that’s an actual concern as I tend to fall pretty much everywhere I go, especially if there’s a large body of water nearby.

The next morning, our friends Ryan and Allie (whom you may remember as The Most Awesomest Engaged Couple Ever) drove up to meet us in Knoxville so we could all head to Gatlinburg together. We threw their luggage into the back of my car which brings me to the following picture of all of our luggage:

Nothing weird, right? That is, until you realize that six of the bags belong to me:

See that large blue suitcase? That was for my hair supplies. I AM DEAD SERIOUS.

Once we got into the metropolis known as Gatlinburg, we checked into our hotel, which is where I made Ryan check underneath the girls’ beds (and yes, I’m serious).

Side note, because I will get emails about this: I would just like to report that appropriate accommodations were booked to ensure that things were on the up-and-up with us traveling around unsupervised with a boy. If Allie and Ryan were writing this post, they’d write something about how their purity, modesty, etc. is, in fact, still intact. I, being far more eloquent, just have this to say: in that particular relationship, there ain’t gonna be no bing bing until there’s a (wedding) ring ring.

Ahem.

Interestingly, as we were driving through the hotel parking lot, I did spot a section of the hotel that I strongly suggested the two lovebirds look into for their upcoming honeymoon:

Oh yes, my friends. That ugly wooden sign definitely says Honeymoon Island.

Sorry that the pictures are so OUT OF CONTROL. Still trying to figure that out. More posts coming your way later today including our trip to the my happiest place on earth, none other than DOLLYWOOD!

Tip: when discussing Halloween with your favorite pregnant Roomie, it is perhaps best to avoid suggesting that she dress up as a hippo.

Roomie had a doctor’s appointment yesterday morning that we hoped would end with the doctor telling us that we had somehow missed the fact that she was in labor and needed to go to the hospital RIGHT THEN.

That didn’t happen. I am sure you are shocked.

This visit was particularly fun as it involved Roomie changing into one of those paper gowns that doesn’t exactly cover anyone’s entire backside. Not long after she had changed into the gown, the nurse came back into the room to tell us that we actually needed to move to another exam room because we would be seeing a different doctor than originally planned.

She told Roomie that she could change back into her clothes, but that the new exam room was only two doors down so maybe she would just like to walk down the hallway quickly while no one was around? Roomie agreed to the plan, with me promising to walk closely behind her just in case.

Right as we headed out of our exam room, the nurse made some comment about how Roomie probably didn’t often walk down hallways naked. Roomie’s response?

“Well, maybe if I had of been more concerned about where I was walking around naked a few months ago, I wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

When I found out that Michael Hyatt, President and CEO of Thomas Nelson Publishers, would be offering 200 bloggers the chance to review Lynne Spears’ new book Through The Storm, I instantly jumped on the chance.

Now, I can guess what you’re thinking: why in the world would I want to read a book written by a woman most widely known as Britney Spears’ mom? My answer may surprise you: I wanted to read this book since, at least in my mind, Britney and I are in the same line of work.

You see, a major part of my job is working to create culture that influences girls’ lives. Whether you’ve recognized it before or not, that’s a big part of Britney’s job as well. I, through Starlite’s programs in public schools, attempt to tell girls what should be important to them. Britney does the same, simply sending her message through a different medium and to a much larger audience. We certainly don’t send the same message out, but it’s undeniable that we’re both in the same field.

I have a vested interest in what Britney does and says since she’s attempting to reach the same girls I am, after all. In my personal and professional opinion, there is no other solitary musician that has had a greater impact on pre-teen and teenage girls’ lives over the last decade than Britney. Like her or not, there’s no avoiding the influence she carries.

Naturally, I was curious about her mama.

I expected the book to be filled with excuses from Lynne about the choices that members of her family have made (remember, father Jamie has been widely reported — as well as confirmed in this book — as having an alcohol problem that has spanned decades as well as daughter Jamie Lynn’s recent experience as a very young unwed mother). In my opinion, Lynne didn’t do that. She owned up to the wrong decisions she had made while wisely realizing that she can’t take the blame for other grown adults’ decisions.

While a lot of her experiences might not apply to the general public (I mean, how many of you have a daughter who has paparazzi waiting outside your house right now? Anyone?), there were several sections of the book that parents can learn from even though the book was never meant to be a parenting book. Unfortunately, most of those lessons are of the hindsight variety — I’m sure Lynne, like most parents, has quite the list of things she wishes she had done differently.

My favorite part of the book was some advice that didn’t even come from Lynne, if you want to know the truth. She wrote about how their family had been going to counseling with a local pastor:

“We only went a few times — nobody except me really appreciated what the pastor was saying — but he did point out something profound. ‘If this young lady [Britney] and her daddy don’t resolve their issues, and he doesn’t try harder to establish a good, strong relationship with her, she will end up clinging to the first real romance in her life. That man will be of extreme importance in her life, and that relationship will determine the course of all her relationships with men from then on.’”

If only they had known how true that pastor’s words would be in the future.

Reading this book only deepened my burden to pray for Britney. I’ve got a couple of good friends who could tell you that I was nearly physically ill when I watched the live footage of Britney shaving her head as well as her subsequent hospitalizations. I’m academically and professionally trained to know when behaviors are getting to the point where someone’s life is in danger and I couldn’t help but feel like I was watching a broken little girl crying out for help. I was truly afraid that I would wake up one morning to find out that Britney had taken her own life, accidental or not.

I can’t help but wonder what would happen in Britney’s life if there were people on their knees for her each and every day? What if we took the time we currently spend talking about what a mess we think her life is and instead use that time to beg God to draw her heart to His?

Surely if He came to find that one lost sheep, He’s still waiting for Britney.

EDITED TO ADD: This contest has ended, so all links below have been removed! Thanks!

Ahem.

In what can only be attributed to God’s timely provision, some lovely people from Microsoft and Mr. Youth (a PR firm) have given Starlite the opportunity to earn some major funds for our programs. They’re doing a promotional campaign right now to promote the Microsoft Live Search program by having people download it to their task bar. And get this: for every person that downloads it from our link (see below), we get a substantial donation PLUS a bonus amount if we reach 75, 250, 500 or even 800 downloads.

Let me put it this way: for every person who downloads it, we’ll get enough money to buy 3/4 of a vat of processed nacho cheese. CAN YOU IMAGINE THE POSSIBILITIES?

So, here’s the deal: could you please download it into your task bar / searchbar / toolbox / whatever you call the line at the top of your screen? And, to make things even more fun, I’m prepared to offer you a deal you can’t refuse (do you like how I went all Used Car Salesman on you just now?):

If you download it and leave me a comment on this post letting me know you did it (honor system here, peeps), I’ll enter you to win a $25 Starbucks gift card directly from me (not Starlite).

AND YET, I AM PREPARED TO MAKE THE DEAL EVEN SWEETER:

If you will write a post on your blog and direct people to this particular post, I’ll enter you again so you’ll have double the chance to win some Starbucks goodness in the form of a gift card.

Here’s how to help us: LINK REMOVED to download the free Microsoft Live Search program (if you are using something other than Internet Explorer, please copy and paste this link into Internet Explorer — it will not work with any web browser other than Internet Explorer!: LINK REMOVED. You must go through all the steps to make it count for us including installing it in your toolbox (though you could then delete the program if you don’t like it). If you need help knowing how to register, check out this nifty explanation of how it works by clicking LINK REMOVED.

This contest will be open until October 31, 2008 at which time I will randomly draw a winner from the names listed in these comments. In the meantime, if you have any trouble with the download, email us at info AT starliteministries DOT org and one of our lovely ladies will respond with plenty ‘o help for you!.

LINK REMOVED. Post about it. And then win a Starbucks gift card, yo.

I would love to tell you about the mini-vacation I took Roomie on this past weekend, but my laptop is currently dead as I wait for my friends at Gateway to revive it by sending me a new battery. I can’t wait to get the pictures off of it to show you what a fun time we had, fetus included.

However, I have a more pressing concern on my mind this morning as I sit using Roomie’s laptop which is actually very nice seeing as it has all the keys whilst (I JUST WENT ALL BRITISH ON YOU!) my laptop is missing the following keys: a; s; k; o; 1; 2; 5; 9 and F7.

I would like to thank Snuggles y Cuddles for that little gift.

Back to my pressing concern: our house is currently freezing. I woke up in the night to find that the two thick blankets on me were just not enough; both I, and my two love puppies; were literally shivering. This has become a problem in the last few days weeks months, so I gently asked Roomie to come into my room to feel the temperature since she claims her room is never cold.

“See what I mean?” Surely she would start shivering too. Even fetus might start to complain.

“Your room isn’t even as cold as mine! But that’s probably because I turned on the fan this morning ’cause I was getting hot.”

This prompted me to go downstairs to check the little temperature thing-y which was set on a cool 65 DEGREES, DO YOU HEAR WHAT I AM TELLING YOU RIGHT NOW?

I ever so gently yelled those sentiments up the stairwell to which Roomie replied “Oh, that’s wonderful! It feels great up here!”

And that would be why I am currently wearing a shirt, turtleneck and ski vest as I type.

65 degrees. SIXTY FIVE DEGREES.

I get asked a lot about my opinion on Facebook verses MySpace probably since I work with so many girls who use them. I’ve had accounts with both, but recently deleted my MySpace account because I feel like MySpace doesn’t have enough protection for minors and I just don’t want to support it.

And now, I will come off my social networking soapbox.

I do, however, have a slight obsession with my Facebook account, mainly the feature that allows you to update your status (which is probably why I like Twitter so much, too!). I update my status at least once a day and (shh, don’t tell!) use the program to keep track of my college girls by looking at their profiles to see what kind of nonsense they’ve been up to over the weekend.

Wow. That makes me sound like I’m 80. Next thing you know, I’ll be calling ‘em whippersnappers.

Girls, you have full permission to slap me if I ever call you that word.

Just don’t mess up my hair when you do it, please. I work hard to get that height each morning.

The one thing I really don’t like about Facebook is the fact that people can send you “invites” to join various “applications.” For the most part, these are the silliest things you’ve ever heard of, like a quiz that tells you what kind of vampire you’d be and stuff along those lines. I usually delete the invites without looking at them, but a new one caught my eye earlier today: a quiz that determines just how much you can love someone.

I didn’t take the quiz, but the title got me thinking: how much can I love someone?

The funny thing about being inexperienced in love is that, until the past eleven months of my life, I didn’t know my capability to love. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not claiming that I know how to love all that well. In fact, I’m not sure that the one I’ve loved would tell you that I loved him well. I wanted to, badly, but I’m not sure that I’ll ever really know whether I succeed or not.

Over the past few years, as I’ve gotten a true idea of just how many of my childhood experiences had the potential to stunt my ability to love, I started to worry that I wouldn’t be good at loving. It was a real fear of mine, the idea that I wouldn’t be able to properly love someone when the time came.

And that’s where the blessing from the last few months comes in.

In the midst of all the heartache from these dreaded mornings and sleepless nights, I’ve found that the answer to the question of how much you love someone sometimes isn’t discovered until everything you wanted is lost.

Did I love him when we were together? Well, yes. I’m sure I loved him then.

But that level of love was nothing compared to the way I’ve tried to love him since he’s been gone.

The first kind of love was confessed over the phone the night before the new year began when we were a plane ride away from each other and whispered on his doorstep when I came home. It was a sweet type of love, one that was here for the holidays but in danger of being gone before the snow had a chance to melt.

The second type of love, however, is completely different. This is the type of love that only God and my tear-drenched pillow have heard me ask for through sobs.

This love is patient, even when I want to give up praying for him.

This love is kind, even though it makes my heart hurt to admit that I haven’t always been kind to him.

This love doesn’t envy, even when it looks like he’s gone on with his life without hurting like I have.

This love doesn’t boast and isn’t proud, even when I want to make him and others think that I am incapable of hurting.

This love is not rude, even when it would be easier.

This love is not self-seeking, even though that would be easier, too.

This love is not easily angered, even when friends hand over cartons of eggs with a gleam in their eyes.

This love keeps no record of wrongs, even when I’ve got pen in hand, ready to make my list.

I have no shame in telling you that I’ve failed at each and every one of these over the last few months. He would tell you that I’ve been rude to him, that I haven’t been patient. We would both tell you that I’ve been rather self-seeking at times.

But I sure have gotten a lesson in loving unlike any one ever given to me before. And, just like the song promises, the next time I fall in love…

I’ll know better what to do.

Well, there’s still no Baby and, if this week’s doctor appointment can be trusted, there probably won’t be one for up to two more weeks.

I KNOW.

With this in mind, and the fact that Roomie is increasingly becoming less and less happy about remaining with-child-in-her-belly, I decided it was time to try to convince Baby to come on out. I looked up all kinds of ways to naturally speed labor along but didn’t have much success given the fact that:

A. Some of them were just gross (i.e. drinking castor oil).

AND

B. Some of them were, um, inapplicable to her situation (i.e. having marital relations).

And so, I decided to shun the internet and devise my own plan to help bring out Baby. I waited until Roomie was sitting down one night and then snuck up behind her with a nearly full (I was hungry, yo!) package of Oreos. I got down in front of her, held the package up to her belly and told Baby that if he would just come on out, Mama AB would hook him up with his very own package of chocolate sandwich goodness!

In an effort to seal the deal, I neglected to mention that Baby couldn’t actually have them for quite some time seeing as babies aren’t allowed to eat Oreos.

SHOCKING, RIGHT?

Baby is too smart for his own good, though, and was onto my tricks. He just isn’t budging ’til he’s good and ready even though I have promised other bribes rewards should he make his debut soon. So far, we’ve had no progress so I’m thinking it’s time to pull out the big guns: I’m stopping by the store later to buy a package of Nutty Bars because no one, not even a fetus, can resist the power of the Nutty Bar.

Oh, Little Debbie. Do you even know how many women you have forced to become Big Debra?

So, here’s my question for today: what ridiculous things did you try to get yourself to go into labor early? And, maybe more importantly, did any of them work?

And if Option B from above worked for you, please keep that to yourself since we may or may not have some younger blog readers.

I mean, I’m sorry y’all, but I haven’t exactly explained the birds and the bees to my college girls yet. I don’t want to soil their innocent little minds with that kind of knowledge while they’re still so young and delicate.

Oh and if we’re lucky, my mom will leave a comment telling about how she ate a slice of supreme pizza that sent her right into sixteen hours of labor with me. To this day, she rarely eats pizza.

I can’t imagine why.