It’s three nights after Christmas and I’m currently looking at a pile of baby dolls, ballet tutus and candy canes that is covering at least a third of my kitchen floor (I’ll leave it to your imagination as to how candy canes ended up on the floor).  There’s a wee little four year old in my lap as I type this and, in her lap, a toy mermaid that is almost taller than her.  All she wanted for Christmas?  “A rweal mermaid, Amy Beff.”  And lo, I found the closest thing possible: a mermaid that not only comes complete with two outfits, but also walks.  In case you’re wondering, it’s just as creepy as it sounds.

I’ve got exactly one week left before I head back to work and plenty to fill that week: I’m going to meet up with Katie in Georgia to celebrate her belated birthday, head to Nashville to spend time with some roommates from college and, of course, continue Avi-patrol.  I also have a very serious appointment with my guest bedroom and laundry room; we’ll be having a sincere discussion about organization and cleanliness (I plan to drive my point home using untold amounts of Rubbermaid containers and trash bags).

In the next couple of days, I’ll be posting an overview of 2009 just like I did this time last year for 2008. And then, after that, I’ll be back with all the stories from my week with MacKenzie and Avi.  Until then, though, here’s a little peek into my world these past few days.

I’m certainly not old enough to be wise, but this I have learned:

life comes in seasons.

– — –

Too young to know it’s Christmas while my parents open my packages for me.  Four years old, twirling around the living room in my new ballerina outfit.  The bicycle that Santa left beside the Christmas tree the year I was seven years old.  My brother and I sneaking talk radios into our beds so we could plan when to sneak out of our bedrooms to see what was waiting in the living room.

The first year I didn’t believe in Santa but pretended to because my brother still did.  My first Christmas as a teenager, my boyfriend bringing earrings to my house the night before Christmas.  Sweet sixteen, begging for permission to drive myself to my grandparent’s house on Christmas night.   The first time I came home from college, hoping that even if everything else had changed while I was gone that semester, at least Christmas would feel the same.

And then I’m 22, coming home with all my presents wrapped in red and white paper with darling little red bows.  A year later and my diploma is my own gift to myself underneath the tree, graduation only a few days before the holiday.   I’m nearing 25 and planning to bring that boy home with me, devastated when I realize that the relationship is only a decoration for the holidays.

– — –

And today it’s Christmas at age 25, an age where I can’t help but have a whole lot more questions than answers, a whole lot more wishing things could be different and yet wanting them the same, too.  It’s Christmas in my mid-twenties: the Christmas where I’m trying to belong somewhere, maybe just anywhere?  Everybody wants to belong.

And today, on the day that holds all of history together, maybe we all do belong.

“Had Mary been filled with reason there’d have been no room for the child.”

Madeline L’Engle

Because it wouldn’t be Christmas Eve without discussing the nice vs. naughty list.

Please note: at 1:23 in the video, Jay (who is sometimes known as “Rose”) is being referred to as “Rose” and it is a she.  However, a mere nine seconds later, Rose is a boy… yet Jay is a girl.

Confused, yet?  GOOD, ME TOO.

1. How do any of you with children actually write a blog on a regular basis?  I am on borrowed time right now: I’ve created a fort using my couch, end table and pile of blankets in order to buy myself approximately three minutes to write a few measly words to you.  Let us not waste a precious second!

2. Children require care 24 hours a day, unlike puppies.  Puppies can be left by themselves for at least a little while; you just give them some food, water and a chew toy.  Lesson learned: puppies do not equal children.

3. In the event someone wakes up crying from a nightmare and no longer wishes to sleep on the pallet you have so lovingly constructed on the floor beside your bed, it is possible to fit the following into your twin-sized bed: yourself; an eight year old; a four year old; a puppy named Snuggles; a puppy named Cuddles; a stuffed pig named, well, Piggy and, finally, a stuffed pink dog named Jay.  IN YOUR TWIN BED.

4. Jay, Avi’s stuffed pink puppy, switches between female and male on a daily basis.  If he is a he, then his name is Jay except for the days that he’s a female but still retaining the name Jay.  However, on some days, Jay wishes to be called Rose; on these days, he could be either male or female.  May heaven help you if you accidentally refer to Jay as a he when it’s actually a she and don’t even get me started on trying to figure out whether you should refer to the puppy as Jay or Rose because, if you do get me started, MY HEAD MAY EXPLODE.

5. Current words malfunctions that are hilarious, all courtesy of Avi: “hippy toes” instead of tippy toes; “Chick-Da-Lay” instead of Chick-Fil-A; “ta-tending” instead of pretending.

6. I used to genuinely — GENUINELY — want to have twins, maybe triplets.  And by “used to” I mean “five days ago.”  I now believe there should only be as many children as there are parents; otherwise the little darlings could form a mutiny and totally take over control.

7. In all seriousness, we’re having a blast.  Even Jay/Rose.

Saturday, the wedding day of one of my college girls –

– — –

I’m in the bathroom, putting on lip gloss when my college girl says “Will you put my make-up on for me?”  I’m nervous about doing it — this is her wedding day, for crying out loud.  I’m putting the foundation on, blending, blending, blending.  I say, quietly — “Are you nervous?”  She says, quietly — “Yes.”  I keep blending, trying to think of what to say.  But then she looks in my eyes and says “Do you like how big my hair is today?  It’s my first time having hair this big.”

I instantly remember her sitting across from me at the Starlite office, two years ago.  Tears coming down her cheeks as she told me what had happened in her life.  I prayed that day that God would send someone for her, that she would have someone to love her since other people in her life had done such a poor job of it.

And now we’re standing there on her wedding day, me in a bridesmaid dress, blending the make-up onto her face while she stands in front of me, a hopeful look in her eyes breaking through all the nervousness.

“Of course I’m proud of you,” I say, blending, blending, blending.  “Of course I am.”

– — –

We’re at the reception, all of us — lots of my Starlite college girls, everyone back in our small town to see the happy bride.  I’ve taken off my high heels and switched them for flip flops; I’ve attempted — unsuccessfully — to bustle my dress with safety pins in hopes that I won’t ruin it on the dance floor.  It’s the first time I’ve worn a dress with an actual train on it and I’m thinking about how I used to walk around my bedroom as a little girl holding the sheets from my bed behind me so I could pretending that my imaginary dress had a train flowing out behind me.

The music suddenly switches to something slow and I immediately turn to walk towards my seat at the head table, an action ingrained from years of weddings without being asked to dance.  It’s always a little embarrassing to sit by yourself while the slow songs are on; I usually pretend to be very interested in my goblet of water.  It keeps people from feeling sorry for you.

I’m almost back to my seat when he — a groomsman whose name I couldn’t actually remember — comes up to me.  He asks me to dance but, before he’s even fully asked, he’s already pulling me that way.  We dance and I keep telling myself to remember what this feels like; I do that with things that I’m afraid might not happen again for a very long time.  I’m still rehearsing it in my mind when the song ends and I say “Thank you so much” while turning to head back to my seat.

And then, the real miracle of the night –

“Since we had so much fun with that one, don’t you think we should try another song?”

And then we’re dancing again, before I could even say yes.

– — –

We’re on our way home from the reception, my two little girls in the backseat.  They’re excited because the bride sent her wedding dress and bouquet home with me (for safe-keeping during the honeymoon, of course) and they’ve assumed that it means they’ll be playing dress-up within minutes of arriving home (incorrect, my two little fairies).  Suddenly MacKenzie reminds me of the promise I made them before the wedding began — a surprise treat in exchange for good behavior during the wedding.

(Judge me if you want, but I’m not above bribing when it comes to good wedding behavior.)

I decide that I’ll stop at the drugstore near my house to let them pick out a candy bar to have the next day; it’s far too late in the evening to have sugar.  I’m sitting at the stop sign, thinking about how I’ll remember this night when I suddenly turn on the left blinker in an act of irresponsibility.  We’re going to get ice cream, even though it’s late, even though I’m in a bridesmaid dress that has a train to it.

We have the whole place to ourselves and I’m not thinking about how it’s going to end up on their clothes, how they’re going to be bouncing off the walls when bedtime comes around.

I’m thinking about how I’m going to let them be little for as long as I can.

My house looks like a little girl hurricane has come through and left a trail of debris including baby dolls, hair bows and all manner of pink-colored clothing.  I have, this morning alone, performed wedding ceremonies with Cuddles as the groom (listen, we needed a boy and he happened to be laying nearby), fixed cinnamon rolls (the icing somehow ended up in my hair) and found a lost lovey (underneath the kitchen table, pulled there by a certain puppy named Snuggles who was looking for a new toy).

In other words, THIS IS GOING TO BE A GOOD WEEK.

P.S. – I’d like to promise to write more once they’re in bed tonight but, if the last few days are any indication, I’ll just be going to bed whenever they do.

P.P.S. – Your suggestions on Friday were priceless.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.

P.P.P.S. – Tonight we go for the gold on “The Sing-Off” (NBC, live at 8 p.m. EST).  Even if we don’t win it (remember: WE’RE IN IT TO WIN IT), I’m so, so proud of our girls and guys for making the final three groups on a prime time show.  Also: I’m going to remove all breakable items from my living room before I watch the show tonight.  Wouldn’t want to lose another decorative platter, of course.

P.P.P.P.S. – I hear monkey sounds coming from the living room.  Must go investigate.

Y’all, I’m not going to say much today because I just want to hear from YOU.  Here’s the deal: starting today, I have both MacKenzie and Avi until Christmas!  I’m VERY excited about my week with them and want to make the most of it… which is where you come in.

I’m 25, single and desperately in need of all the secret mother information that you just naturally know.  What are some fun things I could do with the girls this week?  Any tips on making Christmas memories with them?  Anything and everything you can think of — I want to hear!

And, if you just want to say hi, that’s good too.  Or if you want to tell me about your Aunt Mabel’s hair and how it always turns out blue at Christmas and it scared you then and now you’re an adult and it still scares you… sure, tell that to me too.  Or about how your dog is doing these days (Snuggles y Cuddles send their love, by the way).  Or just about how you are on this cold Friday morning.

In other words, I’ll see you in the comments today!

Update: comments now closed!  Thanks for your incredible suggestions!

On my way home from the beach yesterday, I happened to pick up a little something to bring back to my house with me:

Not only do I have Avi for the next week, but we’ll be going tomorrow morning to get MacKenzie, too!  A solid week with my two favorite girls — could life get any better?  Tomorrow is the day I’m planning to ask you to tell me all your mothering secrets in the comments, so get ready to spill it, y’all!

Well, I think you know what is next: WE MADE IT TO THE FINAL ROUND!  Y’all.  Y’ALL.  You just don’t know how big of a deal this is to us… we are out of our minds excited about the fact that our group has made it this far on The Sing-Off. I had some of my college girls over last night to watch (we LOVED live-chatting with y’all, by the way!) and, when they announced that we made it to the final round, all five of us began jumping up and down in my living room so much that the following happened:

That’s right: we broke a decorative platter.  BUT IT WAS WORTH IT BECAUSE WE’RE IN IT TO WIN IT.

Now, I hate to ask favors but, in this case, I HAVE A FAVOR TO ASK.  If you liked our group (or, hey, if you just like me) would you please take a second to vote for them?  There’s a recording contract and $100,000 on the line here, so I think you can understand why I’m willing to ask y’all for a wee bit of help — $100,000 could do a lot for us!

Here are the three ways you can vote:

1. Text your vote now!  Text the number 3 to 33088; you can vote 10 times per cell phone.

2. Call in your vote!  Call 1-877-674-6403 from any land line, cell phone, etc.  You can call 10 times from each phone number.

3. Email in your vote!  Go here to select “Voices of Lee” and enter your email address for the chance to vote.  You can vote 10 times from each email address.

Thanks for humoring me, y’all.  And now please excuse me whilst I walk around my office today saying “WE’RE IN IT TO WIN IT” as many times as possible.

Because, and I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before or not but, WE’RE IN IT TO WIN IT.

Oh, y’all, where do I even START?

Well, let’s start where all good things begin: chicken pot pie.

Listen, I’m just going to admit it: I’ve never watched Paula Deen’s cooking show before.  I mean, why would I when I’m such a fantastic cook?  Why, just last week, I fixed a little dish I like to call toast a la burnt! If you too would like to make this dish at home, simply place bread in your toaster, turn the knob too far to the right and then wait for the delicious scent of burning bread to fill your home.  Ah, the joy of cooking.

With that said, I had very high hopes that Paula might actually be at her restaurant which is the equivalent of admitting that I’m hoping Santa leaves me a set of deluxe hair rollers under the tree this year: possible, but highly unlikely.  Paula was not there but don’t let your hearts be troubled: our waiter had seen her there just two weeks ago and, upon my questioning, informed me that Paula’s hair really is big.  I’m glad we can go to bed tonight knowing that Paula is staying true to her roots or, um, root lifter.

Also: whilst I did visit her gift shop, I chose to leave empty handed because I do believe that the chicken pot pie now taking residence on my hips is souvenir enough.

Also, also: BRIDESMAID DRESS.  IN 72 HOURS.  BEGIN PRAYING NOW.

We spent most of the day in Savannah, but made sure we were back to the condo in plenty of time to allow me to hyperventilate on the couch whilst various people I know filled the television screen in front of me during The Sing-Off. I was so nervous during the show that I had to work to calm myself by counting how many times the host, Nick Lachey, informed us that one team would be singing their “swan song” that night.  Of course, I also amused myself by counting how many scarves our group of singers were able to wear on stage whilst performing because, hey, it must be cold in Los Angeles.

Actually, I happen to have inside information about that: their outfits are actually being picked out by a wardrobe stylist which would explain why our group looks like a Gap commercial each night.  But they look like a HOT AS FIRE Gap commercial, now don’t they?

I wore my favorite Lee sweatshirt whilst I watched the show last night, mainly because our university doesn’t have a football team so, hey, this is the most school spirit we may ever muster.  When we performed well on both rounds, I began throwing my arms in the air yelling “GET IT, LEE!” because, my goodness, I just could not hold my pride inside.  By the time one group was getting voted off, I was — once again — bouncing up and down on the couch whilst squeezing my eyes shut and holding my hands over my ears.  Spoiler alert: WE GOT TO THE NEXT ROUND!

I’m leaving for home this morning so, tonight, I’ll be watching the show from the comfort of my home with several of my college girls with me.  A lot of y’all have been telling me that you’re watching from home, too, so here’s what I thought we’d do: tonight around 7:45 p.m. EST, I will put a post up on the blog that will give you a link to a private chat room where you can log-in to chat alongside us whilst we watch the show!  Remember that, if you read my blog through a reader, that post might not show up until too late so come to my actual blog to see the chat room information.  West Coast readers, we’d love to have you join us as it comes on in your area, but watch out for spoilers in the chat room!

See you tonight, little lambs!

It’s my third morning at the beach and, per usual, I’m up first.  Where has my ability to sleep in gone?  I want it back because it’s one of the best parts of the single years, right up there next to being able to toss your clothes across the room if you so choose.

We spent the day yesterday almost exactly as we spent the day before: being as lazy as possible.  This goes completely against my nature and so I had to tell myself — had to convince myself — that my “task” yesterday was to spend as much time reading by the pool as possible.  It worked; I finished one book and then read an entire other one, too.  Give me a book and a few hours and you’ve got one happy girl on your hands.

Well, did you watch the show last night — The Sing-Off? Y’all, I have never been so nervous in my entire life.  I’m not a big television watcher (I’ve seen American Idol only once in my life — the time my boy Trey was on!) but having so many of my acquaintances on prime time television at once last night?  I was so excited I could barely sit still.

I know all but one of the students in the group — and I can’t believe I didn’t think to mention this yesterday — but three of the girls were Starlite volunteers during their freshman and/or sophomore years of college!  I also know almost the entire group because I spent a little big of time with some of them on their tour bus during my senior year of college.  I had won a scholarship that carried a requirement that I go to this huge thing in Florida and speak about my experience at our college and how the scholarship had helped me.  Oh, you’re going to like this story — this is a prime example of how Type-A I used to be.

So, I was supposed to go with the other girl who had won the scholarship — the President’s Office at our university was sending us down in a car driven by someone from their office.  The day I was scheduled to leave, I was sitting at my desk when I began losing my vision — it would just go in and out.  Someone took me over to our campus health center and, as they were evaluating me, I started losing my ability to stay balanced, walk, etc.  The doctor at the clinic sent me straight to the hospital and, a few minutes after arriving there, the doctor was pretty sure I had spinal meningitis, something that is common to college students — and deadly.

The next several hours were awful.  They called my parents and told them to begin heading my way; my younger brother — who at the time was a freshman at the same college as me — was standing outside my room because they wouldn’t let him in to be with me.  They did a spinal tap and, because I was conscious for it, had to re-attempt it several times before getting what they needed.  I remember having someone call the university to tell them I couldn’t go on the trip and hearing that the other girl who was supposed to go had something happen and couldn’t make it either.  I was immediately upset because I felt awful that we were leaving them high and dry without either of us being able to cover for the other one not being there but there was obviously nothing I could do about it.

It turned out I didn’t have spinal meningitis and, after treating what was going on, they finally released me from the hospital.  The conference in Florida had already been going, of course, but the day I was scheduled to speak was still about 24 hours away.  I found out that one of the singing groups from our university — the Voice of Lee, whom you saw on television last night — were going to head down there on their (extremely nice) tour bus and, after a few calls, arranged to be on that tour bus when they left at the crack of dawn.

I’ll never forget my roommate Lindsey packing a bag for me because I literally couldn’t get out of bed due to whatever they had put in that IV.  She got me to the tour bus and I settled into my very own bunk for the ride down there because I was supposed to stay in a horizontal position for 48 hours after the spinal tap.  Nine hours later I was in sunny Florida; I did my thing at the conference, got back on the tour bus and came back home with them.  Looking back, I was a fool for going — but, at the same time, I wanted so badly to honor that commitment.  That’s just who I was back then, maybe a little bit of who I still am today.

That was an awfully long story just to tell y’all that I know the kids and have been on their tour bus before!  Anyway, I said all that to say that, last night when I was watching them on the show, I kept bouncing up and down on the couch because I was so nervous for them.  When I saw the other performances in their section, I felt pretty sure that they weren’t going to advance to the next round.  I couldn’t stand to watch their faces fill with disappointment so, when the time came, I covered my ears and put my face into the side of the couch so I wouldn’t have to watch it happen.  When Cara began screaming, I knew that we had a Christmas miracle on our hands and I jumped off the couch and jumped on top of Cara because I was so happy.  Cara?  I’d like to apologize again for the whole “jumping on you” thing.  I just couldn’t help myself — IT WAS A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE THAT THEY GOT TO THE NEXT ROUND!

So, we’re on the show again tonight which means that, all day today, I’m going to be a nervous wreck.  I hate to see any group leave a show which explains why I don’t watch American Idol or anything like it.  But this? This I have to watch because, for crying out loud, it’s our hometown heroes on NBC, y’all.  COUNTRY HAS COME TO TOWN.

Speaking of hometown heroes and country coming to town, guess who is headed to Savannah this morning to have lunch at Paula Deen’s restaurant?  Now, I’m not a fan of Paula for her cooking — only because I cannot cook and even Paula couldn’t help me right my cooking wrongs — but you better believe I’m a fan of how big she wears her hair.  I have never — never — seen a picture of that woman without big hair and I don’t care what you think — that, my lambs, is quite an accomplishment in itself.  Forget her cooking — somebody give this woman a book contract just for her hairstyling abilities!

Speaking of which, I need to go fix my own.  Hair doesn’t just get big on its own, you know.