I had to go to a two-hour grad school meeting earlier tonight to learn about some new procedures and policies and such.  There were a couple hundred of us there, so they broke us into a few smaller groups and sent us to classrooms with pizza and paper plates.

We were given two paper plates; one was for our slice of pizza and the other was for us to draw out what’s “on our plate” right now.  It was an icebreaker type of thing, a way to acknowledge how most students in grad school have quite a bit on their plate at the moment.

It was easy for me to divide my plate up: one section for my job, another for the college girls I still mentor.  There was a section for friends, a place for school and even a section for the blog (yes, this little blog is most definitely a big responsibility in my life).  It was neatly divided up, lines drawn between the labels that make up my life.

The professor leading our discussion group asked us each to stand one at a time to explain what was on our plate.  I was in the back of the room, so I just quietly listened as everyone went before me.  We had similar things on our plate: classes, jobs, etc.  But as they went around the room, I noticed that the first two things that appeared on all of their plates were the same: spouses and families.

I noticed because neither of the two appeared on my plate.

– — –

It matters when I go to spend the night with Daniel and Ashley and they stay up late watching television and laughing, an odd pairing of three when they might rather just be husband and wife without the third party sleeping on the couch that night.  They let me see marriage up close, almost as if I’m in a museum where the paintings aren’t behind glass walls, a zoo where you’re allowed to pet the animals.  I sit on their couch with butterflies in my stomach because this?  This must be what it’s like to have someone in your home with you at night, a second person on the couch beside you.

It means something when I go to visit my friend Christan and she lets me be the one to get up with her baby, something I have begged her to let me do before we fell asleep the night before.  She and her husband hear him crying through the monitor but they stay in bed, letting me be the one to know what it feels like to open the nursery door and lift him from the crib.  She trusts me to fix the bottle by myself, a gift that means more to this single girl than she will ever know.  She trusts me to fix the bottle by myself, I think as I test it against my wrist to make sure the liquid isn’t too hot.  She trusts me to fix the bottle.

– — –

This isn’t a sad post; this isn’t a plea for pity.  It’s just a reminder to all of you who have that elusive thing called family that you’ve got something that some of us don’t have yet.  It isn’t jealousy you see in our eyes.

It’s gratefulness for every single time you let us see your marriage and touch your babies, you’re giving us a gift.

A gift we literally can’t give ourselves.

OH, DO I HAVE A STORY FOR YOU.

Although fall technically arrived in Tennessee last week, it made its first weather appearance yesterday when I woke up to 50 degree temperatures. Seeing as fall is the best season of the year, I was almost required to celebrate its arrival by cooking tacos for my nearest and dearest. Neighbor Clay was there, but of course. And obviously Cate came, too.

And then there’s this punk.

Two or three weeks ago, Nicholas took this mask from one of his friends and has henceforth been using it to terrorize me at every given opportunity. When he arrived on my doorstep last night, guess what I opened my door to? And then, ten minutes later, when I turned around from stirring the taco meat, guess what was standing right behind me? And how about five minutes after that, when I stood in the corner of my kitchen with my hands over my eyes begging him to TAKE OFF THE MASK, GOSLING, guess who crept closer and closer to me so that I’d know he was still there wearing that ridiculous mask?

Unfortunately Gosling hasn’t known me long enough to know that, when I have had enough, I HAVE HAD ENOUGH. I reached over, grabbed the spatula I had been using to warm the tortilla shells and chased that boy down so I could beat the fire out of him with my pink spatula until he took that mask off. You think I’m joking, but I did not even HESITATE. I took that spatula to his legs and just did not stop until the mask was fully off and he had learned to respect the pink spatula.

After our quaint, calm dinner, we headed over to the soccer field at our university to watch the men’s game. What’s that, blog readers? You didn’t know I have a love for soccer? You’re confused because I’ve never even mentioned soccer before? Perhaps it will all suddenly make sense when I inform you that, in addition to having an accent that can cause me to drive off various roads on the way to Bible Study, British Boy also has the honor of being our university’s star soccer player!

Between Clay, Cate, Nicholas and I, our young British Boy had his very own cheering section even though we were sitting on the other team’s bleachers because we arrived a wee bit late. They only had about five people on their set of bleachers, however, so we decided it would be okay to sit with them especially since it would be very clear whom we were cheering for given the fact I was wearing a homemade t-shirt bearing British Boy’s face across it.

Oh, I kid. I’m not wearing that t-shirt until the championship game.

About halfway through the match, the other team’s women’s soccer team (whom our female soccer team had beat a mere hour before, but whatev’) came and settled in on the rows directly behind us. Before long, they were yelling some very unsportsmanship-like things towards our players. They then began trying to talk a little smack to us about our players and, whilst everyone else ignored them, I tried to make a joke of it by telling them that I was exercising the fruits of the spirit to keep from responding to them.

Which prompted Cate to turn to me and — I KID YOU NOT — say “and if they had ever done a Beth Moore Bible Study before, they’d know that the fruits of the spirit are love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness AND SELF-CONTROL.”

I believe that’s what we call “The Christian Girl Throw Down,” y’all.

Also: can you believe she found a way to incorporate Beth Moore’s name into her throw down? I have never been so proud of her in my life.

Well, our little soccer friends behind us must have not really cared for the throw down because they began making their feelings known by upping the ante a bit which caused Cate and I to become a wee bit frustrated.

I had made the unfortunately mistake of mentioning British Boy’s name earlier when I was cheering for him, so they began taunting him — USING HIS NAME — from behind me. Which, naturally, prompted me to flip around so fast that my ponytail almost took off a couple of their heads and inform them in a few choice words that, whilst they may choose to say certain things about other boys on our team, they would NOT be saying things about number 10 whilst I was around.

Y’all, I swear to you they went dead silent.

I turned back around, thought for a second, and turned back towards them and offered a little throw down of my own: “Girls, it’s gonna be a long drive back to Alabama tonight when we whip your team’s tails, so you might want to quieten down a bit” except I was feeling REAL SOUTHERN-LIKE so I made sure the word “Alabama” came out like “AL-LA-BAM-MA.”

And then we lost the game. So, really, my throw down was kinda pointless.

But on the bright side, I got to hang out with Clate, the duo formerly known as Clay and Cate.

And listen to Gosling tell me not to turn around and saying anything else to the girls behind us.

And, perhaps most importantly, wear a sweater, drink hot chocolate from Starbucks and cheer on my favorite British Boy.

I’d say the night was a success, even without certain fruits of the spirit being exercised.

So, I know it’s been well over a week since last weekend happened (like, last, last weekend) but I didn’t get to tell you about my weekend then because I was having my I Can’t Seem To Write Anything week so let’s pretend it’s a week ago and I’m just sitting down to tell you about my weekend, shall we?

On that Friday night, I went to the movies with some friends so we could see Love Happens (I didn’t really care for it, but then again, I rarely like any Jennifer Aniston movies for some reason). We ended up sitting near the back of the theater, right in the middle of more 13 year old couples that I have ever seen in my life. I kept turning around during the movie to see who had worked up the nerve to hold each other’s hands and to make sure I didn’t need to go back a couple of rows to help separate anyone who’s braces had gotten locked together during that first movie theater kiss.

Here is my opinion on pre-teens going on movie dates: they should be allowed to be on their little pre-teen dates as long as the following requirements are met:

1. At least one of their parents is sitting in a row behind them in order to watch for the whole brace-face thing.

and

2. If I am in the theater with them, I should at least be on a date because, hello, they’re more than a decade younger than me.

I had to be at work early the next morning so, after putting in a couple of hours, I decided to just keep the momentum going even though I wanted to just go back home and fall asleep again. I ran errands for three hours straight before heading home. Nicholas came over to watch a couple of afternoon football games whilst I did my hair, did some laundry, etc (this was the Day of the Ill-Fated Hair Video). At one point I decided to begin reorganizing my hair supplies which required me to spread every last one of them across my kitchen table so I could take stock of what I had and organize them. Nicholas came into the kitchen on a commercial break, saw me bringing more hot rollers to the table and said “How much more could you have?” Three more armfuls, as it turned out, but thanks for asking Gosling.

Oh, and get this — Gosling still hasn’t learned about the critical moment, y’all. At one point I was walking around the house with the velcro rollers in when he said “Hey, can you take those things out so we can go run an errand?” I stopped what I was doing and, underneath my breath, said “I forgive you, Gosling, because you know not what you ask.” I mean, it isn’t his fault that no one had ever told him that you can’t just “take those things out” during the critical moment, you know?

After we made the video for y’all we went to run the errand and then it was time for one of my college roommates to arrive! Sarah ‘Beth, whom you met whilst I was in Egypt, flew in for work that week and was staying with me on Saturday night before going to a hotel for the rest of the week. We lived together during our sophomore year of college and then again for a bit of time between our junior and senior years of college. I hadn’t seen her in about a year, so we had fun catching up before Nicholas, Cate and I headed to a reunion dinner for people who went on the Egypt trip.

After the dinner ended, Nicholas, Sarah ‘Beth and I stopped by the grocery store to grab some “football snacks” because we were going to watch the GA game that night (they’re Nicholas’ team). I kind of felt bad that Nicholas was going to have to watch the game with girls, so I was all “Why don’t you invite some of your guy friends over?” and he was all HOW FAST CAN I PULL OUT MY CELL PHONE? So then those boys came over and then Cate and one of our other friends showed up and before you knew it, I’m in the kitchen with a packed house facing the challenge of my first football hosting event, something I have dreamt of for years.

Make fun of me if you want, but I’ve just always thought it would be so much fun to have a bunch of people in my house to watch football, especially if I was in charge of the food. I’ve always thought about how fun it would be to be in the kitchen while the boys are yelling at the television screen, bringing in food for them, etc. Y’all, I mean I have looked forward to it for YEARS.

Suddenly the moment was in front of me and let me just tell you — IT DID NOT DISAPPOINT. I only sat down twice during the entire game; the rest of the time I was in the kitchen making a fruit tray (side note: pineapples are very tricky little things when it comes to cutting them), baking a cake, fixing chips and salsa, etc. At halftime I brought in a platter of hot wings THAT I MADE, DO YOU SEE WHAT I JUST SAID, I MADE SOMETHING! They boys ate them while I secretly did a little dance in the kitchen because, hello, life dream achieved!!! I hosted a football party-ish type of thing AND MADE HOT WINGS.

Of course, if we’re going to be fair, I need to inform you that I also made some Bagel Bites for them that ended up black as coal. But hey, you win some, you lose some, right?

Two weekends ago I pulled out every last hair supply I own, put them on my kitchen table and set forth to organize them which is just another way of telling you that they sat on my kitchen table until this past weekend.

As I was organizing them on Saturday evening, I leaned forward too far too quickly and smashed my face into a box which happened to contain one or eleven cans of hairspray. The result is a very visible cut straight across my nose. I am fairly sure that I am the only woman in Tennessee to be able to claim she cut her face in an accident with a can of hair spray.

At least I hope I’m the only woman who can claim it because, hello, that’s something to tell the grandkids about one day.

I was meeting Gosling and British Boy for Saturday night church about ten minutes after the hairspray incident occurred, so I put some Neosporin on the cut and headed towards the church. As I got out of the car, Gosling came up to me to say hello. As he got close, a look of uneasiness began to creep onto his face. He leaned down and said “Before we go in, you have something on your nose.” I was all “Yeah, I know, it’s called Neosporin.” And then he was all “What happened?” And I was all “I cut my nose on a can of hairspray” but he didn’t believe me so he was all “No, really, what happened?” which goes to show you how little he actually knows me because, really, like I would joke around about something as serious as hairspray injuries.

And, for the record, I know that I probably looked like an idiot walking around with Neosporin on my face, but the alternative was Neosporin covered by a Band-Aid and I felt like that would draw more attention towards my nose and we all know that, if you’re having attention drawn to you for any reason, you want it to be because of the height you have achieved with your hair.

So we go inside the church and settle in at the very front because there’s nothing more awkward than sitting at the front when you’re visiting a church for the first time. And we’re sitting there, me between Gosling and British Boy, when they begin to serve Communion which, in case you’re not familiar with it, is a time in which you should be reverent and still and quiet, three things I would have been more than happy to actually do HAD I NOT SEEN A SPIDER CRAWLING TOWARDS MY FOOT.

It was huge and it was coming right at me and I was wearing my long jeans and I just knew — I JUST KNEW — that the little beast was going to crawl right up my leg. And I knew that, if that happened, the only thing to do would be shimmy out of my jeans and, while I didn’t know what stance this particular church took on the issue of the removal of clothing during service, I felt it was safe to assume that removing my jeans wouldn’t exactly fit it with generally accepted “appropriate church behavior.”

So I decided that the only way to handle it was to kill it and therefore began wiggling around in my seat in an attempt to reach it with my foot. By this time British Boy has seen what is happening, but Gosling can’t figure out what I’m doing so he starts sending me these looks that I think were meant to encourage me to stop acting like an idiot. And I’m giving him a look back that says “MY LIFE IS IN DANGER, I HAVE TO WIGGLE” but he’s apparently not able to understand the look because he — and the rest of the church attendees in our vicinity — just continue to watch me clutch my purse to my chest and do a hopping-like motion in my folding chair until I finally get my foot close enough to the spider to end its life before it can find its way up my leg.

Maybe we’ll try a different church next weekend?

Good thing he began making fun of my blog “voice” because I was starting to feel bad for telling him that his ears looked abnormally large.

Also, you’re welcome for the theme music in the background. It just seemed fitting, you know?

So.

For some reason, I don’t feel like writing lately which is really weird because I actually have a couple of stories from last weekend I wanted to tell you about, especially because one of them involves me telling you how I actually fixed food for a group of people and it was edible and they even said “we should do this again” which never happens when I cook for people.

But.

I just don’t feel like writing. Strange, right? Especially since I have like four really deep posts rolling around in my mind, too. But whenever I sit down to write them for you, I can’t get anything onto the screen. Nothing is wrong; just oddly introspective this week. Like, falling asleep listening to “You” by Switchfoot on repeat. And sitting on the couch watching Snuggles y Cuddles fall asleep in the windowsill while it rains. And writing in my diary for an hour at night, just because I can.

So, basically, I’ve got a lot for you but I’ve got nothing for you, too. I’m just doing life. Failed my first math exam yesterday; wrote a little rhyme for the professor on the top of the exam about needing a math hero so I won’t keep scoring a zero. Got a perfect score on my first Education paper; the professor wrote “Exemplary response and beautifully written!” and gave me a sticker, too.

Life’s like that sometimes, isn’t it? Sometimes you miserably fail at something and, four hours later, you’re sitting in a different classroom finding out that you made a perfect score at something else.

See ya later, alligators.

After while, crocodiles.

See you soon, baboons.

Gosling, upon spotting a decorative apple on my kitchen counter: “This is awesome!”

Me: “Oh, you like it? I think it’s so cute.”

Gosling: “I was just thinking that this one is big enough for Nathan {British Boy} and I to kick like a soccer ball.”

These pictures are from this past weekend…

when we were jumping on someone’s trampoline…

which will be a good memory since last night…

Gosling decided to play tackle football on a wet field…

and earned himself a trip directly to the nearest late-night clinic…

… because he busted his shoulder up something fierce.

– — –

For the record, one of the very first things I said when I got to him last night was

“You just wait until my blog mamas hear that you were playing on wet grass, Gosling.”

For those of you who are sick of hearing about hair, I promise this is the last you’ll have to hear for awhile. But I was reading through your comments on the last few hair posts last night (more accurately, Nick was reading them to me which was hilarious because he gave each of you a different “voice” as he read your comment) and realized that there were quite a few questions that I didn’t get answered in the posts. I really don’t feel like I have that good of tips, but I humbly offer the following “help” to your questions:

1. Janelle confessed the following: “… I have lived the last decade under the impression that Big Hair was something to be avoided at all cost, not a value to strive for. Oh, help, please. I live on the west coast, and I have always gone for Flat Hair, Smooth Hair and Sleek Hair. Now you’re all telling me that I’ve been going about this backwards. Amy Beth, is my hair the reason I’m still single?”

Oh, Janelle. Sweet, sweet Janelle. There was a time in my life, too, when I thought that big hair wasn’t a good thing. I don’t like to revisit memories from that season of my life, but rest assured that I know what it feels like when you finally wake up one day and realize that big hair is where it’s at. You’re on the right path, Janelle.

As far as it being the reason you’re still single, it’s hard for me to say. I mean, I hear that some boys actually like small hair as opposed to big hair. And, really, some girls look better with small hair (it pains me to say it, but it’s true). I think you should give big hair a try, but in your mind, know you’re doing it for yourself, not for some boy. I’m just going to be honest with you: I have had big hair around boys before and look at me — still single as a slice of cheese.

I like to think we just haven’t found someone to fully appreciate the hair, Janelle. Keep the faith (and go buy yourself some velcro rollers).

2. Tiffany (and more of you) asked “Do they {velcro rollers} work on long hair? And, I would like to know your favorite hair products.”

I’m not sure if they do because I’ve never had long hair. I’d say they would be a lot more difficult on long hair, but you should experiment and report back to us. But what about hot rollers for long hair? I think they might work better and, actually, my favorite hair day EVER was achieved via hot rollers:

As far as products, I’m a fan of Amplify shampoo and conditioner, but after that, I really don’t care. My favorite product is a ponytail holder, as evidenced by my hair yet again today.

3. Jabber Jaws asked: “How do you roll the back of your hair?”

I actually know my hair so well now that I could roll it with my eyes closed, something I have done a few times when I’ve been really sleepy. It’s all about how your hair “falls” — there should be two inch sections of hair that you can easily grab (whether or not you have layers). Follow those “sections” and just pull the hair high and roll it straight down. And, for the record, I believe in you and your ability to roll the back of your hair.

4. Kelli said “… but it appears that you have a lot of thick curly hair, too. Do you dry the hair that doesn’t make it while the rollers are in or later? Do the rollers get in the way? Is it possible that the rollers can not only achieve volume but help my hair in the straightening process?”

I do have very thick hair; in fact, I’d challenge any of you to a thick haired duel. It’s also naturally curly on the underneath layer, but here’s what’s crazy about my hair: if I dry it one way, I can have the curliest head of hair you’ve ever seen. If I dry it another way, I can get it stick straight. But my hair is weird, so I don’t know about yours. Does anyone else think we need to have a huge blog sleepover so we can fix each other’s hair?

I dry it all at the same time and the rollers don’t really get in the way for me anymore. The only time the rollers hurt is when you try to sleep in them (sometime I attempted the night I turned 25 because I just really wanted to achieve bigger hair than ever before). Take my word for it: you don’t want to try to sleep with gigantic velcro rollers pinned to your head.

I think they can help some when it comes to the whole straightening process, too. Back when I used to go on dates, I would blow dry my hair, flat iron the entire thing and then put it on hot rollers. Or, if I really wanted it to look good, I would blow dry it, flat iron it and then curl it all using a one-inch barreled curling iron.

But then I realized that the only boy worth that kind of hair effort was one I planned to have children with so I stopped caring that much.

In other words, pass me a ponytail holder.

Well, I have the finished hair product to show you, but before you see it, I would like to inform you of a few forces I had working against me:

1. I couldn’t locate my flat iron, which is a vital instrument for the “bottom section” of hair. I was instead forced to use my curling iron to try to straighten out that lower section and listen, it just isn’t the same as my Chi.

2. It was raining and you know what that means: bad hair day.

3. I chose to do the “flip upside down and spray your hair” thing, which in its defense, is a good move on certain days. However, the day I chose to do it just wasn’t a good moment for it and I do believe it ruined a bit of the height and overall control.

4. If I was really vain, I wouldn’t show you this because, quite honestly, my hair didn’t even turn out that cute. Let it be a lesson, lovelies: you can want big, pretty hair but it doesn’t always mean you get it. Also: when I was fixing my hair in the mirror, I got distracted because I asked Nick if he likes big hair on girls and it took WAY TOO LONG FOR HIM TO ANSWER. And I was so distracted that it made me part my hair on the wrong side. THANKS, GOSLING.

I was going to do my hair for you on Sunday, but then I remembered that I had a dinner I was going to on Saturday night so I decided to just go ahead and fix it then. Nick was watching football on my couch while I did my hair and, at one point when I was walking around with the rollers in, he actually asked me if I could take my rollers out so we could go run an errand. Immediately I realized that no one had educated him about the whole “critical hair time” thing yet, so I took that responsibility upon my own shoulders and proceeded to explain to him that he cannot ask a girl to take her rollers out before she is ready.

I don’t know if he got it, though, because he just gave me this weird look and went back to watching the game.

When the moment of time came, I started trying to take pictures of it and decided that it just wasn’t going to suffice; we needed video. And this gave me pause because I cannot think of many things worse that being in one of my videos on my blog, especially when my hair doesn’t even turn out cute. But I decided that there was no other way and so, although I am already cringing at what you’re about to see, I present the following:

The Day I Attempted Big Hair

Narrated by: Nick and Amy Beth

Video by: Nick; Hair provided by: Amy Beth

Produced by: hot pink velcro rollers, hairspray and Amplify hair products

Rated: F for Failure to Achieve Pretty Hair

And, of course, the highlights:

1. “I wish it could happen every Saturday.”

2. “Take the big pink things out?”

3. “Then you can just toss the roller on the floor because your bathroom floor is already messy.”

4. “My life is going well. I don’t want you to miss any of this. Pull, pull.”

5. “And all that’s irrelevant because football is on. Bye.”

And now, a final hair benediction for you:

Go forth and attempt your own big hair. Don’t let what you just saw on video — a failed attempt at good hair — scare you. Think of it as a lesson in hair humility, a reminder that while one can want her hair to look good, you just don’t always get what you want in life. But don’t be afraid to get out there and try it, because I know that you will succeed. I believe in your ability to go to higher heights than I’ve seen, to spray your hair spray with more accuracy than I wielded. You have the power in you, so go amplify it, duckies.

And stat.

– — –

Here for the first time?  Read about my unfortunate previous encounter with rollers; the trials of being a bridesmaid and my heart for orphans.

Everyone at Kelly’s Korner is sharing their beauty tips today — check it out!