A Birthday With Sisters...

Can you believe I've posted here again... twice in one week?!  What can I say; when BF is away, Amanda will play on her blog.  Can you blame me if I'd rather spend time with BF than blog?  I don't think you can. :)

But I needed to document my belated bday celebration with my sisters.  We have a very unique relationship, I feel.  Each of us is unique in her own way, but when we come together, we have that sister/friend thing going on that is inexplicable.  I try to explain to BF how two girls who don't share my parents are actually my sisters, but there are really no words.  Closing in on a decade of shared experiences, common faith, and real love for each other will do that.

My sisters know me well.  They took me to my favorite part of town: Hyde Park.  There's a little park with a fountain and tall trees in the midst of cute shops that are much too expensive for my blood, but not too expensive for my taste (mmmm.... Anthropologie...).  It reminds me a bit of Chicago, but not quite.  And I like it because it's not Chicago.  It's a little slice of city somewhere else, a little retreat from suburbia that is right here at home.  Beyond the shops of this little section of town are gorgeous, well-kept homes that look like they popped off the pages of a "Better Homes and Gardens" magazine.  Victorians to make your spine tingle.  Bungalows to make your knees buckle.  It's all too much yet not enough for my little heart.

But my sisters know that.  They took me there and we did what we do best: photo shoots, laughter, and exuberance.  In the glow of the sun I opened their cards, more precious than any material gift.  And then we shopped, and I came out of my favorite store, happily laden with bags.  And then we tried something new, thanks to Bestie's new toy (her beloved iPhone): Amelie's, the most fun little French bakery I may have ever eaten in this side of the Atlantic.  A chocolate croissant later, we were on our way to dinner...

...Where we got a free sundae because the waiter felt bad about my hoarse voice.  Guess there is still compassion in this world.  Either that or he was hoping for a huge tip or a phone number.

Then we three headed home: they to their husbands, me to my empty apartment ready to get a call from BF, the international traveler extraordinaire.

And it was nice just knowing that I have sisters who know me well and love me, in that inexplicable sister/friend sort of way.

Snapshots of Thankfulness...

I love Thanksgiving.  That's no secret.  But I hate change (also no secret).  So how does this Thanksgiving-loving-change-hating girl fare when her favorite holiday must be spent in an entirely different place?  I think I'm faring just fine, thanks. :)  This is the first year I haven't spent Thanksgiving with my family in Chicago.  My mom makes the best Thanksgiving dinner I've ever tasted, and we have such rich traditions that ooze comfort and warm fuzzies.  Yet this year, thanks to the greed of commercial airlines, I stay in Florida, with my other "family."  I miss my family and the warm fuzzies, but I'm not complaining.  In fact, I thought I'd be a lot more homesick, but I think the combination of a sunny, 84 degree day and the palm trees outside my window have made it just different enough from my traditional Thanksgiving that I'm somehow comfortable making new memories.

And so I got up early, baked an apple pie while watching Miracle on 34th Street (everyone knows that's the movie that kicks off the Christmas season), and I am now watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade as I type.  Today I will have Thanksgiving dinner with BF's family (gulp), and later scour the ads with my "family" as we graze on leftovers.

And this departure from tradition is just fine with me, mostly because God has helped me have an attitude that's in keeping with the day: thankful.  I have a lot to be thankful for.  Here are a few snapshots of what I'm thankful for this year:

A God who is sovereign: I didn't want to spend my week off on the couch in respiratory distress.  But somehow God planned it that way, perhaps so I could remember my dependence upon him, or maybe so those in my life could remind me why I'm thankful for them.  I don't know why, but it reminded me of God's sovereign hand in every part of my life.  I'm thankful that he is in control of everything, and therefore I don't need to worry about anything.

BF: Picture this-- I had not slept the night before.  I had been coughing so much and so violently that I puked.  I could only croak, and my hair was in the fuzziest, nastiest bun.  My face was flushed and I was in a post-fever sweat.  There's a knock at the door, and standing there is BF, holding a big bouquet of bright flowers and two bags of get-well-food.  And after seeing me like that, he still wants me to come to Thanksgiving dinner today.  Enough said, right?

Friends: Picture this-- I was walking up the stairs to my apartment when I got a giddy, loopy phone call from my sisters.  Was I home, they wanted to know, and could they come over?  Moments later they're standing at my door, with goofy grins.  They pop inside and simultaneously shout, "We're pregnant!"  I simply stared at them in disbelief-- I didn't believe they were, and I also couldn't believe they'd think I'd believe them.  They laughed, and no they're NOT pregnant.  Then they produced a "friendship ring."  The three of us now have matching metal flower rings that must be worn AT ALL TIMES (oops, guess I'm a bad friend).  We then reclined in the living room and cackled together as all sisters should. 

Those are just three brief snapshots of what I'm thankful for, but that's just the tip of the iceberg.  My family, my job, and the youth ministry are also things for which I'm very thankful. 

So however you're spending Thanksgiving this year-- whether you're with family or friends or are alone; whether you're enjoying old traditions or making new ones; whether you're healthy or ill, rich or poor, tired or rested; I pray you will find your own snapshots of what you're thankful for this year. 

Happy Thanksgiving. :)

Inappropriate Hospital Behavior...

Oh dear.  I'm afraid I have definitely been inactive here.  I have an excuse, I promise-- but I'm not telling you what it is, sorry. :)

Last weekend, I spent much of my time in the hospital, not as a patient, but a visitor.  Bestie and Bestie Jr.'s mom had to spend several days in isolation due to low white blood cell count, so the three of us (and assorted husbands) kind of made a squatter camp in her room. 

I don't like hospitals, not because I have bad memories there, though one would think I should.  I don't like them because they are cold and sterile (I suppose they should be, but still...) and reek of urine and other bodily excretions.  Also they make my hands smell like medicine.

Despite this dislike, I found that the three of us had a very interesting, even unique attitude about our time at the hospital.  We didn't spend our time there speaking in hushed tones, gingerly making a little home out of the room and walking on eggshells.  We didn't wring our hands or pace about the floor.  No, we laughed and took pictures.  It wasn't until the second day of this that I realized perhaps our behavior was not normal hospital behavior.  When most people are visiting their loved one in isolation, they are struck with a bad case of the nerves and seem to be on the brink of tears.  Yet in spite of our concern and care, we were howling with laughter, making fun of each other, and enjoying thoroughly the fact that we all were required to wear surgical masks.

As I pondered this, I realized that this behavior must be directly linked to our childhoods.  Sadly, we both had parents who spent a large chunk of their lives in the hospital as we grew up.  We learned at an early age to go about normal life, only sometimes in a hospital instead of a house.  I still remember going to visit my dad one summer after he had been in the hospital for what might have been weeks.  We played in the waiting room as if nothing was wrong.

And then there was the birthday that was spent with Dad in the hospital.  Dad had given the nurse some money and she went out and bought me something "from Dad."  It was a necklace and bracelet set, made of little pastel- colored stars.  I loved it.  I opened all my gifts there, sitting on Dad's hospital bed.  The thought that something was wrong or weird never even entered my mind. 

The familiarity with hospitals had desensitized us to their sobriety.  So when we popped those surgical masks over our faces, our first instinct was not to tear up because of the circumstance, but rather to take pictures, lots of them.  And where some might speak in hushed tones around the bed, comforting the patient, we laughed about everything and probably made a few jokes at the patient's expense. 

Why do I write about this?  Really, I don't know, except to give you further evidence that my group of friends are not normal... but I love them. :)

Because that's what we do.

 PS: the black box is protecting "he-who-put-up-a-stink-about-being-on-a-blog."  LAME.

The Musings of Two Single Gals In Starbucks...

I've been off the singleness vein in my blogging for a while.  But today I'm back, as I usually get some good ideas when I talk to my single girlfriends. :)

Over caramel apple cider and a pumpkin scone, I met up with a friend and former colleague at Starbucks.  I hate coffee, by the way.  Random fact.  I love the smell, but the taste makes me shudder.  Just fyi.  But on to more important things...

We have had similar experiences, she and I.  We both moved from the North to the South for our teaching jobs.  We both have hearts pulling from two places.  We both have been single for a long time.  We talked about our jobs, our families, and the excitement of the unknown for our futures.  We talked about what it's like to have lots of married friends.

And then I told her something I've thought for years and never thought to blog about, until now.  Maybe some of you long-single ladies will understand what I mean.  And maybe some of you married ladies, too.

I realize I don't know what it's like to be married-- all the hard work, the fights, the struggles, the aggravations.  I also realize that these things are a normal part of marriage and a marriage probably isn't healthy if the husband and wife don't deal with issues and occasionally fight.

But.  I like to think that by the time I ever get married, I will have waited so long for this man that I won't be able to help looking at him every morning and thinking, I am so glad God brought you to me, and I'm so thankful to have you.  I think (or at least I hope) I will be less likely to take him for granted or become aggravated, and will be more likely to remember he is an answer to years of prayers.

So, just a thought.  Maybe it's just an idealistic thought like when I assumed that if I respected my students, they'd respect me... could be.  Regardless, I hope it's true.  Whomever he is and however long I have to wait to find out.

"Have You Had Any Procedures..."

Outings to "the Applebees" are always a good time with the Silly Six, as I have decided to call us.  Sometimes the music's too loud, and the song choice is sketchy; like tonight when they pulled out a random Spice Girls B-side track that left me admittedly giddy and nostalgic.  Let me tell you, it scared me how easily those words came out of my mouth after being locked up since my junior high days.  The recesses of one's brain is a very mysterious thing.  Back to "the Applebees."  The food always leaves me wishing I'd never even seen the menu, and the service always leaves me wanting to tip 15-20% of my fist in the server's face.  But the company and the conversation... that's always a good time.

Except maybe today, when I wanted to pretend that I didn't know my friends.  We have a knack for laughing louder than anyone who is actually drinking alcohol, when all we have in our systems is maybe some caffeine and greasy food.  But that's not the problem.  The problem was our conversation.  All six of us kind of spoke at once.

"That's the first question I ask a girl-- 'Have you ever  been a man?'"
"Really?  That's the first thing you ask.  Really?"
"That's insulting!  That's implying she looks like a man!"
"Wouldn't you be able to tell by her man-hands?"
"Not always; some guys have small hands."
"Did you ever ask me that question?"
"Yeah, when I was saying a bunch of stuff, then said, 'Are you now, or have you ever been, a man'..."
"Oh right, when we were going through that checklist."
"Or you could ask if they've had any operations."
"YOU'VE had an operation."
"Well, I guess procedures."

And it only degenerated from there.  So I ask you, from one single person to... other people, married or single-- Have any of you legitimately asked about... procedures?  Because I feel like that's kind of an unusual question to ask anyone, ever, let alone right off the bat.  But I don't know; maybe it's just me.

Good thing I have these people around for relationship advice.

Date Night...

I went on a date last night.

Sorry Mom, it was with some of my single ladies.  But it felt good to have a reason to get dressed up, especially after camp, where it is required to look and feel disgusting, and a week at home sick and reclusive.  The fellowship with these ladies made me thankful for this season of my life, where I can get dressed up just for fun, eat a delicious meal at Casa Tina's and not worry about getting cilantro stuck in my teeth, take goofy "modeling" pictures on a windy pier, and finish the evening off with this:

It was a great date.  Thanks ladies.  Other single ladies out there?  Grab your girlfriends and go on a date.  It's good for the soul, especially when it includes ice cream and laughter.

Rediscovering the Amanda of Yesteryear...

I have rediscovered my love of socializing, adventure, and late-night frivolities, and I have my fiftysomething (don't tell her I told you that) aunt to thank.
I am the kind of girl who easily slips into a routine, and doesn't realize how monotonous she's become or what she's missing.  I have my night in on Mondays, my Panera book discussion on Tuesdays, youth group on Wednesdays, dinner with friends on Thursdays, and laziness/shopping/errands on he weekends.  And it RARELY changes.  I get comfortable in my cozy apartment after a hard day's work, and the thought of going out or trying something new makes my aready weary limbs practically paralyzed.  So I stay in, make an omelet, and watch NCIS reruns and the occasional ten-year-old rom com on cable.  And on a really good night, I'll watch "Chuck," or "Glee."  No, don't pity me-- I like it.  And that's what scares me.

I forgot about my college days, and how I'd go out into the City with friends until the wee hours of morning, not doing traditional college-hoodlum things, ie drinking, carousing, and hooking up, but visiting new places, experiencing new things, and laughing so hard it hurt.  I forgot how much I enjoyed the thrill of late-night socializing among the hoi polloi, and the energy of getting outside my comfort zone.

Then my aunt came to visit.  She had plans.  The fact that the local line dancing bar was closed didn't stop her.  Instead, we went to a little bar with very loud live music and Salsa dancing lessons.  And the next night, we went to a pub with a thatched roof and bad food in the middle of the city.  Dressed up, uncertain, outside my comfort zone, loud noises, lots of people, late nights, crappy food... and it was all so wonderful.  In just two late nights out with friends on the town, I've rediscovered my love of.... life, I guess.  And I'm determined to add a bit more of that so-called life-spice, variety, to my weekly routine.  I need to get a bit more of my old college spirit back, as I realize I'm slowly descending into the depths of boring adulthood.  And I never thought that would happen.

So maybe I lose a few hours of sleep a week.  So maybe I embarrass myself by trying to Salsa while wearing heels that make me tower over the entire dance floor.  So maybe I try some Irish food that makes my stomach feel awkward.  I'm living life, and I'm not wasting my moments watching a ten-year-old rom com every night.  That's got to count for something.

Musings on the Happenings of a Busy Saturday Afteroon...

We were a whirlwind of productivity, a flurry of fruitfulness.  A dynamic duo, a powerful pair-- that was my best friend/coworker and me on Saturday.  We had a goal in mind and a shopping list in hand.  Though the task was daunting, we ourselves remained undaunted, because we'd done this before-- many times. 
First on the list:  JoAnn's for the perfect fabric to function as a yet-to-be-painted backdrop for the all-too upcoming play.  It had to be sturdy, roll-able, the perfect size, and perhaps most importantly, the right price.

And we had no real idea what we were looking for.  In typical "us" fashion, we breezed our way (we do not dawdle, you see) through the front doors and straight to the fabric section, where we promptly told a busy-looking woman what we were looking for.  In rapid-fire, heavily-Greek-accented knowledge, she corralled us over to the right fabric, repeating the measurements over and over aloud.  As she spoke louder and faster as she explained what we'd do, I had to concentrate maybe harder than I've ever concentrated to catch it all.  But I caught it, and I also caught that this fast-talking, bright, Greek fabric woman wasn't concerned about making a buck.  She was enjoying the challenge of finding us the perfect fabric at the lowest price. 

I had to give my bestie a rundown in un-accented English, as the details had flown past her just a bit too fast.  She smiled and relaxed just a bit-- our biggest challenge was complete!  And as our new Greek friend cut the fabric (still repeating the measurements over and over aloud) and made sure we got a 50% off coupon, Bestie was ready to cry with relief.  What a blessing this woman was.  We made sure to fill out a survey card so she would receive little golden scissors on her name badge.  It was the least we could do.

We moved on to the next store, narrowly making the turn and again breezing straight to the Tempera paint aisle and making our exits faster than I may have ever gone in and out of a Michael's in my life.  We piled our bags and selves into the car and laughed.
"I love when we do this!"
"I know-- we're so good at it!"
"Hahaha, we've been doing it since-- we were RAs?  No, since we helped our RA with open houses!"
And then Bestie said, "I can't wait until you have some huge event that I can help you with like this!"  I laughed, but then I thought, I don't care if I ever have some huge event and I need help (though a wedding would be nice).  Because there is simple joy in helping the ones you love succeed, whether it's getting the best deal on spray paint and paint brushes or delivering Advil doses on their wedding day.  When they succeed, I succeed.  I can use my no-nonsense, "get-r-done" (thanks a lot, South, for giving me that phrase) proclivities for the benefit of my friends and family, and it blesses me; more importantly, it pleases the Lord.

So the next time you have a Saturday you'd rather be spending in a REM cycle or catching up on "The Real Housewives of Orange County" (not that I ever want to catch up on that show, ever...), consider blessing a friend with your time and talents, and in turn you may be surprised the joy you experience and the memories you make.

Things I Love About Little Women...

By "Little Women," I mean Little Women the book and movies, not... short women, though I probably love some things about short women as well.  At any rate, much to my students' chagrin, I have forced them to watch Little Women over the last couple of days (hey, if I'm going to show a movie, I'm going to make sure it has some kind of literary merit).  I also recently had the pleasure of watching a friend play Jo in the musical adaptation of the novel.  Clearly, Little Women has been on my mind, and I've realized there are some things I absolutlely love about that story.  Forgive me, as this doesn't have much to do with my single life, or my struggles.  It's just the thoughts of an English teacher who loses herself in literature.

I love:
1.  Jo March.  She is loud, independent, stubborn, strong, creative, funny, friendly, idealistic, a dreamer, and a writer.  She loves her sisters so much that she bucks against change, especially when men are involved in stealing them away.  She wants to see the world.  She doesn't accept "good enough."  She lives life to its fullest and loves with all her heart.  She is fantastic.

2.  The friendship between Laurie and Jo.  It's funny how Louisa May Alcott answered the very question Harry and Sally asked, only more than a hundred years prior: no, men and women cannot be close friends, because inevitably one or the other will develop feelings.  Their friendship is sweet and true, but it ends up at that awkward moment that many similar friendships experience.  And Jo doesn't settle, as much as she loves him as a friend.  I love that courage.

3.  The deep sisterhood of the March girls.  They fight, they bicker, they play, they learn, and they love.  They are each other's greatest allies and greatest champions.  Jo wants them to stay forever as they are, close and inseparable.  Having no sisters of my own, I couldn't comprehend this... until my two sisters came along in college, and I rememember similar feelings of closeness and contentedness in the camraderie of my sisters... and I hoped it would never change; when it did, as it always does, I fought against it.

4.  Their creativity.  The March girls put on plays, providing themselves with endless hours of entertainment, something that most children couldn't do today if they tried.  The most wonderful things come from the imagination, and they capture it perfectly.

5.  Jo's unexpected match.  Everyone thought Jo wouldn't get married-- even she didn't think so.  And yet, she found her match in an unexpected person, but it was perfect in every way-- someone who could keep up intellectually, challenge her, and handle her independence.  That's so encouraging, even if it is fictitious.

So this, my last post as a twenty-five-year-old, has no deep meaning, no real moral, except to show that two decades later, this girl loses herself in literature as much as she did in her youth.  As I inch my way toward thirty, I hope I lose myself still, in the pages penned for imaginations like mine.

Confessions of a Scaredy-Cat...

"Amanda, you have to stop freaking out every time a guy shows even the slightest sign that he may be interested in you."
"But I don't want to lead anyone on!"
"True, but you can be friends with guys, I mean, that is how you want it to happen, right?"
"Yes, but... if I know I don't want that friend to end up as my husband, then I don't want to give off any... signals."
*eye rolls and sighs all around*

My sisters and I were camped out in the local cozy coffee shop (NOT that name-brand chain, thankyouverymuch), animatedly and loudly discussing the newest issues with which I'm dealing.  Because as you know, though I'm a woman who's never dated, somehow I  have a whole host of issues that have come from that way of life.

Suddenly I nearly shout, "I'M A HOT MESS!!"

Surrounded by cakey muffins and freshly squeezed orange juice (the perfect nightcap), our faces flush from the excessive heat used in Florida establishments during winter, we laughed.  Okay, we cackled.  I think the cashier may have smiled.  It is funny.  I am a hot mess.  My friends are close enough to me that they could reveal this in no uncertain terms.  I love that about them.  As we sat there like cast members of a sit-com, it got me thinking about another unexpected consequence of singleness: fear.

My friends noticed that I don't act like someone who wants to get married.  I am more likely to run from anything that even smells like commitment... whatever commitment might smell like.  You might ask yourself why someone who has always wanted to be married would be so afraid of commitment.  I think it's because the more of life I live, and the more marriages I witness, the more I realize the intensity of such a decision.  While still herself, the married woman is now one with her husband and no longer her own person.  Independence is abandoned in favor of a lifetime of dependence (and companionship).

I get nervous anytime any guy shows even an inkling of interest because I fear getting into something that's not right, not wanted, and not as it should be.  Therefore my first instinct is always to run in the opposite direction, where it's safe, secure, and familiar. 

 Let me give you an example:  picture with me, if you will, the coffee-infused upper floor of a commons area at college.  I am asked to stay just a little bit longer than my friends and talk with a certain boy.  This boy and I had become fast friends in my last semester of school, and for a few weeks I'd begun to expect he felt a little more than friendship.  We sat, and he spoke.  He told me he had started to like me and.... then I zoned out as my mind raced.  I pasted on some kind of sick smile and my eyes glazed over as I heard a little voice in my head cry, "RUN!"  I literally contemplated getting up from the table and running across the plaza into my cozy dorm room.  Fortunately I don't listen to the voices in my head.  I zoned back in.  I was not put at ease by the next thing he said: he had been talking to his father about me.  Serious, much too serious... suffocating... have to get away...  I think God graciously gave me the ability to form the words, "I'm flattered, but I think I need to pray about this before I get into a relationship," and then I met my sisters (the very same ones with whom I still cackle in coffee shops) and recounted the whole event on my bed in my cozy dorm room.  Needless to say, I did not get into a relationship with this boy.  This was odd, considering I was in my last semester at Bible college, a time when most girls start to get a little desperate and assume that if they don't find someone before graduation, they never will.  And here a perfectly funny, charming, cute and friendly boy wanted to pursue me, and I ran.

I don't have a ton of other examples because frankly, I'm not the kind of girl men fawn over (thankfully).  But I know that this fear must shadow my relationships with guys.  My mom has always said I need to smile more, but I don't, because I don't want guys to get the wrong idea, or I don't want to start something that I'm afraid to finish.  I think I'm friendly enough, but maybe this is also why I don't flirt (see previous post on flirting).  I suppose the longer I am single, the worse this fear will get, as I will continue to live independently and the fear of giving that up and the fear of the unknown will only grow. 

Yet I know that perfect love casts out fear... so this "hot mess" will need two very important things in order to take a leap of faith into eternal commitment some day.  First, God will have to steadily remove my fear and replace it with trust in Him and trust in my eventual spouse. Secondly, some very strong, VERY patient man will have to ease my fears.  He'll have to be strong enough to tame "the shrew," and patient enough to want to stick it out until the fear is gone.  Until then, I'm grateful to be able to live the independent life now... I may feel like a lost cause, but I know that really, if I continue to trust in the Lord, He will truly remove my fears, because His love is perfect.