Actually, the British have already arrived.

As you can see, Snuggles and Cuddles remembered him.

It’s Wednesday evening and I’m snuggled up in my bed, with Cuddles tucked in beside me.  Snuggles, my other puppy, is standing beside my bed looking up at me with his blue toy bone in his mouth.  Right now, all of you who know me in real life are shaking your heads at the thought of Snuggles with the blue bone.  He’s obsessed with the toy to the degree that, if I make the mistake of forgetting to take it away from him before I get in the shower, I’m automatically sentenced to looking down during my shampoo-conditioner routine to find him standing under the stream of water waiting wondering if I might like to play fetch with him.  Obsessed.

This time tomorrow evening, British Boyfriend will be here.  I spoke to him earlier this evening and we were both laughing over the fact that we could actually say the words “see you tomorrow” to the other one and it be true.  We spend so much of our phone conversations saying things like “I really wish I could see you” and “I wish I was just there with you” that, when it is about to actually happens, it seems a little surreal.  I’m hoping he comes over with a little case of jet lag because, unfortunately, he’ll be spending the first couple of days of his visit here on his own a bit.  As fate would have it, between my “real job” of coordinating events and my side job of wedding photography, I’m working sixteen hours on Friday, twelve on Saturday and about six on Sunday.  By the time I get done working on Sunday, he should be fully over his jet lag right about when I’m ready to collapse from coordinating dinner for 1,500 people and shooting two weddings in a 72 hour span.

The good news is that, once I get through these events, I’m done for the rest of the month!  So, he and I will have a good week and a half still left to spend together with our attention only divided by Snuggles and his blue bone and the stack of Christmas gifts I have quite wrapped yet.  I’m thinking that, this year, I’m going to skip the frilly bows and pretty tags and instead throw everything into gift bags so I can spend more time with that man of mine.  I’m thinking about putting stockings up on the mantle for both of us and seeing if I can distract him from the rest of the Christmas decorations to keep from hauling them out this year.

This will be a different Christmas for me, in several ways but with the most pronounced being the lack of the little girls.  Last Christmas, signs of them filled every inch of this house.  I’ve been thinking hard about how to deal with the change, especially because I’ve noticed myself not being able to let myself get fully excited about British Boyfriend being here without deeply missing the little girls.  One of the best gifts that Paul (yes, he has a name!) has given me this year is the gift of wanting to know the little girls.  He entered my life after they were gone but it hasn’t stopped him from asking about them.  We talk about them occasionally, especially when I think of a memory of them that I don’t want to write about on the blog.  Paul works in a job where he has firsthand knowledge of how complicated life can be for children who don’t have two parents so, when I grieve over the little girls and the foster children, he gets it.  It is hard for me not to wish that this Christmas would be filled with the sound of all their little feet running through my house as they chase him from room to room but, the more and more that is being revealed lately is doing nothing but assure me that, maybe, God is just trying to protect me — even if it hurts to be without them.  I honestly don’t know what God’s plan in this is.

But for now, I’m going to go get the house ready to welcome my own Christmas gift arriving in the ATL airport tomorrow.

Last night, as I was willing myself to fall asleep, I randomly started thinking about how much I’d like to be a teacher.  I don’t know what grade I would pick to teach, if I had the choice, because everything from kindergartners to middle schoolers to high schoolers interest me.  I have all these thoughts of what I would do if I ever became a teacher.  I wish I would just buckle down and get the degree, darn it.

That train of thought got me thinking — what job would I have if I could have as many jobs as I wanted?  Here’s just a partial, fantasy list:

1. wife and mother

2. teacher

3. princess (I mean, it has to make the list, you know?)

4. author

5. photographer

6. ministry director

7. bridal boutique owner

8. animal caregiver*

9. Amy Grant’s manager

10. owner of a shop that does birthday parties for little girls

* but only certain animals: baby dolphins, baby whales, baby monkeys, etc.

I could go on, but I’m making myself stop at ten.  But tell me — if you could have any job (regardless of money, training, etc.) what would you be?  Comments are open.

5099 minutes left until British Boyfriend arrives to spend fifteen days with me…

… but not that I’m counting or anything crazy like that.

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.