I had a crazy weekend that included having Aviean on Friday evening, unexpectedly catching a late flight out of Atlanta Saturday evening and then catching another one to come back home 22 hours later (I’ll explain tomorrow, and do I have a story to tell you).

In the meantime, I give you this picture of Aviean.  Because it’s Monday morning.  And she’s really, really cute.

Oh Cuddles, I think you’ve found a friend in Miss Aviean.

Last week was a whirlwind and, by whirlwind, I mean I had worked 70-something hours by Saturday afternoon, cried my eyes out when a bunch of my college girls graduated, had repairs done on my car later that afternoon and, to cap out the end of my work week, did a high school senior photo session on Saturday evening.

But when 5:30 a.m. Sunday rolled around, I jumped right out of bed, excited as could be, because I was about to attempt a little something I like to call “Mother’s Day 2010 on Steroids.”  Of course, by calling that, it would seem as if I’m still taking steroids for the mono which I am, but only when absolutely forced by my doctor, my mother or a combination of the both, because, as it turns out, STEROIDS MAKE ME CRAZY.

Wait, crazier would be more appropriate, wouldn’t it?

What would be really fun would be for me to write a coherent post about my “Mother’s Day 2010 on Steroids” that included things like “proper sentences” and “paragraphs.”  However, it’s Thursday evening and, seeing as I still haven’t exactly recovered from MD2010Steroids (catching you off guard with the acronym!), this post will probably come in list format, complete with rambling thoughts mixed with incorrect grammar.

Also, Gosling is here doing his reading for his summer Philosophy class on the couch and, as soon as he reads 23 pages, I’m totally stopping at whatever point I’m at in this post so he and I can play a few rounds of Dr. Mario. It goes without saying that I’m going to whip his tail and come out victorious.

On that note, let’s talk about Mother’s Day.

I woke up at 5:30 a.m. and said hello to Snuggles, Cuddles and That Other Dog. They, in turn, wagged their tails very rapidly which, in puppy language, translates to “Thank you for being our mama!” except perhaps That Other Dog was just saying “Thank you for not dropping me off at a shelter yet!”

After feeding the puppies and getting ready, I began loading various Mother’s Day gifts into my car while the sun continued to rise in the sky.  I then drove to one of my mentor’s houses and, not wanting to wake her up, left her gift and card in her recycling bin.

I know a recycling bin isn’t the typical place one would leave a Mother’s Day gift but, in my defense, the box was full of specialty breads and I was afraid some bunny rabbit might try to steal a little slice of cinnamon walnut bread for himself.

Seeing as I’m about to tell you about taking bread and other food items to people, I would like to clarify that I didn’t bake anything which is really a shame given how great I am at burning things.  No, I relied on the expertise of a local bakery which is just another way of saying “What woman doesn’t want to be given bread for every holiday of the year?”  I have yet to meet such a woman.

I hit the interstate to Knoxville where I arrived on MacKenzie‘s doorstep a few minutes after 7 a.m.  Just like last year, I wasn’t sure how to address Mother’s Day with MacKenzie seeing as I am, of course, not her actual mother.  To tell the truth, I’m always so afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing on that day that I usually try to convince myself not to do anything at all.  I just have no idea how to address Mother’s Day in MacKenzie’s life.

And so, this year, I asked MacKenzie during one of our nightly phone calls if she would even want me to come see her on Mother’s Day.  She said a very quick yes so, after thinking about it a bit, I asked her to be ready early Sunday morning with her favorite baby doll in hand — and one for me, too.

MacKenzie is at the age now where she knows that the reason I’m standing on her doorstep at 7 a.m. on Mother’s Day is because she doesn’t have a mom to see that day (her mother is alive, but has chosen to not be in her life at this time).  MacKenzie and I are both aware that I am not a replacement mother, but I am the female she spends the most time with right now.  And so, knowing I might make a big mess of things, here’s what I did anyway:

I told MacKenzie that, since it was Mother’s Day, I was taking her and her favorite baby doll out for breakfast to celebrate what a great mother she is to her doll.  She was thrilled with this idea and, in addition to bringing the baby dolls with us, she also insisted on bringing a high chair with us to Waffle House, her choice of breakfast location.  I would like to go on the record as saying that I am confused by this choice as I have been trying to instill the values of Cracker Barrel in her, but alas, she is drawn to the house of waffles time after time.

We located a second high chair in the restaurant and, before long, MacKenzie and I were enjoying a delicious breakfast of chocolate chip waffles while we fed bits of hash browns to our baby dolls (can’t have them going hungry, after all).  Over breakfast, we had a good talk about the significance of the day and how MacKenzie feels about it, details of which will remain between me and that darling girl.

After breakfast, I drove out to my dad and step-mom’s house so that I could bring a little gift of bread and desserts to my step-mom.  After seeing her and my dad for a few minutes, I headed towards downtown Knoxville to find my 23 year old brother’s apartment to wake him up so we could have brunch with my mom.  In his defense, we had originally scheduled brunch for later that morning but, since we had to change the time and I couldn’t reach him on his cell phone, I had no choice but to show up on his doorstep.

He was, as you can imagine, quite pleased with having his older sister beat on his bedroom window whilst yelling “I’m gonna keep doing this until you GET OUT OF BED, BRADLEY.”  Ah, sibling love at its finest.

Before long, we arrived at the restaurant to have brunch with the newlyweds, also known as my mother and step-father.

Okay, I’m back now.  As I was uploading this picture, I got a call from my friend Cara, who happens to be in Ecuador right now.  After we talked, I had to totally kill Gosling at Dr. Mario as his reward for finishing his Philosophy reading.  Gosling gets really into the game when we play, so I enjoy engaging in a little trash talk as I put him in his place.  Tonight’s victories included me playing on level 15 whilst he played on level five… and yet I still won.  Life can be tough sometimes, Gosling, life can be tough.

Back to Mother’s Day 2010 on Steroids.  So, my mother had no idea that, approximately 30 minutes after we finished brunch, she would be in the passenger seat of my car headed to Atlanta.  That’s right; I kidnapped her!  I had set-up a whole surprise day for her, with tickets for us to see Diana: A Celebration (a really interesting exhibit of Princess Diana’s wedding dress, clothes, memorabilia, etc. that is currently on loan from the United Kingdom).  After we finished touring the exhibit, I took her to Atlantic Station so I could introduce her to H&M.  Once we had finished there, we headed to The Cheesecake Factory where we had one of the best meals of my life before heading back home, which is a whole other story in itself, one I will likely tell you next week.

On our way home, we got a call that a certain four year old happened to be available should we want to see her.  Um, YES.

As we were finishing dessert together, we decided that Aviean would go with me back up to my mom’s house where I would be staying for the night before heading back to Cleveland early the next morning for work.  It wasn’t planned at all, but I think it was the perfect ending to my mom’s Mother’s Day, having little one with us for a few extra hours even if we did have to leave the next morning.

Except for the part when she was totally mad at me because I wouldn’t let her lick vanilla ice cream off the floor of Dairy Queen.

Life can be tough, Aviean.  Just ask Gosling; it’s a lesson he learned earlier this evening.

Last Saturday evening, I met up with a high school senior, Lexi, her twin sisters and her mom to take her high school senior pictures!  It’s hard for me to believe it has been eight years since I had my own senior pictures taken — how is that even possible?!?

Lexi was absolutely great to work with — well, see for yourself!

(Click on any image to view it larger.)

I’m feeling down tonight.

Because I’m running a fever that I can’t seem to break.  Because I have been trying, unsuccessfully, to fall asleep for three hours now.  Because I put the puppies in the laundry room because I didn’t even want them around me (I never do that).  Because when I toss and turn in my bed, there is no one to buffer me.  Because it’s been a month since my diagnosis and I’m pretty sure I’m not doing a good job of “handling it.”  Because I’m not sure how one “handles” this kind of thing.

Because I’m old enough to need to be on my own, but really wanting to show up on my grandmother’s front porch so she can take care of me.  Because I can’t eat dinner tonight because I will throw it up if I do.  Because I will go to bed tonight hungry instead.  Because I can’t call anyone and ask them to come take care of me tonight because I would put them at risk of contracting the mono.  Because I have to go back to the doctor again tomorrow and I already know I’m going to cry while I’m there.  Because I hear nothing from God, but am too… whatever to just pick up my Bible and read.

Because my uterus hurts tonight.  Because there were at least three different times on Mother’s Day that I wanted to sob because that day looks different to me now in light of everything I know now.  Because I continue to be swollen because of the medicine I’m taking.  Because I’m so swollen I hate to look at myself right now and want to hide so no one else has to look at me, either.  Because struggling with anxiety is quickly becoming a daily occurrence.  Because I feel panic even when I’m trying to not feel it.  Because I’m afraid of the anxiety and panic every single time I feel it.

These are the tasks that I’m assigning to myself for tomorrow:

1. You must sleep.

2. You must drink Gatorade.

3. You may read, if you do it from bed.

4. You must take a shower even if someone has to come help you do it.

5. You must let Cuddles cuddle up with you.  It’s his job, after all.

I had all of these fabulous plans of going home after work last night and going straight to bed before waking early this morning to write a post telling you all about Mother’s Day.

But then, as I was laying in bed, I got a call from my cousin asking if he could bring Aviean over to my house for dinner and I think you and I both know what the answer to that was.  I started some pasta (remind me to photograph Aviean eating pasta sometime because it is an image you will never forget) and, while I was cooking, got a call from Gosling and so I invited him over and then Marisa, my other cousin (and Aviean’s aunt) came home and then Cate, my other cousin, called to say she was done with grad school orientation and wanted to come over, too.

I went from being in bed to a party of six and it was fabulous.

The only un-fabulous part was that, right before I got the first call that someone was coming over, I took some of that Tylenol Simply Sleep stuff.  You know, the one that sets in within minutes?  Yeah, that was an interesting dinner.  I specifically remember Gosling doing something that made me say “That’s going on the blog” but, unfortunately, I can’t specifically remember what it was that he actually did thanks to the fact that I was taking a nap at the kitchen table while simultaneously finishing my dinner

I had made brownies for the group and, as Cate was finishing eating hers, I said “Listen, I’m not trying to be rude but I have to go to bed RIGHT NOW.”  You know you’re close to someone when you can be rude enough to tell them you’re going to bed even though they’re still sitting at your kitchen table.  Cate didn’t seem too upset.  Probably because I pulled the brownies out of the oven while they were still gooey just cause I know she likes them that way.

(If someone tells me they do NOT like their brownies gooey, I just can’t identify with them.)

(Like, I just don’t trust them, you know?  What type of person likes their brownies fully cooked?)

(I hope I haven’t offended you fully-cooked brownie people.  But, really, maybe it’s time you turned from your wicked ways and embraced the gooey, perhaps?)

I don’t know about you, but I had a pretty fabulous Mother’s Day.

What’s that I hear you asking on the other side of the screen?

You’re wanting to know why?

Well, maybe because it included a little of this…

and a little of that (that being my mother, who looks like my sister, I know)…

and even a wee bit of this, courtesy of a particular four year old in my life.

Tomorrow, I tell all including how I took a baby doll to Waffle House, kidnapped my mother and had Aviean jump on top of me so hard that it knocked me flat on my back in the booth at Dairy Queen.

In other words, just a regular Mother’s Day.

– — –

Other things I shall tell this week?

I think we better make a list so I won’t forget:

Details on my new roommate

(spoiler alert: it’s a human, not a puppy)

– — –

behind the scenes of my college girls’ graduation photo shoot

(spoiler alert: it involves a tennis court)

– — –

and how I attempted to introduce my mother to the song

“Hey, Soul Sister” by Train with, well, disastrous results

(spoiler alert: the story includes the work “ukulele” and “leprechaun.”)

Dear Anna, Carmen, Mary, Nina, SarahRuth

and all my other Starlite college girls graduating today,

I met most of you when you were “college babies,” eighteen years old and bright eyed.

You decided to be a volunteer in Starlite;

I, in turn, fell in love with each and every last one of you.

During some or all of your college years, you did far more

than just “volunteer” for Starlite.  You fed children, cleaned up spills,

wrote in journals, dished out processed nacho cheese

(I’m sorry, but I had to bring it up), cried with girls during altar calls,

taught what purity means, answered phones in the office,

raised support in cities, ran sleepovers for hundreds of girls at a time…

and so much more.

You didn’t do it because someone made you

and you certainly didn’t do it because someone was paying you,

unless you count the vats of processed nacho cheese as your payments

because, if you do,

I think it goes without saying that you are now rich beyond measure.

I’m sorry I had to bring up the processed nacho cheese thing again,

but really, it was a huge part of your college experience.

Hundreds, if not over a thousand, college girls volunteered their time

with Starlite at some point during our seven years of ministry.

As I looked through the list of names of students who will graduate

with you later this morning, I noticed that over 100 of the names

– a fourth of today’s graduating class — helped with Starlite at some

point or another during their time in college.

While I’ve found some of you to be similar, no two of you are the same.

And I think I like it that way.

I like that you’re different from each other

because that means you each have your own story.

There’s Carmen and the guys from the oil change service station,

Anna and the spoons in the front office of the yard,

SarahRuth and her games with the third grade girls,

Mary’s attempts at bringing maturity to our group…

and who could forget Nina with her

berries and cream dance on the sidewalk in front of our office?

Try as we may, we will never, ever

forget Nina’s berries and cream dance on the sidewalk.

You and I are a few years apart, but we’re still close enough in age

that we cry over the same hurts during Life Group on Monday evenings.

I still eat bowls of Apple Jacks with you in the college Dining Hall,

still know how big of a deal it is that the boy from Biology class

sent you that text and, believe it or not, still remember

what it feels like study until 3 in the morning.

But since I am a few years older than you,

I happen to know just a wee bit more than you when it comes to certain things,

especially the experience of graduating from college.

I know what it felt like when you woke up this morning

and thought “Today is the day I graduate.”

I know what it feels like to hear that your family has made it to town,

to look for your grandmother in the crowd,

to pose for a picture with your brother

while you hold your diploma in front of you.

It feels, in a word, incredible.

When you walk across that stage a couple of hours from now,

I will be watching you.

I know where your seats are in the crowd,

I know what order you are in as you walk to the stage.

And when the President says your name and you begin walking towards him,

hands outstretched to take your diploma,

I will be the one crying in the crowd.

I will be the one crying because I know so many

of the intimate details of the past four years of your lives.

I know your heartache and your disappointment and your joy.

I know how hard you worked

to pass that foreign language class, how you wanted

to drop the extra science class.

I know that your roommate gave you heck,

how your heart broke when your engagement ended.

I know the hard moments of the last four years of your lives.

But I also know something else, something that no other person

can collectively know about all of you at once.

Because I was with you when you served in Starlite,

I know the things you did for hundreds

of elementary, middle and high school girls

in ten different schools in our town.

I’m the one who knows each of your contributions,

who watched you individually and as a group.

But I think that, when you walk across that stage in a few minutes,

the most fascinating thing will be

all of the things I don’t know about.

I don’t know about who each of you will marry, how many babies you’ll have.

I don’t know what career field you’ll go into,

but I’d like to hope it’ll at least have

something to do with the degree you’re graduating with today.

I don’t know your future, but I can’t help to think that,

because of the seeds you’ve sown in your past,

it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that the future is bright for you.

There will be dark nights;

you’re about to go through a significant transition in life.

But there are good things ahead for each of you girls, I just know it.

Weddings, babies, careers, ministry and so very much more.

And I sure hope I’ll be the one photographing those moments of yours, too.

Love,

amy beth

I like to photograph lots of things, but I’ve yet to find something I love to photograph more than children (though, quite honestly, photographing weddings comes in with a close second place — and I have quite a few of them coming in these next few summer months!).

Remember how I went to North Carolina awhile ago to photograph some families?  Well, I finished editing their pictures a few weeks ago and thought you might like to see a few of them.  After all, who doesn’t enjoy looking at pictures of darling children?

I’m short on words today, because today is a 17-hour work day for me.  Yikes!

– — –

(Click on any photograph to view in large format.)

I believe the only proper way to tackle this would be via list format, obvs. –

1. Remember how I reluctantly took in a third puppy, whom I named Darling? And then I told you it was a wee bit hard to, you know, tame three puppies?  But not to worry because Cousin Cate was going to take Darling to her fiancé’s grandmother? And it all sounded too good to be true, mainly because it was?

Well, do I have a story for you.

Cate, after spending some quality time at my house and observing Darling in her natural habitat, decided that she was a bit too “intense” for her fiancé’s grandmother.  However, did Cate inform me of this?  No, no she did not.  Instead, I continued to keep Darling, waiting (rather impatiently at times) for Cate to pick up that darn dog and take her to her new owner while Cate, meanwhile, tried to figure out how to break the news to me gently that the puppy wasn’t going anywhere with her.

It was only this past Sunday evening, while I was eating dinner with Cate and her family, that the truth came out.  I mentioned something about Cate taking Darling and immediately saw looks of confusion come across Cate’s mom and dad’s faces.  Puzzled, I turned towards Cate and her face gave it all away.  I was, once again, stuck with the dog formerly known as Darling.

I say “formerly known” because the dog is now more widely known in my circle of friends as “the devil dog” because of various things she’s chosen to do including, but not limited to the following:

a. Running towards the kitchen trash can, leaping in the air and landing her entire body inside the trash can in a valiant attempt at obtaining whatever leftovers I have just thrown away.

b. Chewing up one of my college girl’s flip flops when we weren’t looking.

c. I can’t really think of a third thing right now, BUT TRUST ME, IT EXISTS AND SHE HAS MOST CERTAINLY DONE WHATEVER IT IS.

I decided that Darling had to go and that the best way to do it would be to take her to a local no-kill shelter.  That idea lasted for about 3.7 seconds until I started thinking about her sleeping in a cage that night, all alone, wondering why I had abandoned her.

Oh, the consequences of having a tender heart.  It leads you to puppies you can’t give up and boyfriends you should have never dated.

To complicate matters even further, I woke up in the night last night to find that Darling was sleeping next to me, with her arms and legs wrapped around my arm. People.  PEOPLE.  I am in over my head, up the creek without a paddle, etc.

So, whatever, she can stay this week.  BUT THAT DOES NOT MEAN I’M KEEPING HER.

– — –

2. Three of my college girls graduate in approximately 72 hours, with a fourth graduating later this summer.  Which means I really need to continue thwarting their efforts to obtain employment outside of the city I currently reside in.  Is it technically considered tampering with mail if the resumes and cover letters they mail off to other cities happen to “accidentally” never make it to their final destination?

If it is, don’t worry, I have a back-up plan; I’m listed as one of their references for various job opportunities.  My plan?  Simple: if the place of employment is in Cleveland, I’ll give them a good reference.  If it is more than 15 miles outside of our city limits?  Well, let’s just say that they’re not getting that great of a reference.

Oh, I kid.  Or do I?

– — –

3.  Remember about my obsession with playing Dr. Mario on the Wii? I sent a demo of the game to my father’s Wii and, just the other night, we played over our wireless connections and I beat him six games in a row.  I have no mercy when it comes to Dr. Mario.

Sorry, father.  I had to tell them lest someone erroneously think they could take me down in Dr. Mario.

– — –

4. That dog Darling is sitting beside me as I write this, looking at me with actual “puppy dog eyes.”  IN OVER MY HEAD, PEOPLE, IN OVER MY HEAD.

– — –

5. MacKenzie has suddenly decided that she enjoys using her father’s cell phone to call me which means that, before she goes to bed each night, we have a little chat about High School Musical, the boy who sits next to her in class and whether or not I can pick her up and take her to school the next morning.  Despite the many car rides she’s sat through when I’ve carted her back and forth between Cleveland and Knoxville, MacKenzie hasn’t really grasped the concept that she and I live over an hour away from each other so I can’t, you know, pick her up for breakfast each morning.  She’s currently keen on the idea of me moving to an apartment next to the one she shares with her dad but, please, like they would allow a girl and her three puppies.

While we’re on the subject of MacKenzie, I have decided that I need to make a list of everything I want to do with her on the weekends I have her this summer.  So far the list includes teaching her how to swim the butterfly stroke, taking her to an Amish farm to buy produce and possibly learning a few French phrases together.  You know, just typical summer activities that an eight year old would enjoy.

In other words, HELP.  PLEASE.  For the child’s sake?  In fact, in light of the fact that I need help so badly, I’m leaving the comments open on this post so that you can tell me what you do with your darling children during the summer months.

– — –

6.  I haven’t touched my velcro rollers in days. It’s like I’ve lost my will to have big hair or something.

– — –

7.  Or it could be the fact that I’m getting every moment of sleep possible given the fact that I’m working like a crazy woman this week who will have logged 70 – 80 hours by the end of this weekend because, hello, big events happening at the job.  Big hair, I have currently traded you for big events, but do not fret: I will return to you in due time.

We can end now that we’re on an odd number.  I just can’t end on an even one.  It just seems… wrong.

Not as wrong as flat hair, but still, wrong.

Oh, and remember to tell me what you do for fun with your children during the summer months, especially if it involves teaching them French even if you don’t know it yourself.  That’s totally normal, right?  Wait, right?

As I was writing last night’s post from bed, I started feeling unwell.  I was shaking, sick to my stomach, etc.  I have no idea whether it was the mono or anxiety, but I think it might have been the latter because I felt so nervous and, well, anxious. It kept getting worse and, around midnight, I had a tiny little breakdown.  I was just so frustrated with going to bed each night feeling physically ill and I genuinely felt like I just couldn’t handle it (although I’m not sure what other option there really is other than to just handle it).

People who have had mono will tell you that, sometimes at night, your muscles — mainly in your arms and legs — will ache unbearably.  I really don’t know how to describe it other than telling you it feels a bit like how you ache when you have the flu.  I can’t find anything to make it go away, though when I lay in bed at night dealing with it, I always imagine that having someone there to rub my arms or legs would help.  It happened again last night, in the middle of the anxiety, and I just started sobbing into my pillow because I am just so tired of trying to deal with physical pain alone.  There’s something about being in physical pain that seems to make the feeling of loneliness even more intense.

It’s a lesson I hope I don’t forget when others around me are in pain of their own.

– — –

Because I have no idea who reads my blog each day, unless the people reading tell me they read it, I sometimes forget that there are people out there who come to my blog each day looking to see if I’ve failed somehow.  They’re looking to see if I’ve admitted missing the mark, making the wrong decision, admitting that I sin.

Earlier tonight I read something someone had written about me and it caused my pride to flare up rather quickly.  The person knows me, but hasn’t had close contact with me in awhile and was enjoying reading about — and wanted to direct someone else to also come read about — heartache I’ve been through recently and written about.  I was outwardly furious, inwardly sickened.  I mean, who does that?

Actually, it turns out that I do that, too.  Wasn’t it just the other night that I admitted to you that I was happy about someone’s misfortune? It reminded me of a prayer that I’ve prayed before, especially when I find myself hurting about a judgment someone has made against me (whether it be true or untrue).  When I pray for Him to set me free from judgments made about me, I’m reminded that I need to ask Him help me set others free from the judgments I have made about them.

When I have a night like this, when I’m reminded of how badly it hurts to be found in someone’s line of judgment, it makes me wish there was a way to fill a room with people who I have judged just so I could go chair by chair, on my knees, begging for their forgiveness.  I’m not saying that I believe we should turn a blind eye to what is wrong or sinful; but the rest, the judgment that isn’t needed… if only I could rid myself of casting it onto people in my life.

I hope that I spend every day of the rest of my life getting rid of the pride left inside me.

– — –

It’s been nearly a month since I had seen Aviean last.  I haven’t blogged about it, because it’s been one of those things that’s just completely untouchable for me to write about.  I went from having her with me several evenings a week to… nothing.  I can’t even put the experience into words, but let me assure you that the experience bleeds through every day of the last month of my life.

A couple of weekends ago, when I was at the Beth Moore event, my friends and I were talking about who we’d like to have dinner with if we could choose anyone alive today.  I can think of a lot of people I’d love to chat with over a three course meal, different heroes of mine.  But as I sat there, listening to the other girls share their choices, I couldn’t help but think that I would have happily given up the opportunity to have dinner that evening with any human being on this planet if it meant I could have Goldfish crackers with Aviean for three minutes.

This afternoon, I looked up from my desk to find someone standing in my doorway asking if they could come in my office.  Before the person could even step inside, Aviean came running out from behind the person and threw herself into my arms.  I began crying the most earnest tears I’ve ever cried, all while telling Aviean that I was crying because I was so happy. She looked at me for several seconds and then, without saying anything, laid her head on my chest and just left it there.

There just aren’t words.  There just aren’t.