Dear Cadence,

Over seven years ago, I was moving into my dorm room when your mama walked into my room with a tray holding a bowl of chicken noodle soup, some crackers and a flower.  She said “I’m Christan, your new suitemate.”  I didn’t know it that day, but she would end up being one of my best friends in college.

We went to our classes, ate in the dining hall and all the other things that made us typical college freshmen.  Our college had a curfew, so we would wait until someone came to make sure we were safe in our rooms before we crawled out the window at the end of the hall, sliding out onto the balcony beside the roof.  We’d take our pillows and blankets with us and talk for hours right there under the stars.  We talked about the day we would graduate, the day we’d marry the loves of our lives and even about the day when we’d have babies.

Your mama was married less than a year later and you were born three years after that, just a few days after she walked across the university stage to receive her diploma.  It was my first day of a new internship, so I couldn’t come to Memphis to meet you that day, but your daddy kept me updated all day until you were finally born.  I drove down to see you not long after that and had you in my arms within three minutes of walking through your front door.

I was here for your first birthday, arriving just in time to see you smear that cake all over your face.  And I was here the day you turned two, too.  And today, as you turn three, you’re sitting on my lap as I type these very words, completely absorbed in watching Snuggles and Cuddles try to jump on us.

And completely unaware of just how much I love you.

Happy birthday, Cadence.  You’re going to love being three!

Love,

amy beth

I’ve been working a recording project for awhile and let me just stop right there and clarify that it is a “voice-over” project NOT a singing project.  Because I cannot sing.  Well, actually I can sing, but no one except God would find it to be a joyful noise.

Anyway, it’s almost finished and I cannot be happier because I AM NOT A GOOD VOICE-OVER-ER.  I’m reading from pre-written material (sorry, kind of have to be vague about what it is but maybe I can tell you later!) but this “pre-written material” happens to contain A LOT OF WORDS I CANNOT PRONOUNCE.

What this means is that I may record for 2 hours and 17 minutes and only get 19 minutes of recording worth keeping.  Because even though my eyes are definitely reading “break forth” it ends up coming out “bathe forth” BUT HEY, BREAKING AND BATHING, IT’S ALL THE SAME.

Except for the fact it isn’t the same.  Especially when it’s on a recording.

I’ve been doing the actual recording at the university where I graduated from and one of the two guys who have been helping (if you refer to “helping” as making me break out into laughter WHILE I’M TRYING TO REREAD THIS PAGE FOR THE 87TH TIME), is named Harrison.

Harrison graduates next month, but in the meantime, he’s forced to take a daily six hour Spanish class to get his last six credit hours.  As we were working on the recording stuff last night, Harrison mentioned that he had to bring something in for show and tell the next day and wanted to know if he could bring me.

The other guy in the lab and I started cracking up, but Harrison was dead serious.  So, I showed up at his classroom yesterday morning only to find out that?  The other students?

They had all brought inanimate objects for Spanish show and tell.

When it was Harrison’s turn, he walked to the front of the classroom and explained that he wanted to do something a little different and had, in fact, brought in a live person for show and tell.  I took my place in front of the entire class and, for the next several minutes, Harrison spoke about me in Spanish.  I’m not sure what all he said, but it must have been funny because the class broke out into laughter several times whilst I just stood there, the girl who can’t remember anything from her own college Spanish classes.

Oh, I kid.  I still remember how to say “you are my favorite pencil sharpener.”

It’s helpful, especially when eating at authentic Mexican restaurants.

Anyway, near the end of his little speech, Harrison cleared his throat, took a step towards me AND BEGAN SINGING A SONG TO ME.

IN SPANISH.

A SONG.  IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE CLASS.  IN SPANISH.

I would give almost anything to have a video recording of the moment when the class — and I — realized that Harrison was serenading me with “Tale as Old as Time” from Beauty and the Beast. I almost fell over from laughing so hard and I saw a couple of girls on the back row of the class actually wiping tears off their cheeks from hysterical laughter.  Even the teacher was just watching in disbelief, especially when Harrison began making grand hand gestures to go along with the lyrics (which he had changed to “Beauty and the Harrison”).

When he finally ended, there wasn’t a person left in the room that wasn’t laughing.  I did a little curtsy for the class (HELLO, WHAT ELSE WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?) which made them laugh even harder.

And then I walked out of the classroom thankful that I didn’t have to stay for the next 5.5 hours of Spanish class because I have been there, done that and have the graduation tassel to prove it.

The best part about being the last person in your friends group to marry is that you get to be Honorary Aunt Amy Beth to their kidlets.  One of my first college roommates, Christan, has a daughter who is turning three tomorrow, so you better believe that Honorary Aunt Amy Beth is hitting the road to Memphis tonight to be there for the party.

And I’m most definitely bringing along a gift with a lollipop on top, ’cause that’s just what an Honorary Aunt does, you know.

About a week ago I gave you a little teaser about Cousin Cate and I going on a BIG adventure together and, since today marks one month from our departure date, we figured it was a good time to break the big news. And, of course, we’re doing it via video because we know how much you love trying to figure out what we’re saying in our country accents.

As a bonus, you’ll also get to see Cate’s bedroom as well as a hilarious little segment with her mother, who happened to overhear us talking about the commandment to honor your mother and father. I think you’ll enjoy hearing what she had to say about Cate’s effort to “honor” her mother. In addition, her mom gives us a little insight into Cate’s dating life, but that’s just bonus material.

Here’s the video; if you’d rather not watch the video because you dislike hearing girls draw out their words like all good southern girls do or it’s just too dark for you, you can skip it and just read the rest of this post below the video.

So… we’re going to EG*PT! As I said in the video, I’m going for my other job (the one I don’t blog about). My trip (including airfare, accommodations, food, etc.) is paid for through my job and I’m also receiving my regular salary while I’m gone (which is fantastic since I just couldn’t afford to take several weeks off from work). We needed another person to go for something to do with part of what we’re doing while we’re there (can I be any more vague about my job?) and, of course, I instantly thought of our dear Cousin Cate.

We’ll be gone for around three weeks, SO I’M PRETTY FLIPPED OUT RIGHT NOW. Cate and I made a list yesterday of everything we need to do in the next 30 days and let me just assure you that it is a VERY long list. We’ve got to find appropriate clothing (basically no skin can show, but it’ll be 100+ degrees so…), get some immunizations (hello, typhoid shot!) and figure out everything we’ll need to pack. If that wasn’t enough, we’ve also got to work on getting a grasp on some basic Ar*b*c so, you know, no big deal, right?

I mean, it’s not like we just have a month left to learn it or something ridiculous like that.

(Very important side note: In an order to not draw attention (via Google searches) to what country we’re going to, there are certain words (Eg*pt, Ar*b*c, etc.) that I can’t fully write out as I write about preparing for the trip. I also need to mention that this is not a religious-based trip; i.e. it isn’t a missions trip or anything of a religious nature. More on that in a later post!)

With Katie’s wedding 1.5 weeks away, all the details have to come together pretty quickly.  We talked by phone yesterday, covering at least 62 topics some of which included: what earrings I should wear with my bridesmaid dress, her brilliant plan to switch out of her heels and into slippers for the reception and, perhaps most importantly, the honeymoon.

We talked a lot about the honeymoon, particularly what clothes she’s packing for it and by clothes I mean lingerie because that’s just what former college roommates talk about when it’s time for one of them to get married.  If you’ll remember, I posted about how I gave Katie a towel-robe thing-y as well as a little something special that I couldn’t exactly describe on the blog.

Well, I got my thank you note for it a couple of days ago and thought you might like to hear part of what she had to say about the gifts:

{……..} You, and only you, know how much I wanted that velcro bath towel. I love it, I love it, I love it!!!

The little black number, on the other hand, we will talk about later.

I was sitting on my bed sewing (and by “sewing” I mean I’m still working on figuring out how to thread a needle) when I suddenly thought “Why have I never put a puppy in a dresser drawer before?”  I have no idea why I had that particular thought, but it seemed like a pretty good idea so I did it.  Cuddles was the closest of the two wee little puppies, so he got selected for tonight’s experiment.

I can’t say for sure, but I think he might have even enjoyed it.

There’s a lot of aspects of dating relationships –

having someone to go do fun things with, delightfully classified as “date night.”

love, or at least like, in written format, whether it be letters, emails or even just text messages.

and, of course, getting to hold someone’s hand, being given the gift of touch.

– — –

I’ve thought about what I would pick, if I could just have one aspect of a relationship.

I’d choose the nightly phone calls, of course.

– — –

There’s just something about the nightly phone calls, isn’t there?  Maybe it’s the nervousness that comes from not knowing exactly when your phone will ring or maybe it’s just the security of knowing that your phone will ring.  Either way there’s something almost magical about them, some mysterious quality that I haven’t quite figured out how to define just yet.

A phone call at night means that there is another human out there who wants to know what happened during your day, a person who wants to hear your voice before they fall asleep.

It means, at its very core, that you’re wanted by someone.

– — –

It’s 1:01 a.m.  My phone hasn’t rang in hours and it won’t ring again until the business day starts a few hours from now.  I’ll go to sleep in a few minutes without telling anyone about the great parking spot I got downtown this morning, the problem I solved at work today, the child I saw playing at the park tonight while I sat on a nearby swing.  Those things don’t really matter, I know, but when you don’t even have anyone to tell them to in the first place, they really don’t matter in the truest sense of the word.

And normally it doesn’t bother me.  Honestly, it’s just part of being single and, right or wrong, it’s one of those things you grow accustomed to after plenty of nights like this one.  Each stage of life — singleness, marriage, etc. — comes with it’s own unique aspects and this is just one indicator of singleness.

You can grow so used to the absence of something that you eventually forget to even notice it’s missing.

And then, one night when you’re least expecting it, you realize something is amiss, that something isn’t there.

You realize you want to be wanted before you fall asleep that night.

– — –

And so this is what I did.

I slipped off my high heels and changed out of my work clothes.  I pulled my hair to one side, wrapping it with a band that made it lay over my shoulder in that way that makes me look a lot younger than 24.  I lit the candle that sits on my dresser and turned off the lamp near my bed.  I pulled up my iTunes playlist labeled “cry,” sat on my bedroom floor with my back pressed against my twin bed, pulled my knees to the pillow clutched to my chest and waited for the first song to begin playing.

It’s a song that’s gaining popularity, one with a very simple chorus –

“I know that You are for me, I know that You are for me, I know that You will never forsake me in my weaknesses.”

But I changed the lyrics as I sang them to a God I can’t see but truly believe was sitting with His back against the dresser in front of me, legs stretched out towards me –

“I know that You want me, I know that You want me, I know that You will never stop wanting me.”

I didn’t ask Him to make my phone ring tonight. And, the longer I sang, the less I wanted that phone to ring, anyway.

I just want Him to want me.  And I just want to want Him.

And I’m pretty sure that there’s no ring quite as sweet as that.

On Friday evening, when I was still sitting at my desk at 5:26 p.m., I made a promise to myself to actually enjoy my weekend as far away from work as possible. This is kind of unusual because, due to the nature of Starlite, weekends are typically very much “on-call” for me but, for this weekend, I decided to try to be as much like a typical 24 year old girl as possible.

I decided to sleep in on Saturday morning, but made the mistake of not mentioning that plan to my extremely, extremely attractive neighbor who has a little construction project going right outside my bedroom window. I’ll forgive him for the 7 a.m. wake up call that came courtesy of his power saw simply because he said a very heartfelt “hey, girl” when I went outside earlier today and if there is anything I’m a sucker for, it’s a man calling me “girl.”

No, for real. What can I say? I’m easy to please in the terms of endearment department.

Saturday night was spent doing a bunch of nothing and by nothing I mean I actually cleaned my bedroom, but only because I kept losing Cuddles underneath piles of clothes. I was asleep by 1 a.m., wide awake by 2:35 a.m. because I am the fool who gets email notifications on her cell phone and then back asleep sometime around 4:30 a.m. This was perfect timing because it allowed me to get a full 2.5 more hours of sleep before Neighbor Boy whipped out his chainsaw, effectively scaring me to the point I literally fell out of bed.

By Sunday afternoon I had worked myself into a little tizzy over something, which was perfect timing for my friend Cara’s call straight from Ecuador because there is no one who can help me understand The Opposite Sex We Refer To As Males like Cara can.

Oh, I kid. No earthly being will ever really understand males.

Cara and I talked for an hour and twenty one minutes, during which the following items were discussed in no particular order: boys, brownie mix, boys, our former college days, boys and even a little bit about boys if you can believe it. I think the real highlight of the conversation, however, came when we began discussing the rarely mentioned topic of boys during which I admitted that, during the previous 24 hours, I had copied no less than three sets of lyrics to country music songs into my diary whilst changing certain lyrics to make them appropriate to my particular situation.

This is disturbing on various levels with the most unnerving being the fact that I actually know the lyrics to three country music songs.

We took turns spilling our guts (and some tears, if I’m going to be honest) whilst reassuring each other that, even though we don’t understand what’s going on in a few different areas of our lives right now, this moment we’re in won’t last forever.

Of course, whilst we were having that conversation, I was burning a letter I had written the night before because, really, there’s nothing that says HELLO, I’M AN ADULT like tearing up a piece of notebook paper and dropping it one piece at a time into the flame of the Febreze candle sitting on your dresser.

What’s that, MTV? You’d like to use this blog post as a script for your new pre-teen reality show? Be my guest and, by the way, I’m in the job market if you’re looking for someone to host a new afternoon chat show that discusses important topics like boys and boys.

I’m happy to tell you that Cara and I managed to get a hold of ourselves and, by the end of the conversation, I was pacing my bedroom floor yelling “LOVE IS A BATTLEFIELD!” into the phone while Cara argued that it’s more like a minefield and, really, I think we all know she’s correct.

This upbeat ending to our phone call prompted me to use the last remaining few cents of my iTunes gift card to download Jordin Sparks’ new song Battlefield which is FULL of lyrical masterpieces such as this gem:

“One minute it’s love and, suddenly, it’s like a battlefield.”

Oh, and this one, too, which is basically the entire chorus:

“Why does love always feel like a battlefield, like a battlefield, like a battlefield?”

The real high point of the song, however, is the bridge in which Jordin suggests it’s time to go and get our armor with a beat behind the suggestion that will make you feel like your bedroom is suddenly a stage set in front of 10,000 girls rocking it out with you whilst you, in your pink and black pajamas, sing into your toothbrush in front of your mirror before copying the lyrics, which you now know by heart because you just listened to the song seven times in a row, into your diary.

I mean, that’s what I imagine people feel like. I wouldn’t know or anything ridiculous like that.