Telling myself that I’m waiting on British Boyfriend to get here so we can put the Christmas decorations up together has been an excellent way to excuse away why I haven’t started getting ready for Christmas.  Sure, I’ve done a little shopping here and there but, for the most part, my home and life don’t show many outwardly reflections of Christmas so far this year.  It’s because of the Fab Five, of course.

This time last year, the decorations had already been up for a couple of weeks.  We had already driven to a nearby town to pick out a live Christmas tree.  I had already started plotting how I was going to buy Christmas gifts for five little girls while also buying double gifts for three of the girls so their father would have something to give them of his own.  I hung five pink stockings in their bedroom and let them dance around my living room way past their bedtimes.  To say it was magical would be putting it too lightly; it was, I think, one of the best times of my life.

But it wasn’t Christmas that made it the best time of my life.  It was just having the five girls in my life that made it the best season of my life so far.  I’ve had the fun of college, the accomplishment of a master’s degree, the satisfaction of a budding career but none of it has compared to the months I had those five little girls in my life.  I’ve spent the better portion of this year trying to figure out what it was about them that meant that much to me and I’ve come to a few conclusions: they needed me, I loved them dearly, etc.  Maybe my love for them was because I needed to be needed or maybe it was because I saw a little of myself in each of the girls and wanted to go back in my history to right a few wrongs.

But, even if those things were true, ten months of soul searching has shown me this: I loved those little girls purely and fiercely.

I am terrible at letting go of the past, of seasons of my life; the archives of this blog prove it.  A few nights ago, I was looking for a file on my computer when I accidentally came across a folder full of pictures from my Christmas with the fab five.  Typically, when I see things that remind me of them, I look away but this time I couldn’t help myself.  I went through each picture in the folder and, when I was done, I went through them one more time.  I remembered every little detail in the pictures from the day I bought their footie pajamas to the way they squealed as they opened their gifts.  When I couldn’t take anymore, I walked into my bedroom, got into my bed and begged God to help me understand why.  I’ve asked Him that same question so many times now and, to be honest, I guess I haven’t expected that He’ll answer me.

But, this past Saturday, He did.

It all happened within six hours.  From a Facebook picture someone had carelessly posted to a phone call to a chance run-in at a local store, I understood in a way I haven’t understood before.  I won’t post details of what I saw and heard here, but my questions were answered with this simple conclusion: when adults break, the falling shards of life often break children, too.

And I think that what makes me care so much about the fab five and the foster children is that, even though I’m no longer a child myself, I know what brokenness feels like.  Last night, I literally cried myself to sleep because of the brokenness in a relationship with a loved one of my own.  My boyfriend is wonderful, my job is fulfilling but none of those things seem to matter when there is dysfunction between you and someone you love.  I used to believe that God could restore any relationship, but something about the past few years of looking dysfunction and brokenness straight in the face and seeing its victims sleeping in the bunk bed down the hall and my own face in the mirror has broken me.  It embarrasses me to say it, but I think my optimism (faith?) is just about depleted.  Maybe there is healing in brokenness out there; I’d like to think so.

But if God really is in the business of restoring broken things, I sure wish He’d ask me for my Christmas list this year.  I’ve got eight children’s names, some loved ones’ names and my own to put on that list for Him.

At the end of last week, I showed you the first peek at Cousin Cate’s wedding.  I’m back today with the second half, which includes some questionable photos from the bouquet toss.  This should be delightful.

Cate’s wedding and reception were held at the same facility.  Her wedding was outside and, unfortunately, I don’t have pictures of it as I was, you know, standing up there with her.  It was a really pretty ceremony and, when it was done, it was time for the fun to begin.  Take a look at the inside of her reception venue!

In case you can’t figure it out, that’s the inside of a barn.  With the gorgeous decor inside, it ended up looking both glamorous and chic rustic, which is a good way to describe Cate.  Once everybody had a bite to eat, it was time for the dancing to begin.  My favorite part was when Cate started dancing with her dad.  She had arranged for a screen to be placed behind them and, as they danced, a video from her childhood began playing behind her.  In the video, Cate is a toddler and is dancing with her father.  When I saw the video start playing and Cate begin sobbing, I lost it.  It was one of the best father-daughter moments I’ve ever seen — and that’s saying a lot because, this year alone, I’ve photographed 19 weddings!

Cate also had a video that played that showed moments from her (and her groom’s) lives.  One of my favorite pictures that flashed onto the screen was the one below.  If you look closely, you can see Cate “driving” a pink car through her living room while wearing a wedding veil.  I think she told me she was four when this was taken.

Later on in the video, Cate showed some images from the day she went to welcome Spencer home from Iraq.  Do you remember that?  She and I drove to Atlanta with my camera in tow and this is what happened.

And then it was time to hit the dance floor!  Cate and Cara, two of my favorite people…

This is one of my favorite pictures ever.  Kimberly, who was one of my college roommates, caught Cate’s bouquet.  As you can see, Cara and I were not about to let our chances go that easily.

Before long, it was time to send Cate off.  I don’t want to talk about how much I cried.

Luckily for me, Cara and Kimberly spent the night again and didn’t leave until the next day.  That meant one thing: breakfast at Cracker Barrel!

Weddings bring friends together.  I like that.

The fact that Cousin Cate got married in July and I’m just now posting about it in December is a testament to just how little I’ve blogged this half of the year.  When Cate got married, I was in the throes of foster care and heading into two very busy months of work with my “real job” and my photography business.  Somehow I missed posting about her wedding but, now that I’m inching back into the blogging waters, I knew you’d want to see some shots from her big day.

One of the best parts about Cate getting married was that it meant a lot of our mutual friends came in town!  I had a pretty full home at the time thanks to foster care, but I had room to squeeze two friends in — Cara and Kimberly.  They came in a couple of nights before the wedding and I had a little basket of goodies waiting on my kitchen table for them.  I love doing this kind of stuff!

Two nights before the wedding, we had Cate’s bachelorette party.  Her cousin Emily did a great job organizing everything!  We decided to mix things up a bit and combined the bachelorette party with the lingerie shower so that everyone could be in town for the parties.  Here’s Cate right before she started opening her lingerie shower gifts!

For my gift to Cate, I wanted to do something fun and sweet at the same time.  I decided on a three-tier of gifts with the top two being fun (very, very fun) and the last one being sweet (her wedding night apparel).

I love this picture because of Cate’s face when she saw my second “fun” gift.

Cate’s friend Jessica was there and I loved getting to see her.  Jessica and I have become friends through Cate and I always like when she has an excuse to come visit us!

After we finished with the party, everyone loaded up to head to downtown Chattanooga for a fancy dinner at a new Italian restaurant.  I’m not sure how this photo got taken while I was getting into my car (and talking to Cara), but I want to assure you that I didn’t wear the mask into the restaurant.

The next day, the bridesmaids all had a nice lunch together but I didn’t get to attend.  I couldn’t believe the timing of everything, but I had something going on at work that I had to be there for.  As fate would have it, that morning a spider bit me on the foot and I ended up having to go to the doctor because my foot and throat started swelling.  The doctor felt like the bite had been poisonous so he gave me two shots and some oral medicine and sent me home to go to sleep.  He told me that if I didn’t go home and elevate my foot for the rest of the night, I would spend Cate’s wedding in the emergency room.  I decided that it wasn’t a risk I wanted to take so, instead of going to the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner, I stayed home on the couch with my foot on a pillow, sobbing the whole time because I felt like I was letting Cate down by not being there for her rehearsal and dinner.  I was already emotional about Cate’s wedding because she was moving away, we had hoped part of the Fab Five would be her flowergirls, etc. but this just sent me over the edge.

Luckily, the next morning, my foot looked WAY better.  I woke up early and headed out to the wedding venue to start getting ready with Cate.

While Cate was getting ready, I slipped her a little package I had brought for her wedding day.  A few days before her wedding, I went to a store in Chattanooga and bought a charm bracelet for Cate.  I picked out a charm that had special meaning for her wedding day, had it engraved and then had it put in a silver, engraved jewelry box that showed her name and wedding date.

Then we both started crying, happy tears because she was getting married and sad tears because she was moving away.  I don’t do well with change.

Before long, we both had our hair and make-up done and were starting to get ready.

And then it was time for her to slip into her dress!

Here’s a close-up of her dress.  Isn’t it beautiful?  It fit her perfectly.

Before long, it was time for everything to get started.  I’ll be back on Monday to show you the rest of the day, including a classy little shot of me diving for the bouquet with a threatening look on my face.

Well, it’s been awhile since I’ve mentioned that British Boyfriend of mine.  Normally when I don’t mention something, it’s usually because something is amiss and doesn’t need to be dragged onto the world wide web (see: foster care).  But I’m happy to report that, in this case, that couldn’t be further from the truth.  Things with British Boyfriend are going, as he would say, brilliantly.

Let me catch you up.  In September, I flew to the United Kingdom to spend some time with him thanks to a generous gift of a buddy pass from Gosling’s mother who happens to be a flight attendant.  (Speaking of Gosling, he’s now living in El Salvador where he is teaching middle and high school students.  We get to Skype every once in awhile and he’s doing very well down there.)

About a month after I returned from the United Kingdom, British Boyfriend flew here to visit me for ten days.  I was already scheduled to photograph a wedding at Disney World by the time we knew he was coming, so almost as soon as he got here, he and I boarded a flight to Florida.  After shooting the wedding, we got to spend two days at the theme parks bouncing from one ride to another while having the time of our lives.

We then flew back to Tennessee so I could work a bit and then took the latter half of the week off so I could take him to Knoxville to meet my family and some friends of mine.  At the end of the ten days, in late October, he flew back to London.  Exactly fifteen days from now, he’ll be back here in Tennessee where we’ll get to spend an unprecedented fifteen days together.  With seven days in September, ten in October and fifteen in December, we’re feeling like lucky ducklings lately.  We’re still trying to figure out our “visiting schedule” for 2012 while keeping a close eye on flight sales and our bank accounts.

In between our visits, we talk every day.  We always talk via phone thanks to a really good international plan I have and we also talk by Skype and email quite a bit.  The time change makes it difficult to talk for long periods during weekdays, but we make up for it on the weekends around my photography schedule.  It isn’t a perfect situation, but so far, I’ve surprised myself by not having any big “I hate long distance!” breakdowns.  Long distance relationships have their own set of problems, especially for someone like me who tends to let fear of the unknown sway her.  Sometimes late at night, when I’m trying to fall asleep and he’s already halfway through his night, I get a little panicked and nervous about the future when I start replaying people’s “advice” to me (i.e. “you never know someone until you live with them,” etc.).  But then I remind myself that we’re putting a lot of effort into really getting to know each other and working through the realities of life together — even though we’re not physically together.  We’ve talked and worked through financial issues, emotional issues and even parenting issues (hello, foster care) and, so far, we’ve stayed strong without fighting and such.

I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that British Boyfriend is an exceptional man.  I haven’t written a lot about him on the blog because I’m in a season where I’m questioning how much of my life I want to put on the internet.  But another reason I haven’t written about him too much is because I’m kind of still in awe and not sure of what all to say about him.  He is unlike anything I’ve known before, with his calmness, patience and non-dysfunction.  Maybe it’s just been because I’ve spent so long dealing with dysfunctional people (and dysfunction in my own life) but it’s kind of amazing when you meet someone who is rather functional in life.  It’s amazing and even a bit scary all at the same time.

And there you have it, a boyfriend update.  Tomorrow morning I bring you Cate’s wedding, also known as “The Day She Had Bigger Hair Than Me.”  Trust me, you won’t want to miss that.

I have a plan.

How about, this week, I tell you about these two things:

Cousin Cate’s wedding and my boyfriend?  Does that sound like a good plan?

(I’m telling you this here so I have to actually do it.)

– — –

Get this — I had gotten all excited about blogging and was gathering up pictures to write some posts

when a friend of mine mentioned that someone had written a “mean girls” post about me on a hate blog.

I wanted to go find that post and defend myself, because that’s what I like to do, you know.

I came straight home and tried to find the post.

But I couldn’t find it, which is probably a good thing.

But still.

I hate that I would even care at all that some anonymous person

would write ugly things about me behind a pseudonym.

That kind of stuff takes the joy right out of blogging

right when I was finally getting the joy back.

But the worst part?

The fact that I even cared about what someone anonymously said about me

means I still haven’t reached the point where

the opinion of man doesn’t affect me.

You know what this means, don’t you?

It means I’ve still got some growing and developing and refining to do as an adult.

DANG IT.

Late summer and early fall in my life, when I wasn’t blogging much, was full with work, taking care of Mr. Four Year Old and preparing Miss Eighteen for her big transition in life: moving out of my home and attending college.

I’ve already mentioned that we moved Miss Eighteen into a house about 27 feet from my front door because the state wouldn’t allow her to keep living with me when she turned 18.  She wasn’t keen on living far away from me at the time and it made perfect sense to keep her close by since I would continue raising her son while she tried to adjust to the freedoms that come with turning eighteen.  The state of Tennessee makes certain allowances for foster children when they come of age and Miss Eighteen was poised to reap the fruits of what the state had to offer from college tuition paid to a free laptop to a monthly “independent living allowance” that, on its own, completely paid for her rent, utilities and other bills.

Of course, to qualify for all of this, there was a mountain of paperwork.  When I first saw the list of tasks we had to complete for the state, I felt a bit lightheaded.  I love lists, mainly because I love to check items off them and feel a sense of accomplishment.  But when I saw what we had to do to get this girl out of state’s custody and on her own… well, even I was overwhelmed.

We registered for classes, turned in custody papers and confirmed vaccinations at the Health Department.  We sent in forms to the state and, when they “never arrived,” I drove the copies to their office an hour away and spent the better part of an hour standing in a lobby until the right state employee came out to accept the paperwork from me.  We set-up financial aid, met the director of the college’s nursing program and opened her very own checking account.  She completed parenting classes, substance abuse classes and a host of other requirements.  We hit the ground running and didn’t look back until every single stamp of approval was given to us.

But, of course, it didn’t stop there.

At the state’s requirement, Miss Eighteen had to move out of my home and into a small residence of her own.  To get her ready for that, we completed a whole other list of requirements our DCS office gave us.  We looked at apartments, signed a lease, scoured Craig’s List, taught (me) and learned (her) about pro-rated rent and the legalities of a rental agreement, etc.  With a single foster mama budget plus a whole lot of people that cared about her, we procured the basic furniture, cooking supplies, cleaning items, etc. that Miss Eighteen had to have in her home in order to fulfill a state requirement for her son to be eventually granted into her custody.  We had late night talks on my bed about what it meant to move out and be on your own.  We talked candidly about the freedom of having your own apartment and not having anyone watching your day-to-day actions.  We hit the college sales at Target and bought $3 mirrors, $2 trashcans and $1 packs of hangers for her new closet.  We discussed decorating schemes and she picked zebra with a hint of purple and pink.  We moved her into her new place where she could look out her kitchen window and see straight into my kitchen window.  She had a safe place to live, a free college education and more money than she needed for bills.  It was a perfect solution, or so we all — case workers, myself, etc. — thought.

That was a little over three months ago.  The days since then have been long and hard.  With a series of small decisions and then one really bad decision, she lost it all.  Everything she worked for, everything I worked for… it was gone so quickly.  I replaced my former to-do list with a new one: turn off her utilities; clean out her apartment; give back all the borrowed furniture.  Notify the part-time job, notify the college, notify the day care.  I’ve been doing those things and plenty more over the past three weeks and, within a few days, I’ll finally be done.  Earlier this week I obtained an order of protection after Miss Eighteen chose to tell a case worker that she was going to “come after [me] with a baseball bat.”  I realize this is coming from a person whose mind is being greatly influenced by substance abuse, but for me, it was all I needed to close the door that I had opened for her this past February.  It is no longer emotionally, mentally or physically safe for me to invest in this person’s life and, even though what I’m about to say goes against my very nature, it’s time to completely let go of this person.  I’m ready to be irrevocably done with Miss Eighteen and, thankfully, the judge agreed with my plea.  Other than a couple of loose ends to tie up, I really am done.

And I’m shocked by how relieved I feel.

After visiting Marisa and baby in the hospital on Friday night, I realized that I had a free weekend.  On Saturday morning, I hit the ground running with a list of errands I wanted to accomplish.  I picked up my mail at the Post Office, dropped a deposit off at the bank, went by the vet’s office to buy some dog food, etc.  Honestly, I was just trying to keep myself busy while I struggled with a decision I needed to make: whether or not I was going to go visit Miss Eighteen in jail.

The jail she is in (which is two counties away from my town) only offers one visiting time a week for female inmates.  I saw Miss Eighteen right after she was arrested for a four minute visit; since then, the visiting hours have been canceled two weeks in a row due to events happening near the jail that caused the streets to be blocked.  I had called ahead on Friday to confirm that visiting hours would be taking place this past Saturday, but asked the warden to not let Miss Eighteen know I was considering coming in case I decided not to go.

After I finished all my errands, I pulled into a parking lot to make a decision.  I either needed to head to the jail then (to make it before visiting hours ended) or not go at all.  I sat there, mentally weighing my options, and decided that I was going to go simply because I was concerned that no one else would be going to visit her.  This girl has put me through emotional and financial hell, but at the end of the day, she honestly doesn’t have anyone left but me and her case workers.  As I pulled out of the parking lot, I couldn’t help but thinking I was making a big mistake.

During the 45 minute drive to the jail, my stomach twisted into knots.  Based on reception to me the other time I had come, right after she was admitted and wanted to blame her consequences on everyone but herself, I had a sinking feeling that she might refuse to even see me.  I mentally prepared myself the whole way there and, by the time I had pulled into the parking lot, I had resigned myself to the fact that I had driven myself straight into heartache.

The parking lot was a zoo.  The jail she is in is overcrowded and doesn’t have a waiting room, so you have to go inside, sign yourself in and then go stand in the parking lot until a guard calls your name.  Once I had signed myself in, I went and stood next to my car, hoping the wait wouldn’t be too long.  Meanwhile, I watched as the prisoners peered out tiny window slots, looking to see if their family was there to visit them.  The window panes were so small that only one face could be seen at a time and I noticed that, out of the 20 or so faces that took turns looking out the window, none of them were of the girl I have come to love as a daughter.

After about twenty minutes had passed, there was a sudden banging on the window where the female inmates were housed.  Everyone looked up and, to my disbelief, I saw Miss Eighteen staring out at me, motioning frantically to get my attention.  She looked shocked to see me standing there in my leggings and big sunglasses and quickly made a “wait a minute” sign with her hand.  A couple of moments later, she returned to the window and pressed a piece of notebook paper up to it so I could see her handwritten message to me.  In handwriting I recognized from the card she gave me this past Mother’s Day, I saw her simple note –

“I’m so glad you came.  I’m sorry.”

She pulled the paper away from the window and looked at me with big eyes, waiting to see my reaction.  Everyone in the parking lot was staring at me and all I could manage to do was nod my head that yes, I saw her message.  I walked to the other side of the parking lot, where I wouldn’t have to watch her staring at me through the window pane, and took a seat on a bench next to a woman who was waiting to see her own daughter.  We both sat there for another 1.5 hours, waiting, and occasionally offering up some effort at conversation.  At no point in the 1.5 hours did I tell her my name or did she tell me hers, yet we shared a bench and a Saturday afternoon task that neither of us wanted to have.  Her name was called before mine and I was still sitting on that bench when she came stumbling out of the jail fifteen minutes later, tears coursing down her face.  She wished me luck, got into her car and drove away.

I was the last to be called and I was taken into a room where two other people sat waiting to see their loved ones.  Before long, Miss Eighteen was seated in front of me with thick glass separating us.  We sat there for the first two minutes not talking and then, slowly, I asked her how she was doing.  She went on to tell me that she’s in a cell designed to hold four inmates that is currently holding eight other women, something I verified later with the warden.  She’s at the “bottom of the food chain,” so instead of getting one of the four beds in the cell, she instead has a corner with a mat that lost its stuffing many weeks ago.  There’s no pillows allowed in the cell and now no towels, either, after two of the women tried to use them to commit suicide.

The visit was painfully awkward.  She, through tears, told me that she’s at her rock bottom and that she’s learned her lesson after eighteen days of jail.  I just said there, listening, and not really saying much.  I have the ability to get her out of there at any moment through a release program the judge has offered, but I have refused to do it and have no plans to do it.  I know that may sound harsh, but I’ve made that decision based on information and advice from the case workers, none of whom think it would be a good idea for me to intervene at this point.  I have tried desperately to hear true remorse in her voice but all I can hear is plans to pawn car titles for bail money and reasons why the judge should drop the charges against her.

When our fifteen minutes was up, I headed out to my car to retrieve some underwear and socks I had bought for her after one of the kind-hearted guards had quietly mentioned to me that she was in need.  I gave them to the clerk at the desk and headed back out to my car to start the drive back to my house.  As I was walking to my car, I heard the same banging I had heard hours earlier and looked up at the window to see her peering out at me.  Through tears, she flashed the sign for “I love you” through the window.  I held up my hand and made the sign back to her and then got in my car and, knowing she was watching, drove away with absolutely no feelings whatsoever.

When does love give up?

Well, internet, that cousin of mine had a baby yesterday after a very, very long day of effort on her part.

I got to sit with her for awhile yesterday morning while she went through a few hours of labor with no epidural.  On one hand, the scene playing out in front of me was horrifying.  On the other hand, Marisa and I played baby dolls for YEARS as children and this was like the ultimate “let’s play with our baby dolls, Marisa!” moment.  I kept reverting back into my childhood and thinking about the untold hours Marisa and I spent “diapering” and “feeding” our “babies.”  I had to bite my tongue to keep the eight year old girl inside of me from yelling “this is EPIC!” every time Marisa had a contraction because I didn’t think she’d appreciate the sentiment in the moment.  But really.  EPIC.

The only problem I’ve noticed so far with baby Rylan’s arrival is that I seem to have contracted a case of baby fever that may or may not be causing British Boyfriend to break out in a cold sweat every time I bring up the topic in our phone conversations.  Ooopsies.

Well, it’s baby day here in Tennessee!  My cousin Marisa went into the hospital a few hours ago to be induced.  Little Rylan apparently enjoys his womb with a view but we’re giving that baby an eviction notice today.

In honor of baby day, I thought I’d show you a few pictures I took at Marisa’s baby shower.  We gave her a shower a few weeks ago and had the best time.  The day of her shower was a crazy day for me; I had two shoots in Chattanooga on either side of the time of the shower so I went back and forth between the towns trying to be at everything.  I ended up being able to only stay at the shower for about half of it, but I got to be there for the best part — gifts!

My mom gave Marisa a br**st pump.  Have you ever seen someone look so happy to be given a device that will put her through untold hours of torture?

For my gift for Marisa, I went with a whole basket theme.  I picked out a basket that matched the nursery decor and then went with a theme of “sock monkey.”  When Marisa and I were kids, she loved the sock monkey so I thought it is only natural that we continue the family tradition.  Also, I hope you’ll note that this picture was taken in the backseat of my car.  I like to get fancy with my photography studios, you know.

Of course, for a sock monkey basket, we had to have an actual sock monkey…

In the bottom of the basket, I layered packages of baby wipes and then placed a designer maternity gown on top that Marisa has had her eye on for awhile.  For the record, I can guarantee that, even though Marisa is currently in labor at the time I’m typing these words, I’m certain she’s looking better than me right now.  The girl just doesn’t have an “off” day, designer maternity gown or not.

I filled the basket with various things from her registries but the really special gift was a scrapbook I’ve been working on for her baby.  I found a scrapbook with a sock monkey embroidered on the front and then went from there as I filled it with pages about her baby’s arrival into the world.  When Marisa pulled the scrapbook out of the basket, she was definitely excited to be given an “empty” scrapbook for the baby.  But her face when she opened it up and saw the first page made us both start crying.

Here’s Marisa “reading” the scrapbook to the crowd.

I’m not a great scrapbooker, but I gave it my best.  I decided to go with a “Once upon a time” type of theme.  The book began with the words, “One day, something wonderful happened” and showed pictures from Marisa’s wedding day.  Then, on the next page, I wrote “But then, something even more wonderful happened” and included pictures of Marisa’s positive pregnancy test, her first ultrasound, etc.

Of course, there was a page about the party we had to find out if the baby was a girl or boy.

And pages about the new family members that baby is going to meet, too.

My favorite part of the book is the last half of it which is pages I designed to show things that hadn’t happened yet.  For example, I decorated a page about the baby shower and then, where the pictures should go, I lightly attached a piece of paper that said “Place photos from the baby shower HERE.”  I did similar pages for the day of delivery, the baby’s first bath, etc.  I figured it would be nice to give her a “pre-made” scrapbook that we can just add pictures to as we go!

I’m really excited for today.  Babies are a big deal to me, maybe because they tend to bring a lot of hope and peace and love into extended families.  Yesterday, I could hardly concentrate on anything but this baby.  It was killing me that I couldn’t do anything to make time pass more quickly, so I got a little creative and made a basket to have in Marisa’s hospital room when she arrived.  I went to the grocery store and picked up some little food items like fruit, cookies, drinks, etc. and put them in a basket along with a card explaining that they were for Brandon, Marisa’s husband, to enjoy out of her sight during labor.  I figured it might be nice for him to have some snacks so he doesn’t have to leave her room while she’s in labor.  I also included a promise in the card that, after Marisa gives birth today, I’ll go get her whatever she wants to eat.

Here’s the basket when I put it together…

And then I dressed it up a bit to make it “new-baby” worthy…

I then drove it down to the hospital where Marisa is giving birth and left it with the nurses on shift.  Marisa wasn’t checking in until midnight last night, so they promised me they’d slip it into her room for when she arrived at the labor and delivery ward.  Yay!

Well, I’m off to work now.  I’ve got a busy day ahead of me (technically, I’m working all day and all evening) but I’m going to find some pockets of time to run down to Chattanooga to see baby Rylan’s progress.  After all, it’s not every day that’s baby day.

1. My cousin Cate to move back to Tennessee so I can have someone to share local life with again.

2. My cousin Marisa to have her baby.  One way (naturally) or another (induction), that baby will be here this week.

3. The desire to flat iron my hair.  I want to flat iron it, because I love the way it looks, but I have a lot of hair and it takes me about an hour to flat iron it.

4. That British Boyfriend of mine to arrive for a lengthy Christmas visit (lengthy = twelve days).

5. My old blogging self to return so I can tell you all about my boyfriend and what a good man he is.

6. The freedom I know that God can give me over my bad eating / exercise habits if I’ll do things His way.

7. Various relationships in my family to be restored.  I want to share this time in my life with my family so badly.

8. Paying off bills so I can have room in my budget for some winter clothes.

9. A package my boyfriend sent me last week.  Mail takes awhile with that whole pesky ocean thing, you know.

10. You to pull me back onto this blog and keep me here.

What about you?  What are you waiting for?  Comments are open.