Almost everything I do for Aviean is for her benefit, not mine.

But not this beach trip.

– — –

I brought her along to distract me, to physically wear me out each day so I wouldn’t think about the fact that I am, at age 25, still the girl coming on family vacations without someone to bring along.

Oddly enough, I’m not embarrassed about it.  I’m just deeply disappointed.

I’ve spent a week on this island almost every year of my life.  There are pictures of me playing in the sand as a toddler, home videos of me jumping into the pool as a child.  As a teenager I listened to music while working on my tan and, as a college student, I sat on the shore at night writing in my journal.  I’ve always loved the ocean, mostly at night when it’s deserted.  I like sitting at the edge of the water, sand all around me, thinking about life.

Thinking about being in love.

– — –

No matter what state of relationships I’ve been in over the years, I have always left the ocean feeling like it — being in love, that is — would happen for me one day.  I have just always assumed — known?  believed? — that I would, one day, find myself sitting beside someone on this very beach, telling him about all the years I spent sitting by the waves at night, thinking of him before I even knew him.

But I don’t feel that way anymore.

I don’t know that it’s going to happen to me.  I just don’t.  I mean, I guess it could, but I feel less and less certain that it actually will.  I mean, it just hasn’t worked out the way I thought it would.  I did an undergraduate degree.  I finished a master’s degree.  I’ve started on a second graduate degree.  I work in a professional position at a place I love.  My home is organized.  I have two pets.  I volunteer for causes I believe in.

What else am I going to do in life if I don’t fall in love?

– — –

I’m so thankful to have had the chance to come on vacation this week, much less to have been able to bring someone along with me, even if she is four years old.  But this week has proved something I’ve suspected about myself for awhile, the fact that the younger, sweeter version of me that really believed in true love coming her way one day has, somehow, faded away.

As I was down by the beach tonight, I realized that I miss the old me, the girl who has spent a week of every year of the last decade of her life walking along the water at night, thinking about how one day she’d be able to love and be loved back.  It was a year ago this week that I went to bed in the very bed I’m writing from tonight, thinking about how surely, surely I was going to fall in love during the next calendar year, thus being able to bring someone with me on the next family vacation.  I was a few months shy of turning 25 and I was convinced — absolutely convinced — that there was no way God would let me stay single past 25.

But here I am a year later, no closer to being loved than I was a year ago.

And it made me dread coming on vacation, knowing that there would be no late night walks on the beach with someone who loved me, no dinners where my family gets to know someone in my life.  I couldn’t stand the thought that, once again, I was the only one left without someone, so I brought Aviean along, knowing that chasing after her in the pool and by the ocean would wear me out to the point where I might not think about being alone when I went to bed each night this week.

But it didn’t work.  I’m still thinking about it tonight.

1. I slept in my bathing suit last night so that I would be ready for the pool when I woke up this morning.  This alone has made me a hero in Aviean’s eyes.

2. Yesterday, I continually threw pennies into the deep end of the pool so that I could pretend like I was a diver when I went to retrieve them.  I am 25 years old.

3. It has come to my attention, through a series of text messages from one of my college girls, Cassidy, that it is possible to create the look of “beach hair” at home using a combination of products including sea salt.  I will investigate this upon my return to the mainland next week.

4. When I was a pre-teen (okay, when I was a teenager, too), I used to imagine that various members of the Backstreet Boys and N*Sync would randomly find me walking along the beach and fall in love with me during my one week stay on the island.

5. I still prefer to wear swim shoes when walking around in the ocean.

6. This week, I have perfected the ability to create voices for crabs, lobsters and, on occasion, dolphins.

7. I have also acted as a dolphin in the swimming pool for Aviean’s sake.  I can swim, roll over and do various tricks all with a simple command from a four year old.

8. Aviean has asked me no less than eight times how a baby comes out of a mommy’s belly.  I have assured her that her dad, my cousin, would love to explain that to her upon our return home.

9. I wear goggles when I dive for the pennies.  It makes me look more credible as a deep sea diver.

10. You may call me Scuba Sally, if you so desire.

We are having a very lovely time at the beach, Aviean and I.

Being at the beach makes me introspective.  Always has, always will.

Here is what I’m thinking about this week:

“The Lord God said,

“It is not good for the man to be alone.

I will make a helper suitable for him.”

Now the Lord God had formed out of the ground

all the beasts of the field and all the birds of the air…

… but for Adam, no suitable helper was found.”

Genesis 2:18, 19, 20b

– — –

Judging by how much is on my mind each evening,

I’d say there’s a couple of long posts coming your way sometime this week.

Maybe a bit about loneliness.

And singleness.

And the fact that I wish I could replicate beach hair at home.

But for now, I’m going to go eat breakfast and then go swim for awhile.

I may be on vacation this week,

but while little one is napping, I’m working.

Editing, writing, freelancing.  Photographs and words, two of my favorite things.

And here’s a sneak peek of the lovebirds I photographed a few weeks ago.

(Click any image to view in full size.)

Want more?  Visit their full sneak peek album here.

After quite a long drive, Aviean and I arrived at the beach last night!  We’re on Hilton Head Island for this week, staying in a big house with the paternal side of my family.  I was going to do Monday Mail questions this morning, but the pool is looking a bit more appealing than writing so I leave you with this gem:

A sweet blog reader, Cassie, happened to be in a bookstore when she happened upon this page in a storybook and felt she needed to send it to me:

Thank you, Cassie, for proving what I’ve suspected all along.  Big days mean big hair, indeed.

P.S. – I think the best part of being on vacation is that I don’t have to do my make-up or fix my hair all week long.

I’ve got a lot on my mind this early Friday morning as I’m trying to get details set in place for the next three weeks or so.   During that time, when I’m not at home, I’ll be photographing three weddings as well as either visiting or having shoots in Tennessee (Chattanooga and Knoxville), Georgia (Atlanta-area) and South Carolina (Savannah, Hilton Head, Myrtle Beach and surrounding areas).  I am, of course, not packed for any of this but I have greater things on my mind this morning.

Internet, we need to talk.  About rompers.

Perhaps you’re confused at why I would be wanting to discuss infant clothing with you but, alas, that is not the topic of our discussion this morning.  Are you aware that, in the last few weeks, the fashion industry has unleashed a new fad called “the romper” into clothing lines across our great nation?

My first experience with the romper came a few weeks ago when I went to a lingerie shower for a friend of mine.  There were several things at the lingerie shower that caused me to experience a great deal of bewilderment, most notably a cake of which design I still cannot remove from my mind some three weeks later.

(I have seen a lot of lingerie shower cakes in my day but this? This was unlike anything I had ever seen before.  I have no words to do it justice.)

(I mean, I couldn’t even eat a piece of the cake because I was so embarrassed.)

(And get this — as the resident photographer in the group, guess who’s job it was to photograph the cake?  Talk about images that will never see the light of day.)

But it wasn’t just the cake that was shocking at this lingerie shower.  Equally distracting?  The bride was wearing an adult-sized romper.

Here’s the problem: she looked fantastic in it.  She actually looked terrific and was wearing that romper in a way that practically screams for her picture to be taken and used as the cover for magazines about rompers.  She was stunning in the romper, likely because she is a size zero.  No, really.  She’s a size zero.  She told me the romper was from New York & Co. but, for all I know, she could have really bought it in the infant section, where they sell size zero clothes.

My issue with the romper is that, by its very nature, it is a terrible fashion choice for anyone over the age of seven months.  But when size zero girls begin frolicking around in their rompers, the average girl begins to think “Hey, maybe I need a romper, too.”  And before you know it, you’re standing in the women’s clothing department of Target facing the wrath of the romper in black and white print.

I’ll have you know that I risked being sucked into the world of the romper just to get my cellular device close enough to take the photo you see above.  If that does not prove my love for the internet, then I don’t know what could.

Marisa happened to be with me and, upon seeing the multiple displays of rompers (oh yes, there are MULTIPLE ROMPER DISPLAYS), remarked that she was going to make my day by trying one on.  After realizing what she said, she tried to back out but I have ears like a fox and had already heard her solemn promise to go where no sane woman has gone before, i.e. the Target dressing room, romper in hand.

It only took a few minutes for her to emerge, romper-ed like an infant.

She actually struck that pose for you, fully knowing this was going on my blog.  In fact, she told me that her only regret was that she didn’t have a pacifier to wear as a necklace to complete the look.

The other day, as I walked into a grocery store, I suddenly felt like I was supposed to pray for my ex-boyfriend and his fiancée which, as you can imagine, compelled me to drop to my knees right there in the Bi-Lo parking lot.

Actually, instead I nearly walked into a metal pole outside the store because I was so startled by what I thought I had heard God tell me to do.  I mean, frankly, He and I are already having a few problems of our own these days, so I couldn’t fathom that He would ask me to pray.  For my ex-boyfriend.  And his fiancée.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” I said under my breath, feeling bad that I had to be the one to inform Him that I wouldn’t be carrying out His wishes.   “I’m sorry, but that is just not going to happen.”

Oh, how He loves us.

Too much to let us stay how He finds us.

– — –

Let’s have a moment of public confession here.  Did I go to Memphis a few weekends ago to say goodbye to my friend Kelly before she moved to Africa for a year?

Well, yes.

Was I also perhaps motivated to distract myself by getting out of town because one of my two engaged ex-boyfriends (not the one mentioned above, but the other one) was getting married that very day?

Well, yes.

Researchers say that humans (and some animals) have a fight or flight response built into them.   When faced with a difficult situation, we either choose to stay and fight or take flight.  Most of the time, I choose to stay and fight, even if I do fight like a girl.

But when my ex-boyfriend is getting married, I apparently tend to take that whole “take flight” thing pretty literally, with a ticket stub from that weekend’s flight to Memphis to prove it.

– — –

While I’m glad I went to see Kelly, it probably wasn’t the wisest decision I’ve ever made.  Was I running a fever?  Well, no — but it wouldn’t have hurt me to spend another weekend resting at home instead of waiting in an airport.  Was it an expensive flight?  Well, no — but there are plenty of other places in my tight budget that I could have spent that money instead.

But was I trying to run from a fight with myself?  Well, yes.

I’m timid to write about this experience because a lot of people can’t understand why I would even care when an ex-boyfriend gets married to someone other than me, especially if I wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with him anyway.  I can understand that, but I bet there’s a lot of girls reading these words that get exactly what I was feeling the morning of their wedding.

I gave the puppies some water and put food in their bowl; was she eating something light because she was filled with nervous anticipation?

I took a shower and put my hair in a ponytail; was she finishing her make-up, placing the veil on top of her head?

I put on a long spring dress, one to wear as I took Aviean for a walk in the park before I left to catch my flight; was she stepping into her wedding gown?

I was bitter and angry and relieved and jealous and guilty and sad, all at the same time.  And then, as I stood at my bathroom sink, brushing my teeth, I heard words that could only have come from God.

“Pray for her, Amy Beth.”

Pray for her?

Pray for her?

Pray for her?

I nearly choked on my toothpaste, sure I was hearing something wrong.  I mean, surely God would be okay with letting me spend some time in bitterness and jealousy instead of praying for her?  Wait, right?

– — –

I prayed for her the rest of the day, every single time she came across my mind.  Don’t think too highly of me; those first few prayers were said through clenched teeth from a cold heart.  But as the day wore on, I can’t explain what happened, but I began to genuinely pray for her.  I prayed she wouldn’t be nervous, that her dress would sway just the way she imagined as a little girl.  I prayed that her guests would arrive on time and that he would cry when he saw her coming down the aisle.  I prayed prayers that I could have never, ever imagined myself praying.  I actually wanted good for her.

On Saturday evening, as I sat in the concourse waiting for my plane to arrive, I suddenly thought of something I hadn’t even thought of yet — that night, they would leave for their honeymoon.  Probably from the same airport I was currently sitting in.

I suddenly felt something just rise up in me, even though I tried to fight it.  It was a sorrow I don’t know how to describe, an admission that all my jealousy and anger over their marriage was really just a cover for how hurt I was that he chose someone instead of me.

He chose her, not me.  He chose her.  He wanted her more than he wanted me.  The same goes for my other ex-boyfriend, the one who will marry later this year.  He chose someone else, not me.  He chose her.  He wanted her more than he wanted me.

You don’t know how long it’s taken me to be able to admit that that’s what hurts me the most about everything — that I was taken off the shelf of singleness for a bit before being returned to my place while a better choice was purchased.  It reminds me of elementary school games of dodge ball, when two team captains would take turns picking their players from our class.

No girls wants to be the last one chosen.

– — –

I woke up in the night a couple of weeks ago, startled by a dream I had of myself walking down a path of train tracks.  In my dream, I kept leaving the tracks to try to chase down the two different boys I’ve dated, to try to convince them to come back and choose me.  At one point, while I stood alone in a barren field, I looked back towards the tracks to see Jesus urging me to come back to the path He had me on.  I shook my head and called out to Him that I couldn’t come, that I couldn’t make myself leave what I was chasing to come back to the tracks.  I just couldn’t give up the broken promises, shattered dreams and rejection, because then I’d really be left alone.

And that’s when I saw Him step off the tracks, walk down the hill and walk straight towards me in that field.  I turned and ran from Him because I was afraid of Him, but when He caught me, I found out that He didn’t have punishment in mind for me.

He wanted to carry me back to the tracks.

And I let Him, my head buried into His shoulder, earnestly crying in the way only a little girl can cry.  “But Jesus, didn’t You hear that boy tell me he loved me, not her?  Didn’t you see him promise to spend his life with me, not her?  Have you seen him mocking my heartbreak since then?  He makes fun of me!  He says cruel things about me!  He broke his promises to me and now he mocks me, Jesus!”

His reply wasn’t what I expected.  I expected Him to tell me that He understood, that He would take my side.  But, instead, I heard Him ask the last thing I expected to come out of His mouth –

“Would you give Me all of that, Amy Beth?”

I tried to wrangle my way out of His arms, angry and afraid.  Give Him all those promises and tears and feelings of rejection?  If I did that, I’d have to let go of them and how could I do that when they were all I had left to hold onto from those seasons of life?

I woke up from the dream then, startled and afraid.  Surely He didn’t mean it.  Surely He didn’t want me to give it all up, like actually let go of it?  Really? That certainly wasn’t in my original plan.

It would be cute to tell you that I handed it all over to Him during that midnight moment, but that wouldn’t be the truth.  The truth is that I’ve handed it over piece by piece, a little bit each day.  There hasn’t been a significant moment when I’ve handed everything over; no, just small moments in airport terminals and grocery store parking lots when I realize that I don’t want to live bitter from rejection.

Oh, how He loves me.

Too much to let me stay how He found me.

I recently had the opportunity to photograph Braylin, age four.

Red hair, hands on hips, cute dress-up skirts?  Check, check, check!

Here’s a few of my favorites from my evening with Miss Braylin.

(Click any image to view in full-size.)

View more images from Braylin’s shoot here.

– — –

Oh, but that’s not all I’ve been up to lately.

Blake and Ally, who live in downtown Chattanooga, are engaged!

I’m shooting their wedding this weekend,

so we decided to have a little engagement shoot not too long ago.

(Click any image to view in full-size.)

View more images from Blake and Ally’s shoot here.

– — –

Upcoming shoots in

Tennessee, Georgia and South Carolina

+

three weddings in three weekends

=

busy girl!

I’ve got my college girls on my mind this morning because I was supposed to have them over last night for our weekly Life Group, which I had to cancel when my medicine decided to declare war on my body last night.  Thinking about them this morning made me realize I’ve still never told you about the sleepover I threw for them right before school let out!  Later is better than never, right?

If you’ll remember, I held the sleepover right in the middle of me driving back and forth between my house and Olivia’s hospital room. It certainly wasn’t the best time to be holding a sleepover but I was afraid that, if I didn’t do it before their final exams began, there wouldn’t be a time when all of them could be together.  And so, before they even arrived, I was sleep deprived.  In other words, not exactly the way you want to be before you invite a group of wild college girls to invade your home.

Also, I hadn’t done laundry in awhile.  And it was sitting in the floor of my kitchen.  And I didn’t get home from work in time to put it away before they arrived.

I would like to remind you that I was sleep deprived before you begin judging me for the laundry.  I love doing laundry; in fact, I’ve been known to do Gosling’s laundry for him, simply because I love it so much and he hates it so much.  Riddle me this: a single girl in her twenties who happily does other people’s laundry, even when she’s not in love with them?  WHY AM I STILL ON THE DATING MARKET, PEOPLE, WHY?

In other news, the sleepover was a smashing success.

Especially when I pulled my mattress into the living room floor so we could watch a movie in style.

Sadly, I didn’t get pictures of all my girls who were there but I did manage to get pictures of the food.  Priorities in order?  You better believe it.

For Friday night, we had a variety of snacks from popcorn to movie theater candy to chips to cookies to breadsticks… let’s just say that no one went hungry.

But, alas, the movie was not enough entertainment for the girls and so we found ourselves playing a game of Truth and Dare which ended up with Keri being dared to jump into the pile of laundry.

I was laughing too hard to get an non-blurry photograph.  I do so hope you understand.

Around midnight, I told the girls that they were welcome to stay up as late as they wanted but that my old self was going to bed.  I’m aware that it might have not been the most gracious thing for a host to say to her guests, but please, they had already jumped into a pile of my dirty laundry a few minutes before.  I think we were past the point of winning the award for hostest with the mostest.

For what it’s worth, I woke up early on Saturday morning and attempted to make up for the laundry by fixing them breakfast fit for queens.  Or hungry college girls.

Please be sure you notice my toast holder in this next picture.  Have you ever seen anything more darling?  I think not.

I made some cinnamon rolls (you can see a peek of them in the background of this next photo), but the strawberries served in margarita glasses were definitely the hit of breakfast.  I’m going to be honest and tell you that I just had to do some research to make sure those are actually margarita glasses since I don’t drink.  Why, I must be the coolest 20-something girl you know, no?

I love strawberries.  In fact, I think that I’m going to declare this summer as the Summer of the Strawberry.  Last year was the Summer of the Side Ponytail, which will be difficult to beat, but I hope you will join me in enjoying strawberries at every possible moment this summer as we celebrate The Summer of the Strawberry together in one accord.

I will award you bonus points if you eat them whilst wearing your hair in a side ponytail.  What can I say?  I like to give honor where honor is due.

It’s time for another round of your questions!

How old were you when your parents divorced?  Do you still see your father?  Do you have any siblings?  If so, are you close with them?  And, finally, how do you pronounce Aviean?

I was five when my parents divorced.  Here’s the deal: being a child of divorce — and all of the effects it has on a girl’s life — is certainly one of the biggest parts of my life, even to this very day.  Ironically, I don’t blog about it because I’m not sure if that would be respectful to my parents.   I wish I could, though, because there are so many things about the experience of being a child of divorce that has influenced choices I’ve made and desires I have now — I think it would explain a lot more about me.

With all of that said, I do see my father — and my mother — whenever it works out for them and/or me.  Since they divorced while I was young, I don’t really know what it’s like to have a mother and father figure in the same room at the same time.  Like many children of divorce, my relationship with each of them is completely separate from my relationship with the other parent… but that’s just how it usually is with divorce.  In my mind, I don’t connect my mother and father together at all; they’re completely separate entities from each other.

I have one brother, who is in his twenties.  I also have a step-sister from my dad’s remarriage and three step-siblings from my mom’s remarriage.  I grew up seeing my step-sister whenever I was visiting my dad’s house, but since we live in different areas now, we don’t really see or talk that much unfortunately.  I don’t know my other three step-siblings very well at all, but I have met them a couple of different times since my mother’s marriage last year.

Aviean is pronounced Avee-un.  At the very beginning of this video, I say “Hello, Aviean” in case you want to hear how many syllables my southern accent can draw out of one word.  The fact that you get to hear Aviean say “Hwelllo, Amy Beff” in return in the video is simply a bonus.

Did Roomie and Baby move out?  I just started reading your blog and wasn’t sure.

If you haven’t read my blog for awhile, you probably don’t know what this question is referring to. In 2008, a former roommate of mine from college moved back to my town to live with me while she was pregnant.  We had a fun few months together; after she had the baby, she decided to move to a different state to raise her baby.

While she lived with me, I blogged about her story of living with me with her permission.  Once she left, I didn’t have the ability to ask for that permission any more, so I rarely mentioned her.  I will say this though: you would not believe how God used that entire experience in my life to pull junk out of me that I didn’t even know was there.  Having her live with me and then leave turned out to be one of the most refining experiences of my life.

Do you have a photography business or do you just do it for fun?

I began doing it for fun, but now I’m being asked to do family shoots, weddings, etc.  The main reason I like photography is that it allows me to attempt to be creative; the fact that it will probably help me bring in extra income would be a bonus.  I’d like to be able to do more for the girls (MacKenzie, Aviean, Angelina, Juliana and Olivia) than I can right now; plus, I’d like to pay down my student loans, too.  I don’t have any plans to do photography as a full-time job, but I enjoy doing it on the side.

On that note, I’m going to be doing various shoots in East Tennessee, South Carolina (a couple of different areas) and Georgia (a couple of different areas, again!) in the next three weeks.  If you’re interested in a shoot, please email me this week (amybethbullard AT gmail DOT com) because I start the shoots this coming weekend!

How do you edit your photos?

and

What editing software do you use?

and

What type of camera do you have?

When I began taking pictures of MacKenzie just so I’d have something to show her one day down the road, I used a regular point-and-shoot digital camera.  You’d be amazed what you can do with an inexpensive camera and no professional editing software; most of what you’ve seen on the blog before the last few months was shot with an inexpensive camera including these and these.

I recently switched to a SLR camera, particularly a Nikon D5000.  I also now edit using Lightroom, mainly because I find it way easier to use than Photoshop.  As far as “how” I edit, I usually just adjust the pictures to something I or the client wants (I always ask them if they want bright pictures or muted pictures, etc.).  I’m certainly not “great” at photography, but I like to play around with it.

Would you like to play hide and seek in the zoo or in Ikea?

I don’t know that I’ve ever mentioned this before, but I hate playing hide and seek.  I absolutely hate it when people jump out and scare me (cough, Gosling, cough).  In middle school, our youth group used to go play Laser Tag and it was the longest seven minutes of my life as I hid in a corner, hoping no one would scare me.  Lame.

If I had to pick between the zoo or Ikea, I’d definitely pick Ikea so I could take a nap in one of the beds while I waited for someone to find me.  But I wouldn’t be happy about it.

Whatever happened to British Boy?

British Boy, former pretend love of my life, is doing well and dating a really sweet girl.  If I could sing well, I would now launch into a rendition of “My Heart Will Go On” from Titanic.

In all seriousness, the whole series of posts about British Boy, Trey, etc. were all written tongue-in-cheek but, judging by the emails I’ve received about them, I’m not sure everyone picked up on that.  Trust me, when I’m writing about being in a dating relationship, YOU WILL KNOW IT.  BECAUSE IT WILL BE IN ALL CAPS.  LIKE, THE ENTIRE POST.  AND IT WILL HAVE LOTS OF EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Of course, since most of you are in your 20s, 30s or 40s, you may have gone blind by the time a relationship comes around for me sixty years from now.  But perhaps someone in your nursing home could read the post to you?

Have a question for Monday Mail?  Submit it here.