a simple request.

A few people have asked me what I'm going to walk down the aisle to... And I think I've made up my mind.

I simply ask that the groomsmen and ushers do this little number. The choreography is simple enough, I think, and Alex can even have the little solo at the end.

falling into place.

Alright. The caterers have been met with, and the catering budget has been determined. The menu is official, and I'm just waiting on an exact price per head to enter into my handy-dandy budgeting tool on TheKnot. Between a to-do list and the budgeting tool, that website is worth its weight in gold-- not to mention you get to design a cute website.

Ours, by the way, is...
HaysRuggles.ourwedding.com

It's very much a work-in-progress, with our wedding party members being tracked down and whatnot. I swear, it's like assembling the Order of the Phoenix. Also, at the time of my last website update, we had not determined the location of the reception.

Like I said: work-in-progress. I wish there was a "Pardon Our Progress" graphic I could tack on like you see on Interstate construction.

Just talking to the caterers today gave me some peace on the whole shindig. It seems to be coming together, and as we talked about what food station would go where, I could start to envision the event perfectly.

With a wedding dress purchased, and the "vision" of the ceremony and reception getting clearer and clearer, I can't help but continue to wonder... is this real life??

The Wedding Planner

I've given myself some time off from the wedding planning. I had to take a high dosage Chill Pill and learn to just say, "I have no idea" when bombarded with questions from well-meaning well-wishers.

What kind of flowers am I going to have?
No idea.

What's my mom going to wear?
You'd have to ask her.

What song are we dancing to?
Not entirely sure.

What shoes am I wearing? High heels? Flats?
Wish I knew.

How am I wearing my hair?
Up-- that's as far as I've gotten.

But tomorrow, I'm officially getting the ball rolling again. My full-time internship + Tuscaloosa commute starts back January 4, so I'm going to get as much done in the next week as possible. For instance, tomorrow I'm having lunch with a very dear friend where I will pop the question: will you be my bridesmaid?

I'm meeting with caterers on Thursday, and I've officially started harassing a local wedding planner. I'm starting to research for our registry (who knew picking out my own gifts would be so overwhelming? it's not just a cute plate-- it's a cute plate FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE), and hopefully we'll even pull the trigger-- literally-- on registering soon (Alex is in it only to hold the little scan gun). I've just sent out a mass email to the secured bridesmaids regarding ordering their dresses, and we'll be putting in that order in the next two weeks. Our engagement pictures are next weekend, and we're up to our ears in potential invitations and save-the-date cards. Every time I try to whittle down my guest list it magically gets bigger than when I started, so that's on the to-do list as well.

So, ready or not, here we go...

whirlwind

As Alex likes to quote from Talladega Nights, "TWO CHRISTMASES!"

Or more accurately, five Christmases, spanning from Oneonta to Guntersville to Sheffield.

We kicked off Christmas with a party at Alex's house, hosted by his roommate Buck and his girlfriend-- THE hostess with the mostess. This was our first foray into the world of married couples, as the entire party consisted of 8 couples, 5 of who were married couples. And if that doesn't feel grown up enough, one couple had a seven month old at home with a sitter.

The next day, after my second battery of testing for graduation/certification/licensure, we headed to Oneonta for the Marcum family Christmas at Momma Em's. There's never a dull moment when the oldest grandson is 33 (or are you 34, Eric?) and the youngest great grandchild is 2. And better yet, the true youngest is coming on January 31! And throughout that age range, the biggest gap is 6 years. We literally have every developmental stage and age group represented, so there's always wisdom to share and stories to tell and retell.

This week, we celebrated Christmas at Kat's house. I think this was her third annual gathering, but my first time attending, and I was kind of overwhelmed by how this group of people (Kat specifically) brought me to where I am right now. Laura and her husband were there-- the two that introduced me to Kat. Rebekah, who hosted the girls night where I met she and Kat, was there. Abby was with Kat and I when we got ready to go out the night Alex and I were officially "set up" (seriously, it was like a conspiracy). As we stood around sipping champagne punch and eating Christmas cookies, I couldn't help but think how my life's come full circle in so short a time.

**As I mentioned, this is the third annual Christmas party at Katherine's, and unfortunately the last one for some time. On January 9, our little matchmaker leaves for a 2.5 year mission to Bulgaria. So please put this very, very special friend of mine on your prayer list, boys and girls.

Friday morning, Alex and I headed home to Guntersville for Christmas with my parents. This year has been confusing for me because I'm a stickler for tradition. That is, I require that things be exactly the same from year to year. That means we don't deviate from our traditional watching of the original How the Grinch Stole Christmas or the sugar cookies that we eat while we watch. With "TWO CHRISTMASES!" this year, a little flexibility was needed. So Christmas Eve Eve, we had our traditional Christmas Eve meal and opened one present apiece. We tried out a new game that Mom and Dad won in Marcum Dirty Christmas, and Alex and I spent a great deal of time playing Mario Party on Wii (as a result of his one present for the night). To cap off the night, Al watched the Jim Carrey version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas at the foot of my bed while I looked through wedding inspiration online.

Christmas Eve morning, the house was frenzied with preparations for the Hays family Christmas celebration. The whole clan gathered at our place for lunch and Wii battles, a tradition that has emerged mainly among the men of our family in the last five years or so. Per usual, there was way more food than necessary and tons of memories shared between cousins that grew up in the same crazy family. Stories that only cousins would find funny.

After the family left, I demolished Alex in Mario Party for the first and very likely last time (which is why it must be documented here in public). Later, Mom and Dad tag-teamed us in a combined battle of Scrabble and Taboo. Technically they won, but if you break down the scores (which we're doing here for the sake of our egos) they won decidedly in Scrabble and we mopped the floor with them in Taboo. I think we can all see where the true teamwork shined through. (And if you don't know how to play Taboo, I'll just tell you: it requires actual teamwork, unlike Scrabble). We feasted on leftovers from earlier that day and opened another round of presents-- this year Mom wanted to work up to a grand finale on Christmas morning, so we went 1-3-remainder starting on Friday and ending on Sunday morning.

Sunday morning, Dad made his traditional omelets, and we opened-- unwrapping Santa gifts was a first in the Hays home-- the remainder of our Christmas toys. Alex pretty much reaped a new wardrobe from his first Christmas with us, and I did pretty well too: wallet, purse, clothes, apron, ornament for my collection, make-up, etc.

After a beautiful Christmas morning service at FBC, we headed west to Sheffield for my first Ruggles Family Christmas. The setting's a little more formal, but the love is just as palpable. I was reminded throughout the day how lucky Alex and I are to come from two families that truly love and enjoy each other. It's incredible enough that each of our parents are in the happiest years of their 30+ year marriages, and getting happier by the day it seems, but to have extended families, too, that genuinely look forward to these holiday gatherings... well, we're unspeakably blessed. That's all there is to it.

This was the first time getting to catch up with Alex's extended family since we got engaged, so it was quite special to see the two women that so graciously gave their own engagement rings to help create mine. It was thrilling all over again to tell the story and talk wedding details with my new family.

Christmas night, we returned to the GORGEOUS home of Alex's parents. At long last, Alex got to have Santa time with his folks, and I had the privilege of becoming part of their traditions.

Today, Al and I had lunch with three of his best friends from high school. It was funny to hear their shared stories of growing up together and funnier still to hear stories they shared with each other from new chapters of their lives. And sometimes it was just funny to zone out while they the umpteenth story of 25 people I didn't know. The rest of the afternoon was spent reading and snoozing and last minute catching up with the family of the groom.

And tonight, I got to spend an evening with one of my very best friends and bridesmaid, Laura, who is in the 23rd hour of her own new engagement. It's so wild to share this time with my closest friends. Between Erica and now Laura, nothing beats comparing notes with my best friends as they go through the same trials and tribulation and thrills and exultation of being the bride-to-be.

All in all, it's been a whirlwind-- but a very merry, wonderful Christmas whirlwind.

to prove my point.

Remember that last post about books saturating my life?

Tonight, I sat around with Trey, Hunter, and Josh playing board games-- wild and crazy guys!-- and I couldn't help but see that post at work.

Trey had devised what he calls a board game biathalon (actually, it was a triathalon, but we talked him down from from tri- to bi-). We split into teams-- Josh/Lindsey v. Hunter/Trey-- and went back and forth between Scrabble and Taboo. We each played our turn of Scrabble, partners scores being counted collectively, and then we did a round of Taboo. Then, you guessed it, back to Scrabble. Repeat. I thought it was going to be chaotic, but it was actually a lot of fun and broke the monotony of an hour-long Scrabble game.

As we played Scrabble, I struggled more than usual. For one, Words with Friends lets me play with words and tells me if it's a word or not. But the most frustrating thing was that I couldn't remember what words were actually... words. Literary words from made up worlds fogged my mind-- is nox a word? or is it just a spell to turn out the lights? (that's from Harry Potter, Mom). what about avox? word or a tongueless convict in the Capitol? (The Hunger Games).

Clearly, I was working with an 'x' because doxy also sent me for a whirl (in Harry Potter-world, that's a creature that lives in dusty places, like the abandoned home of Sirius Black). But you get my point.

And for the record, Josh and I dominated: 320 to 247. Hunter's a frequent flier on Words with Friends, so I thought they'd have a pretty good run... not to mention, Josh played in a Benadryl haze, but it was an easy victory after all.

Best. Gamer. Ever.

good book.

Well, I hesitantly started The Hunger Games earlier this week. Many had recommended the book to me, but I didn't love the sound of the 1984-esque book, especially not without Pamela Moore's interpretation by my side.

(that's a reference to my practically divine dual-enrollment senior English "professor," folks).

But I'm on holiday, and everyone else is doing it, so... I embarked on the book-of-the-moment as my "trendy read" of the break. The first chapter and a half, I was just 'meh...' The latter half of chapter two and chapter three were more of a 'hmmm...' and now, I'm in. So in, in fact, that I'm dreaming about participating in the Hunger Games. And that's no sweet dream.

That's the mark of a good book if you ask me: when you're so drawn into the characters and the plot that they start to penetrate your real life.

While I was reading Gone with the Wind, any "bump in the night" was a Union soldier trying to take the last of our meager rations. The second time I read the Harry Potter series, I sobbed when a beloved character fell to his death-- yes, sobbed on the elliptical machine in the apartment complex gym; I made quite a splash. Sense and Sensibility had me thinking in an English accent; occasionally, it had me speaking in an English accent that sounded much better in my head. My favorite book as a child, Jacob Have I Loved, transported me to my grandparents' house on Smith Lake every time I cracked open the novel. When I read Redeeming Love in college, my heart bled for Angel, hating her and hurting for her all at once. Books about royalty-- Henry the VIII, Marie Antoinette, and even Zeus and his crowd-- make it that much easier to be drawn into because it's a world every little girl wants to walk into (albeit, you soon find out those stories don't have a happy ending-- see Marie Antoinette for details). And I can't forget Bridge to Terabithia, which was read to me in third grade. Each day, a little passage after break. My thoughts raced, conflicted between listening and trying to determine where my own Terabithia lie.

Wow. Nerd Alert! But honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. If these parallel worlds that offer a moment of respite in a busy, all-too-real world make me a Nerd, I'll wear that as a badge of honor. I'll also leave you with a lovely quote from Robert Pattinson, star of another phenomenon, Twilight.*

*You'll notice that RP's book series, authored by Stephanie Meyer, didn't make my list. That wasn't an accident... but his quote is still dead on.

"If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are. Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads."


** The thing about Internet quotes is...  you can't guarantee the accuracy. Whether or not this is the REAL R Pattz, it's still good.

conviction.

This week our Bible study talked about premeditated sin. Truthfully, our student-leader, Laura, called it something much more intelligent and theological, but the term escapes me at the moment.

The point, though—the bare bones of it—was that we take advantage of grace. We take advantage of this gift we’ve been given because it’s free. It’s easy. It’s abundant. It’s accessible. It’s abused.

In Monopoly, if I hit ‘Go Straight to Jail,’ I’ve practically lost nothing but my ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card. We walk around this life as though we have a never-ending supply of ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ cards.

And that’s the truth, really, except that we’re warned against this very thing.

We’re grateful for grace because we need it desperately. Even at our best, we need it. Because we’re flawed. Broken. Beyond repair—except for the love of a Savior. And so we are given grace as a pardon for our depraved natures, not as an excuse for our unreformed lifestyles.

Do we mess up? Yes, absolutely, without a doubt. But do we PLAN to mess up? Do we knowingly live out a lifestyle contrary to what we, believers, are called to live? Every single day.

The question posed at Bible study with this: are we banking on grace? Do we knowingly use it as a “Freebie” to dabble in darkness?

I saw this little “poem” online once-upon-a-time. I can’t remember where, although I would bet it was someone’s Facebook status. It’s cringe-worthy at first, but then you’ll realize that’s it an unspoken mantra, whatever the subject matter, of us all:

Sex is evil… Evil is sin.

Sin is forgiven… so sex is in.

Pick your poison and replace “sin” with it, and voila—tell me that we don’t live our lives that way, whether it’s sex, gossip, gluttony, profanity, and so on and so on. As we bank on grace, we excuse ourselves to live no differently from the world, even when we’re commanded to be light and salt.

What shall we say, then? Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase? By no means! We are those who have died to sin; how can we live in it any longer?

Romans 6:1-2, NIV

The other line of defense for this habitual sin lifestyle we choose is that we “can’t go back.” I hear from time to time, even from my own mouth, “I can’t help being a gossip. I was just born nosey.” So many times I’ve heard friends say, “I’ve already crossed that line; there’s no going back.” If your life were a Tylenol bottle with a safety seal, your logic would be right. Once the seal is broken, the product should be discarded. In actuality, we came to this earth with seals broken, worthy of being trashed.  As believers, though, we have redemption from this fate. We have been sealed by Christ, and yet we continue to act as though we’re one step further than His grace can cover. We are fortunate to serve a God that separates our sins from us as far as the East is from the West, but instead we cling to that, holding it to us as though we can’t let it go. As though our sin is bigger than our God. It’s insulting to God and the magnitude of the sacrifice He made on the cross to save us from the very thing we find ourselves clinging to. It’s like saying, “I really appreciate Your hard work and all—that whole death on the cross was great work, really—but I’m just going to hold onto this until something better comes along.”

Would I say it to His face? Absolutely not. But my actions say it everyday, and you know what they say—Actions speak louder than words.

I’ve been thinking about this because my spiritual life has the tendency to fall into a list of to-dos. Am I doing my quiet time? Check. Am I going to church every Sunday? Check. Am I participating in a small group? Check and check. Look how good I am! But am I getting better? Good is great, but is it good enough? Am I doing enough? Am I settling for good when my Savior deserves my best? Because faith is dead without works—there’s actually some effort required on my part, albeit outrageously low considering how great a debtor I am.

Just some thoughts on sinning by someone who knows the art of sinning well. 

highlight.

One highlight of attending Bible study tonight was getting to catch up with the other resident "grown up" in the bunch, Andrea.

First you need to know that Andrea was kind of my girl crush in high school. Two years older than me, she had it all-- she was beautiful and athletic, wore all the right clothes, and balanced out the "cool" side with the "nerdy" side through theater, choir, and other nerdisms like Harry Potter. Once, in the lunch line, she told me she liked my Express jeans and I nearly had a stroke.

So tonight, when she sat down next to me at Bible study and half the table of high school girls went nuts over whether or not we were sisters and how much we looked alike... well, there goes stroke #2.

I tried to contain myself and be cool about it, but eventually I'm going to have to tell her.

In between dinner and Bible study, we took the girls to Guntersville's newest establishment, Lake Guntersville Ice Cream Shop, for a sweet treat. As we ate with a few girls at our table, we started joking about how people highlight and highlight in their Bibles until you realize one day: it's not just the one or two verses that were important, it's the whole thing. Eventually, you figure out that you've just highlighted the entire Book of John by trying to highlight the "best" verses. We laughed about making notes in the margins during particularly moving sermons-- like my "Dirty Harry" reference from a youth conference in high school-- that no longer make a lick of sense. Dirty Harry? Really? I really thought I'd remember that? My high school Bible is out of control-- one big highlight, held together by duct tape. As I looked around the group tonight, I was proud to see a multitude of intimately used Bibles, the leather worked soft from use, the pages flimsy and worn from flipping, the verses highlighted and underlined. All signs of these girls living in the Word.

When it comes to my current Bible, it's not very old. And since I've had it, I've kept a separate notebook for my unruly note-taking. So when you open my Bible, it's not highlighted and underlined. It's hard back, so it doesn't fall open to a well-loved verse. And when I open it in church to a "blank" page-- untouched by pen or marker-- I want to explain to those around me that I DO use it, even though there's no clear evidence. Andrea agreed with my sentiments, having a new Women's Study Bible that she's deemed too pretty to write in. And I couldn't help but laugh over our need for others to witness our commitment to the Lord and His Word through our bleeding highlighters.

alpha omega.

Tonight I had the distinct pleasure of attending a high school girls' Bible study. Most of the girls have been my "student" at what time or another as I have filled in for almost every teacher once or twice. From time to time, I'll catch a glimpse into the lives of the students, whether it's "accidentally" overhearing their conversations or just listening as they vent at my desk (aka, avoid doing their work), but tonight I felt honored to peak into a very special part of their lives.

My sweet friend Laura put this group together a few weeks back, named it Alpha Omega, and went about inviting her friends and peers to join her in worship. See, right away, Laura's more mature as a senior in high school as I was... even now. Because if you'll notice, she didn't stop at inviting her friends. I have had the privilege to watch Laura grow up since her brother was one of my best friends when we stood in her shoes at GHS, and with this privilege has come the capacity to see her in action with the students around her. She didn't go after the cool people, although they were just as welcomed and encouraged, and she didn't go after her buddies, even though they support and encourage her with their eager participation. Laura has, instead, thrown together a rag-tag group of high school girls from all walks and cliques of life-- a group that has quickly come to refer to each other as family.

I wish that I had had Laura's perspective. Her confidence in Christ. Her passion for sharing the Word. Her disregard for social class... much like Christ Himself. I am so in awe of this girl... all these girls. Their commitment to the Lord and each other is unlike anything I've seen in people this age.

So, whoever's out there, pray for Laura. Pray for Alpha Omega. Pray for a passion for Christ to spread throughout this school like it has in these girls.

coming up for air.

Every now and then I literally have to stop wedding planning and stop for a breath of air.

People keep telling me to slow down, that it'll all come together, that 6 months is plenty of time and I don't have to have the wedding planned by Christmas. The truth is, though, that I kind of do.

Next semester I start a 600-hour internship. That's 40+ hours split between the high school and the elementary school, complemented by hours of lesson planning outside of school. Oh, and then there's that whole find-a-job deal. And did I mention comps? And the NCE? There's always that drive to-and-from Tuscaloosa once a week, too, where I have 4-hours of unlimited think time... just four more hours that I can think about what needs to get done but won't be able to do any of it.

Wedding season is always crazy, and that's exactly why we wanted to get married a little before traditional wedding season hits on June 1. Any time we entertained the thought of marriage, we talked about the last weekend in May. People would be out of school, we'd be back in time for our friends weddings... Family complications, alas, had us change the date. At that point, I should've known how stressful this whole scenario was going to be. Our options were to knock it back a week and schedule on top of another Guntersville wedding, or knock it forward a month as to avoid three other Guntersville weddings. Like I said, we've always wanted to avoid the wedding rush of June/July (and the oppressive heat), so May 19 it is. So after the initial stress of changing the date we had our hearts set on, then comes the stress of trying to plan a rather large wedding in a rather small town already hosting a rather large wedding. Even outside of Guntersville, there's a string of vendors who have, one by one, said they were already booked. Through July.

I've never wanted to be engaged for much longer than 6 months. To me, that's getting engaged for the sake of being engaged, and having my status on Facebook change from "In a Relationship" to "Engaged" was just not that important. I wanted to get engaged to get married, not to "take it to the next level." As it turns out though, you need to be engaged for a year just to book vendors.

At last, though, it seems that the pieces are falling into place. The caterer is chosen, the reception band is booked, the photog has been in touch, bridesmaids dresses are picked, cake testing led to cake choosing (and hopefully will lead to more cake tasting), wedding dress shopping is booked, the bachelorette weekend is in the works, and the honeymoon is booked and official. 

Now, the task at hand is to find a reception venue large enough for the cities of Guntersville and Sheffield to collide without alarming the fire marshal. Our guest list seems to be in excess of 60 billion, with a new person every day saying, "Tell me the date so I can put it on the calendar!" Errr... 60 billion and one. And the truth is, I love it. I love the idea of spending the biggest day of my life with people that care enough to care when my wedding is. I've just got to find a place that can hold everybody.... and start the prayer vigil to hold off the rain immediately (join me in that, would you?). 

So that's today's mission: reception site. Well, that and manicures and pedicures with my recently-engaged bestie, Erica. I can't help feeling like a proud mama when it comes to Erica and Dee since I introduced them once upon a time. And this engaged business is an awfully good reason to keep the hands in manicures... and I would just feel mean leaving my feet out. And come on, I've been under a lot of stress lately...

Hey, I don't have to explain myself to you. I'm getting a manicure AND a pedicure, and that's that.

xoxo-- Bridezilla

And now, his side of the story.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you... my groom.

So, just to get this cleared up, this blog post is not being authored by Lindsey.

Before you get upset (like when you go for a book with some famous author and then you see it is "with" some guy the hide in a corner who actually wrote the book), I will go ahead and tell you this post will be mostly centered around and directly involving Lindsey. Which should be the reason that you're reading here, so a little break from her autobiographical perspective should be a welcome respite. Think of this as the curveball to offset the 98 mph heat that she normally brings.

So, why have I gotten this chance to put my words where no man has before? Because, in case you've been living under a rock, she now has a rock on her finger. Typically, this follows with a wedding, so with the promise that I'm not starring in a hidden camera documentary called "Runaway Groom", I have been allowed to tell my perspective on our engagement story.

Now, she has already written briefly about this very subject. But, as you will soon learn as our narrative unfolds, Lindsey is at DEFCON 2 of wedding planning, and has been at this state of alert since about 8 minutes after the ring was on her finger.(Side note: if you don't know what DEFCON 2 is, google it, or read a Tom Clancy novel) So due to her activity level, her post was a little less involved than I imagine even she would have liked, and certainly not what the adoring fans would want. Seriously, you should see the fans reactions when she walks out into public. It's Bieber-esque. 

So, I'll break down what happened on my end to get this big ball of marriage rolling down toward May 19. (Oh you didn't know it was happening on May 19th? Either get on the bus or get out of the way, that's when it's going down).

I won't go all the way to the beginning of the relationship, that has been documented well enough. But needless to say, even for as short a time as we have been dating, I've known that Lindsey was the One for a while. I'll spare you the mush, although there is more of that than an average Alaskan sled dog goes through. But I sat there wondering a couple months ago, "How do you go about this whole proposal process?" It was an intimidating thought, because knowing Lindsey like I do, it would need to have even more sentimental value and resonance than the average girl. Plus, since I had already told her months before that she was the One, and we had discussed getting married in early summer, there was a pretty small time frame for me to pull this off in. Lindsey is not exactly dull, as we all know, so attempting to get her somewhere traditionally romantic would set off all sorts of alarms inside her. Needless to say, I had a challenge ahead of me.

Now, in trying to figure out where to propose, I had very real issue of us having dated long-distance the entire time that we have known each other. Thus, there really isn't any special place that is "ours". No proposing on campus of a shared college hangout, or the place we met (which was a bar, to my mothers eternal chagrin), or any other "us" spot. So as I thought about it I realized that really the best place to propose would be her very own church, for several reasons. One, it already has built in significance. It is where we will get married, and no matter how many times I come back to it after we do get married, I know that I'll always remember the wedding day and all that it meant. So it had that going. The other major factor proposing in the church had over any other potential location had to do with what it would represent. We get married in the church because it is a bond between two people coming together for the glory of God, and our relationship needs to be founded on those same principals. So making that commitment to each other in the actual house of God seemed extra significant. Plus, her dad had a key and it would be private, so what was there to lose?

Before any of that could happen, I had to stare down the frightening gauntlet of getting Tim Hays permission. I was at the disadvantage of knowing how long our little chat needed to be. I could have done it while I was staying up in G-ville and Lindsey was in the shower or something along those lines, but that seemed like it was putting an artificial time limit on it in the event we had more to go over than one shaky question and a monosyllabic response. So, I stole his cell number out of her phone, and the day before Lindsey left for New York, I called him to see if he was available the following evening. Our convo went pretty much exactly like this:

"Mr. Hays, hey, it's Alex"

"Alex, what's going on."

"Not much, I was thinking if you didn't have anything going on tomorrow night, I was going to come up there after work, I think you and I need to have a chat."

"I didn't kick your dog, did I?"

After reassurance that no harm had befallen any of my pets, I told him I would arrive after I drove up after work the next day. So I when I arrived, I am greeted by his dutiful secretary, who motions me back into his office, where Tim is waiting with a seat directly across from him, and he is in full coat and tie. We go through our chat, and afterwards he bestows great wisdom upon me, most of which has to do with keeping the upper hand in a marriage. This was done with Cheryl sitting not 5 feet away, who seemed to be allowing this silly boy talk to go on only to stroke both our egos. All in all, a solid win on the road to marriage.

So, with a plan in action, now all that has to be done is to execute it. The ring that I bought has both of my grandmothers engagement diamonds in it, plus one that I bought. It is amazing how close the two grandmother stones are. When I told the jewler that I had two diamonds, he looked at me pretty skeptically, as if there was little chance of them coming close to matching. But it is incredible how close they really are, they are within .02 carats of each other, same cut, and very similar clarity and color.(+1 to me for knowing my diamond C's. Someone did their homework). So the Sunday before I was to propose, I went and met my mother in Cullman, where she delivered the package to me safe and secure. The week that followed took...f...o...r...e...v...e...r. I was nervous about how the proposal would go, having the final "this is what you want to do, right?" battles in my own head, and probably counted entire whole flocks of sheep waiting to go to sleep.

Now, for the past month or two, Lindsey had been increasingly open toward wondering why her ring finger was still so barren. So with each passing weekend she was becoming more sure that the next weekend would be the weekend when the proposal would be happening. That Friday was our official 6 month anniversary of when we officially started dating. I told her I wanted to do something special to celebrate, attempted to put the thought into her head that I might propose. The idea behind that being that when I didn't propose on Friday night, she would be totally unsuspecting when the bomb dropped on Saturday.

Friday I was pretty worthless at work. I drove up right after work, and she had gone to Huntsville with her mom, leaving me and Tim to watch football and Alabama basketball by ourselves. This is just right in both our wheelhouses, and we sat quite content. However, Lindsey was concerned that I was sitting waiting on bended knee for her, so she was very apologetic when she returned, finally, at 10:30 that night. Since that Saturday was when Bama played Georgia Southern and Auburn played Samford, neither game was even on TV, freeing us up to go and do other things. So we went for a hike and picnic up in the Guntersville State Park. As the afternoon progressed, we eventually made our way back down to her house around 3:30, where she started doing prep work for some orange rolls she had planned on cooking. I don't know how much she noticed, but she did not receive as enthusiastic of help as she normally would have, because all three of us were waiting for that to be done so we could get the real show started. 

Finally, we got done baking, and she went downstairs to shower. This kicked everything into motion, I went and showered myself and shaved, Tim left to go ahead of us to go and prepare the way, and I can only assume that Cheryl went back to either a) watching bad reality TV, or b) keeping the entire house running. When Lindsey got out of the shower, I was already dressed and in the basement watching whatever college football was on. This seemed to be her cue to not dry her hair, put on sweat pants, and flop down with her computer. I can't control everything, folks. So when her dad makes his planned call telling her to come to the church, instead of telling her that he needs me to come and help move some stuff at the church as we had planned, he ad libs and decides to tell her that she has to come RIGHT NOW so that she can practice. This sends her into quite the tizzy, stomping around the house, drying her hair in a fury, and generally being upset with the way the world is tilted against her.

Previously, I had been nervous she would be able to see the ring in my pocket. This couldn't have been farther from the case. I could have worn it in and she wouldn't have noticed. We swept into the church, and walked all the way up to the front. Perfect. So Tim disappears to "go find Ken." We're standing up front, and the last of my nerves hold me off from diving right into it. So Lindsey starts messing with the decorations at the front of the church, and then turns and asks, "Why is there a camera set up?"

This causes me to look down, and sure enough, set up maybe 5 rows back is a video camera looking right at us on its tripod. Now, when I had talked about potentially filming the proposal, I had been told that they video the service, so we could use that. So I expect this to be a very panoramic view of the church from the balcony, and that you wouldn't be able to get right up in my business. There really is nowhere to go from her asking why she was being filmed, so I launched into what I can assure was at one point well thought out. Instead, I'm fairly certain that there were a couple things I had wanted to say that didn't get said, sentences got jumbled, and I fumbled my way to the point where I got down on a knee. 

She, of course, said yes, which is why this post can even be posted here, and I'm not off wandering around lost in the woods like some crazy person. I will say, it was a taste of what I imagine the wedding day will be like. Once the proposal actually began, I can't really tell you exactly the order things happened. All I know is that either 15 seconds or 5 minutes after I started talking, I was down on one knee, and oddly enough looking her almost directly in the eye. It is weird to be doing something and have the knowledge that you will tell some form of this story and remember what went on the day for the rest of your life. I never want to watch the video, because with each retelling our story sounds a little more romantic, and my fumbling and her fuming get lessened. And if I'm ever going to have my proposal elicit an "Awww" out of a listening audiance, some of these hard edges are going to need to have been rounded off. But we got it done, and now I can step back into the background and smile and nod as she plans the next 3429308 things that have to get done so we can make this thing official. 

So to sum up what you need to know, it was a beautiful sunset proposal filled with dancing and merriment and no one could ever fathom the depth of the joy that permeated the room and allowed those that were previously lost to believe in love again. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

big news.

like, big BIG news. Like, biggest-news-of-my-life-news.

Friends, family, strangers-- I'm engaged!

I have a beautiful picture of my beautiful ring, but alas, I have not uploaded it to my computer yet. In fact, there's a lot that I need to do that I have yet to do. For as little as I sleep these days, you'd think I'd get a lot accomplished in my extra hours, but it's mostly tossing and tumbling and dreaming that the cake falls or tornados rip thru the reception. Other times, I shine my cell phone on my ring in the dark, just to make sure IT's not the dream.

Saturday, after hiking all day at the State Park, I jumped in the shower and then put my pajamas on, thinking we would be settling in for an afternoon of football-watching on the couch. Just moments after I had settled in with my wet hair and my Pinterest account, my dad called me up and asked me to come down to the church to practice music for the next day as someone had backed out at the last minute. Oh, and could I be there in 20 minutes? Put out, I started throwing on jeans and drying my hair, muttering along the way.

When we got to the church, I was a whirlwind of complaint: no clean clothes, no make-up, hair was a mess. And why on Earth is that camera set up? Are we going to critique our practice later?? I hadn't even warmed up-- there's no way I'm singing on camera.

When he was unusually silent, I whirled on Alex, who just smiled and told me to rant on. I think that's the moment I realized I'd been had. As the ceiling fell in on me and my bad behavior, Alex pointed out that we were standing at the altar, in the church that we'd be married in, in the Church that would be the center of our lives. He got down on bended knee-- making him approximately eye level with me-- and pulled out a ring.

And the rest, as they say, is history. But really-- the ring itself has two pieces of very special history in the form of both of Alex's grandmother's diamonds from their engagement rings. Their diamonds flank "our" diamond, making it pretty much perfect in every way.

The moms and dads met the next day over orange rolls at All Steak, and they make about as cute a couple as we do. So all is right in the world, it seems. And now that my entire world is consumed with wedding planning, I hope that theme carries over.

JoePa's Faux Pas

We all know what's happening in the news right now. Admittedly, I'm not a big news-follower so all of my details aren't crystal clear, but I'm pretty sure I get the gist of it: One of Penn State's assistant coaches allegedly sexually abused multiple young boys between the ages of 8 and 15. And if I'm not mistaken, multiple people knew about it, including legendary coach, Joe Paterno.

Now, I think that as an "educator" of sorts, Joe Paterno had a duty to report. Sure, he says he reported it to his immediate superior, but evidently nothing ever came of it. Until recently, that is, and I'm really not even sure what unleashed the media firestorm as of late. Regardless, what has happened is, without doubt, despicable.

I do feel, though, that we're putting an unreasonable amount of attention on Joe Paterno. Yes, he was wrong. I think he practically became an accomplice when he "washed his hands of it" and turned the other cheek. How he could continue working with that individual is beyond me.

But.

It wasn't Joe Paterno abusing the children, it was Sandusky... (Jerry, I believe?). And I feel like we've kind of overlooked him in favor of a whirlwind of emotions caused by the firing of a beloved coach. Some people have rushed to his defence, most notably the students of Penn State rallying outside his house.* Some have hurled insult after insult at JoePa for his lack of action. The insults may be deserved, but frankly, I'm ready to see some insults and accusations thrown at Sandusky.

*Sidenote: its reactions like this-- rushing to the defense of a long-sung hero-- that keep victims from coming forward to begin with, in my humble opinion.

Now, Sandusky "maintains his innocence" and I guess in this country your innocent until proven guilty. If he is innocent, this is a nightmare that he and his family may never wake up from. If he's guilty, though... I hope this doesn't go the way of Casey Anthony, a more guilty-until-miraculously-proven-innocent route.

So that's my soap box for the day. Yeah, it turns out that JoePa's not some spotless grandfather figure. Sure, we're disappointed in him. What's worse-- the Bear would be disappointed in him. But I'm ready to start pointing a finger or two-- and maybe not the one you're thinking of-- at Jerry Sandusky.

punkin'.

I'm not sure what's cuter...

the pumpkins, or the couple.

Hallo-weanie

Can we talk?

I know there will be groans all around from the young at heart, but I’ve got to be honest: I’m not a fan of Halloween.

People everywhere are looking forward to lots and lots of Halloween festivities. But me? I’m glad to have a wedding to go to that allows me the excuse, “Oh no, I wish I could come to your raging Halloween party, but I’ve got this wedding to go to… Shucks!” (and, obviously, I’m genuinely excited to see one of my best friends tie the knot with his lovely bride—it seems like just yesterday that he brought her to my house over Christmas break… but I digress).

Halloween’s just never been that big of a deal to me. As a child, we would dress up and trick-or-treat, but we lived just west of Po-Dunk and my main benefactors were my grandparents and my babysitter. And this usually resulted in a plastic pumpkin full of fruit and those undistinguishable orange and black candies.

I’ve never been allowed to watch scary movies, and for good reason—the one time I went rogue and watched ‘Are You Afraid of the Dark?’ I had nightmares for weeks. As a result, I still don’t subscribe to the horror genre.  I would rather polish the silver and scrub the baseboards than sit through a Paranormal Activity-like movie. I’ve never even seen Scream, and, among my generation, that’s unheard of. So, no Halloween movie marathons for me. This only further exasperates my distaste for Halloween as I am now forced to avoid ABC Family’s “13 Nights of Horror” or whatever. Look, “Hocus Pocus” scared me as a child and it scares me now. Disney or not.

Even the opportunity to dress up doesn’t thrill me. Frankly, I collapse under the pressure to come up with a clever costume. I’m not looking for an excuse to wear thigh-high stockings and bloomers, so that cuts out costume stores with ceiling-high stacks of custom costumes for the “modern woman”: slutty pirate, slutty witch, slutty cheerleader, slutty demon… let’s cut through all this red tape and just be slutty, huh? In my humble opinion, I’d rather be bundled up on a cold October night… but what do I know?

Don’t get me wrong—I love fall. I love pumpkins and mums, and nothing makes me smile like driving down a country road shrouded in trees of orange, red, and yellow.  I love houses decorated with hay bales and country scarecrows and the fact that everything in Starbucks is currently pumpkin-flavored. I like a good fall-scented candle and a juicy caramel-covered apple; I’ll even throw caution to the wind and enjoy a hayride once in a blue moon, provided that it’s not a “haunted hayride.” The crisp, cool air… the sound of Kirk Herbstreit and Lou Holtz in my living room every weekend… a smorgasbord of new tailgating treats… These are the kind of fall celebrations I can get into. Not the ghouls, goblins, and undead.

practically perfect.

Every now and then, at the end of the day, I can't help but grin about how good life is... or, I should say, how good the Giver of Life is. Today's one of those days. This weekend has been practically perfect in every way, if I do say so myself-- as you can see, I'm choosing not to acknowledge a little something-something that went down in the Bayou. Let's just not talk about it.

Friday, Alex showed up around 7. Perfect timing-- I had just woken up from my afternoon nap. A much needed nap after two days of subbing for 8th graders. We-- of course-- pulled a new recipe off of Pinterest and got started tag teaming the eats right away. Taco stuffed pasta shells. Probably my favorite Pinterest find so far. While our food baked, we whipped up a French toast casserole for the next morning (Paula Dean insists that it sit overnight, and I don't argue with Paula) and caught up on Modern Family.

Once we pulled our shells out of the oven, we settled on How Do You Know?, a promising movie with Reese Witherspoon, Paul Rudd, Owen Wilson, and Jack Nicholson. Or so we thought. There's not a likable character in the movie and the plot never seems to really take off, so it's impossible to really connect with the movie. About an hour in, the funniest part of the movie was our jokes about how awful the movie was.

Saturday morning, Dad and Al had a little male bonding over ESPN while I hit the gym. They hardly even noticed when I lunged across the room, dripping sweat and grunting. Dad only acknowledged me long enough to suggest I bring them drinks. Men.

After a work out and a much-needed shower, Alex and I headed to the pumpkin patch downtown. Listen, this was the first time I'd carved a pumpkin since I was in a single digit age group. Read: Big Deal. I wandered around that patch for nearly half an hour pondering over the perfect pumpkin. Alex settled quickly on a tall, skinny pumpkin, an obvious pick for him. But on that ideal fall day, I was on a mission for an ideal pumpkin. Eventually, I settled on a shorter, squattier pumpkin that I thought was pretty much perfect.

At home, Mom had made brunswick stew for lunch-- always a hit. So we chowed down on that while we watched the first half of a football game that we won't mention here. During halftime, we headed outside for the carving of the pumpkins. As it turns out, I'm a pretty speedy pumpkin carver, so after I finished my own little work of art, I spent my time taking pictures of Alex carving his pumpkin. So you can look forward to an Alex + Pumpkin album on Facebook any day now. It took longer than halftime to finish up our pumpkins, but as it turns out... that's probably for the best.

Next up, I got started on the apple dip for the Alabama game. Alex watched the first half of the game at my house, and I worked on a sewing project for Mom's deck. If you caught the first half of the Bama-Tennessee game, you might can appreciate that it was lucky I had something to keep me out of the room while my Bama boyfriend tried not to pull every hair out of his head. At halftime, we headed to the Brazeltons, and that seemed to make all the difference in Bama's performance. So you're welcome for that, Bama fans.

This morning, we went to church-- Mom's my Sunday school teacher, and it's been a lot of fun to watch the college and career class grow. She's developed quite the little crew of Snead students, which is fairly impressive considering Snead State is two cities over.

After church, we headed for Oneonta for some family time. I've pretty much been looking forward to this little event for weeks. We celebrated my grandmother's birthday-- her 40th, I think-- and spent the day catching up and laughing. And laughing and laughing and laughing. Mallory provided a good deal of the entertainment as she has learned that when she applauds, the room applauds her back. So every few minutes, she'd clap her little hands and scream, and we'd all clap back and yell, "Yayyyyy!" And that little sasspot would collapse in giggles. I might be a little biased, but she's basically the cutest baby on this entire planet.

From there, the parents and I headed to my other grandmother's house for a little visit, where Dad and I promptly started pillaging her stuff. Sometimes we fancy ourselves something close to treasure hunters, so we climbed up in the attic-- I climbed tights and boots and all, thank you very much-- and rummaged through boxes in search of my Papaw's old wide-brimmed hats. The hats were never found, but I did claim a couple of antique suitcases. I also managed to convince my grandmother that her old wedding bands-- the thin one from her engagement at age 15 and the wider one from later in her marriage-- would look lovely on my naked hands. So it was a pretty successful visit indeed.

For the rest of the night, I've laid in bed and watched TV. And I'm not even embarrassed to say that. I watched ABC's new show 'Once Upon A Time,' and I was not disappointed in the least. In fact, I'm really looking forward to another episode. Like now. Patience was never my strong suit.

And now Boyfriend has called, and that signifies the end of my day. So goodnight, friends.

thoughts & things

I wish I had something really thoughtful and clever to share, but alas. I do not.

Instead, I will delight you with thoughts that run through my head as I watch the next-to-last episode of this season's Project Runway.

Pinterest is taking over my life. But unlike Facebook, it's actually been really productive. Instead of perusing album after album of my friends pictures, I'm bookmarking cute ideas and new recipes and then-- here's the good part!-- I'm actually DOING them. I had this big plan to upload pictures and do a very bloggy-blog about recipes and projects with step by step instructions and so on, but I'm like the world's laziest picture uploader... so... we'll see if that ever comes to fruition. In the meantime, I've gotten a thousand pictures of mini Twix cheesecakes on my phone just waiting for the opportunity to be blogged. I have at least gone back and made comments on the recipes I've made (with lots and lots of help from Boyfriend, who actually really enjoys tag teaming a meal, a trait he gets from his lovely parents) so that re-pinners can learn from my experiments. For instance, this will come as a shock, but... the mini cheesecakes would have been better with full-fat cream cheese.

I did circuit training tonight because-- duh-- I'm eating mini cheesecakes on the weekends-- and it nearly killed me. I fully expect to be crippled by morning. If you're unfamiliar with circuit training, it's basically five different moves for 30 seconds each with no rest in between, rest 20 second, repeat two more times. We'll call that a block. Then you jog for 30 seconds, run for 30 seconds for 5 minutes. Then it's back to a different block with the same formula: 5 moves, 30 seconds each, no rest in between until all five moves are complete.... and back to the jog-run switcheroo. You get the drift. You do 3 circuits of workout blocks and 5-minute cardio blocks. Then I hit the elliptical for 25 minutes because last week's episode of Project Runway had come on and I didn't want to leave it and I didn't want to just sit in my sweat. And believe me-- I'm a sweater. Girls that can work out and still have a bouncy-beautiful ponytail just disgust me. When I'm done working out, I have strings of wet hair sticking to my neck and a bun on top of my head that's dripping. Cute, huh?

I talked to Alex about being a "running couple" one day. He vetoed that idea. I'm thinking it has to do with the sweat problem...

I subbed today and actually got to teach, which is rare for a sub, and I loved it. Loved. It. Usually, we subs are stuck with a video and a worksheet. Well, today was no exception, but by the time 7th period rolled around, the projector and the VCR were no longer speaking for whatever reason. As luck would have it, the subject matter was something of a specialty of mine.
My dad and I have always been very into sci-fi/fantasy kind of stuff, much to my mother's chagrin and a lifetime of eye rolls. So it's no surprise that Greek mythology has always been a big part of the literature of my life. And today I got the chance to actually teach a class about something that's really interesting (when appreciated as literature-- don't freak out). And for one of the first times in a teaching situation, I really felt like I connected with the students. They were engaged, they asked questions, they put the pieces together. It was fantastic-- a truly proud moment for me. For a split second, I considered that I should pursue (yet another) degree in secondary education. Fortunately, it occurred to me that I wouldn't be able to only teach the things I'm interested in, so that dream ended there.. But maybe I'll land a guest speaking gig from time to time.


When I got home from the gym, my dad had brought me dinner from Gunter's Landing, including a fantastic French onion soup and their signature salad, and-- drum roll, please-- a chocolate covered apple. I mean, hello-- could I be more spoiled? It was pretty much the perfect way to end my day-- my favorite pajama pants, my giant armchair, delicious dinner and a delightful dessert (I saved half for breakfast tomorrow!), and my favorite reality TV-- ahhhh, I wish everyday could be so good.

And now, after a long day of teaching and a hard work out, I'm going to reward myself with some pinning and then hit the hay. And I won't be mad if I'm snoozing by 10.

homecoming.

This Friday, the Guntersville Wildcats celebrated their annual homecoming football game with a definitive victory over the DAR Patriots. There was a parade, a queen, and revelry all around... but this Guntersville alum wasn't there.

I was having my very own homecoming of a different kind.

Saturday morning, as I flew down 280, I called my mom with a big, "Good morning and War Eagle! I'm heading home!" Home to the Loveliest Village on the Plains, that is.

This is the second year in a row that the pledge sisters and I have gathered at Jo's apartment for a girls' weekend on the campus where we all met. I've been looking forward to it for weeks, and I must say, it didn't disappoint.

I started off Saturday morning with a chicken biscuit and a Diet Dr. Pepper from McDonald's, so it was a good day right away. And as soon as I pulled on to 280, I joined the Auburn Family caravan. Every car on that endless 4-lane highway was decked out with Auburn flags flying from car windows, Aubie tails hanging from trunks (admittedly, a decoration I've never really understood because it doesn't turn your car into a quasi Aubie so much as look like you stuffed unconscious Aubie into your trunk... but to each their own. It's the spirit that counts, I guess), personalized license plates and an Auburn sticker. There was no doubt where we were all headed, and those that were just out running Saturday morning errands were passed by a weaving snake of Auburn fans, one by one.

As I rolled past the first official Auburn University sign, I rolled my windows down and jacked my music up. After a year, I was finally home again.

When I got to Jo's, all the girls were still lazing around in their PJ's after a night out on the town. Saturday morning mimosas were the perfect compliment to a morning of doing each other's make-up, borrowing each other's clothes, and catching up on every detail of each girl's life.

The weather was perfect with a cloudless sky, warm sun, and cool breeze, and by 2:00, we were officially established at our tailgate on campus. Barbeque, brownies, dips, and cold drinks abounded as we played corn hole, latter ball, and War Eagle'd every passing fan.

When the moment came to enter the stadium, I got chills and a smile I couldn't suppress. It's really beyond words how I love that town, that team, that stadium... that moment. You walk into the concrete colossus where you're separated from the sun for just a minute before walking up the tunnel and emerging into the stadium, where a blanket of green grass and thousands of "family members" wait to cheer with you. Ah, there are those chills again.

Chasley's family scored us prime seats in the lower bowl on the 40-yard line, so we settled in just time to see Nova take flight from the flag pole. Let me tell you-- if you've never seen that beautiful bird soar around the stadium to the soundtrack of thousand screaming War Eagle, you can just go ahead and add that to your bucket list right this very moment.

So okay-- real talk. That game was ugly. Painful even. Every time the refs gathered with the teams, I couldn't help but think he was saying, "Now you guys get the ball and take it that way, and you other guys try to stop them. Got it?" But as football fans around the nation love to say, a W is a W, and I'll take it either way.

After the game, we stood by and cheered as the football players jumped into the student section to cheer with their adoring fans. We hugged and swayed as we sang the Alma Mater. Okay, none of us know the Alma Mater, but we hugged and swayed and hummed along. And as we walked through campus, we War Eagle'd complete strangers and cheered that, "It's great to be an Auburn Tiger." And the truth is, it is.

Even if we don't win every game. Even if we didn't win a single game. It would still warm my heart and thrill my soul to walk through that campus, to relive those memories-- those of one of the happiest chapters of my life. It's hard to be the feeling of being a proud alum. You can believe that my Auburn University diploma will hang proudly wherever I end up. And along with it, I hope there are pictures of me and my girls on that campus... no matter how many new buildings spring up or how many businesses close their doors or how many games or won or lost.


From the hollowed walls we'll part,
And bid thee sad adieu;
Thy sacred trust we'll bear with us
The ages through.

We hail thee, Auburn, and we vow
To work for thy just fame,
And hold in memory as we do now
Thy cherished name.


And that, my dear good friends, are a few of the actual Alma Mater lyrics. How fitting indeed.

A day in the life.

Before the semester began, I plopped down at the kitchen table where Mom was sitting and Dad was lounging behind the kitchen counter, and declared that I was going to have to come up with a hobby. I had already plunged through 4 books in two weeks, and I was having a hard time focusing my eyes on anything outside of a one-foot radius after squinting at book after book for hours on end.

So I agreed to teach Extended Day as well as extend my substitute teaching range to the elementary schools. And then I took up violin. And joined the gym.

Then there's my practicum hours once a week when I'm the counselor's intern at the middle school. And there's the drive to Tuscaloosa on Wednesday mornings, class from 4-5 and clinic from 5-8 and individual supervision meeting from 8-9 on Wednesday nights, and the drive back home on Thursday mornings.

And it just so happens that Alex and I have joint-custody of our relationship, swapping weekends back and forth between Birmingham and Guntersville with a few trips to Nashville, Tuscaloosa, Huntsville, Muscle Shoals and so on thrown in here and there. These little trips take away from the general "relaxation" feel of a weekend-- somehow driving hours on end never seems to give me that good rest I need. Although, I do often find it hard to keep my eyes open once I hit those county roads.

When you add football season on top of that, I'm just all booked up. Even weekends when Al comes to me are filled to the brim with tailgating galore-- cooking, baking, traveling, and making merry with friends from all around. Auburn games with my friends, Bama games with his. And it is truly, truly very fun-- but, again, not exactly restful. Although, I may or may not have snoozed through the second half of the Bama-Florida game at Eric and Molly's house-- but trust me, they did more than enough cheering with or without me.

So tonight is a rare night when I didn't have a dinner date with a long lost friend or a hair appointment or work out buddy to meet. Since I took care of getting my oil changed and tires rotated yesterday, I thought I would make tonight equally as productive. Yesterday, my plan for tonight was to come home from teaching Extended Day, put my workout clothes on, work on a sewing project that's taking up a considerable amount of our basement floor, and then hit the elliptical while I watched Biggest Loser (fitting, yes?).

Well, my intentions were good... and they say it's the thought that counts.

In reality, I came home, shed my dress pants and let the exhaustion of 7 hours of teaching kids about bullying and 3 hours of managing the zoo extended day classroom roll off my body. I hopped into my work out clothes-- intentions still good!-- and sat down to dinner with my mom before heading down to work on my sewing project. I sat down on my bed for a minute-- just ONE minute!-- the next thing I know, Macy is snuggled up next to me and we're halfway into Biggest Loser's NFL week. My man Tebow is leading the workout, and I'm lost in an internal struggle of how I would break it off with Alex in the even that Tim Tebow asked me out (just kidding, dear... or am I?). I did get out of bed just long enough to guide my mom-- rookie gym rat-- through a workout, during which time I ran on the elliptical. So it wasn't a total waste-- but it wasn't even a third of what I had planned.

But you know what? I'm seriously enjoying a little down time with my cat and my favorite reality TV show. And if it wasn't for the presence of sweet Alex, I would think this was a preview of my future: cat lady with a reality television addiction.

Who am I kidding? This is a preview of my future. It just happens to include Alex. Lucky guy.

Birthday Bliss, Part II

As if my birthday present on Saturday night wasn’t enough, Sunday completed a weekend of birthday merriment.

On Saturday, Erica had mentioned that she regretted not telling me to head up to Nashville early enough to eat at one of her favorite eateries—The Loveless Café. I had heard her mention it and its wonders before, so I was immediately disappointed as well. Wouldn’t you know that Sunday morning, Lauren pokes her head into my bedroom to say, “Hey, there’s this place just down the road called the Loveless. Were you planning on sticking around for lunch?” As it turns out, the restaurant closest to Lauren and Ivan’s is the Loveless Café.

With this little piece of fate sliding right into place, I knew it was going to be a good day. We headed on our merry way over to the Loveless to begin our one and a half hour wait. At some places, this would be outrageous, but at the Loveless it’s pretty standard business. With that in mind, the café has turned the parts of its campus that were once an adjoining motel into a country store and other merchant booths. So we spent our hour and a half sipping Coca-Cola from an old-fashioned glass bottle and sitting on the porch of the country store. I also picked up a few little happies there—a combo package of a Moon Pie and RC Cola and a trio pack of the Loveless’ famous fruit preserves.

Inside the Loveless, I at last encountered what Erica must love so much. They start off the meal with made-from-scratch biscuits that could give my Great-Grandma Vice a run for her money—she’s past on now or I wouldn’t dare say that aloud—and a sample dish of preserves: peach, strawberry, and blackberry. Alex and Lauren agreed that their favorite was the strawberry, but I leaned more toward the peach. I think my mom’s going to love the blackberry, though, so I splurged on the trio pack, as mentioned. After an appetizer of biscuits and preserves, I slid right on into my chocolate chip pancakes. Oh. My. Word. I love you, Huddle House, but please get with it. Alex created a sample platter of breakfast-meat biscuits from the a la carte menu, and Lauren had the steak biscuit with a side of hashbrown casserole. I helped myself to a little sampling of both of theirs, and I was pleased with all of it. Well done, Loveless. It was worth the wait.

It was hard to move after our lunch-gorge, but we pressed forward with our next big adventure: the Nashville Zoo. Alex and I have been talking about going to a zoo for some time now, but we’ve been waiting for a weekend that wasn’t sweltering hot. On this Sunday, the weather was, of course, ideal. ‘Ideal,’ in fact, seemed to be the theme of the weekend.

When we arrived at the Zoo, Alex wanted to park in the elephant parking lot, and I insisted that we find the tiger parking lot, so we compromised with the gibbon parking lot (that’s a monkey, if you haven’t brushed up on your zoo animals lately) and made our way to the entrance. As we waited to buy our tickets, I stood by and listened for a moment before realizing that everyone else was speaking another language. As my eyes drifted toward the memo kiosk, I saw that it was Latin Family Fun Fest day at the Nashville Zoo. With mariachi bands playing over the PA system, Alex and I felt right at home all day long.

My greatest take away from the zoo is this: I can’t wait to talk to God about it. Throughout the day, Alex and I tried to guess what God was thinking about when he made these creatures, like a tortoise that looked like a s’more with marshmallows bubbling out of its shell. We marveled too that it was no wonder that the snake was the vessel of Satan in the Garden—every slither of this particular animal looks deceitful and intimidating. I get shivers just thinking about it. And I would have loved to have discussed the spiders with Alex, but someone had to skip to the next exhibit each time we encountered a spider. But I won’t name names.

My favorite exhibit, as it has been since my parents took my brother and I to the Atlanta Zoo, was the meerkat exhibit. Cutest. Animals. Ever. These adorable little creatures vacillate between supremely alert—sitting back on their haunches with their little arms drawn up to their chests, peering around at the intruders in their midst—to lazy and lounging. We watched as one meerkat reclined on his back on a sunbathed rock, his eyes slowly shutting every few minutes just to fly open when his head snapped back with full-on sleep—it reminded me of trying to sit through “Big Church” at my grandmother’s church as a child.

I had looked forward to seeing my Tiger brethren all day, and was delighted to alight upon them just in time for the keeper’s talk. Unfortunately, my bubble of interest in these giant kitties was burst when the keeper told me that the tigers, ripping and shredding chunks of meat in their little “jungle” home, were dining on horsemeat. I asked him where the zoo found said horsemeat and was told that, since horse slaughterhouses are illegal in the U.S. (for good reason!!), they imported the horsemeat from Toronto. Apparently, the horse meat is closer to what the Bengals would be eating in the wild, but I was happier thinking that they dined on some equally delicious mystery meat, harvested painlessly from a non-existent animal.

By the time we got to the African section of the Zoo, where the giraffes, zebras, and elephants were waiting for us, we had hiked what we guessed was about 3 miles. Before, we had thought that parents pushing their kids in strollers were promoting slothfulness. Not so—these parents were, in fact, preventing hours of whining and complaining. Three miles or so is quite the little journey for such little legs. Duly noted.

After a short break in the bamboo forest to rest our weary feet, we had only the African safari left to conquer. The elephants were truly breathtaking. They look so gentle, and yet they’re so large and magnificent. They get an extra large section of the zoo since they need that much more roaming space, so we were able to view them from multiple vantage points, and I was fascinated and each and every stop.

Our last stop in Africa, and before the exit, was the giraffe exhibit. Their bizarre proportions make them absolutely fascinating, and their affectionate behavior had me ooh-ing and ahh-ing before we even came to a complete stop. It wasn’t long, however, before I recognized this “affection” for what it really was. As the smaller female giraffe stood innocently by, the larger male would cozy up behind her. He stood there quietly for a moment, like he was giving her time to acclimate to the closer vicinity. Then he would nudge a little further forward, at which time the female would casually walk away. At first, I thought that the male was about to force his will on her, but it soon became apparent that the female was flirting, as she nuzzled the male’s neck as she walked away. After a few moments of this mating dance, it seemed that a little, shall we say, “animal husbandry” was inevitable, and Alex wasn’t sure he could stand by and watch. After having my own tiger dreams crushed, I decided his perception of the animal kingdom as sweet and miraculous was better left spared.

So as far as we’re concerned, tigers eat giant kitty treats and giraffes are brought by enormous storks and zoos are the perfect way to end a perfect weekend.

Birthday Bliss

Ladies and gentlemen, drum roll please…

The winner of the 2011 Boyfriend of the Year Award goes to… my very own, Alex Ruggles!

For my 24^th birthday (technically, September 28), Alex gifted me with two tickets to see one Taylor Swift in concert in Nashville. If you know me, you know that this is a really, really, really big deal. From the moment he told me, I knew this was going to be a ridiculously cool birthday present. And I just had no idea.

On the last weekend of August, Alex and I had gone to Muscle Shoals to visit his parents. On the way home from church, I suggested that we have some of my friends who Alex hadn’t met yet over on a weekend that I knew Alex was going to be in Guntersville. Immediately, he said no, don’t plan anything. Perturbed by my endless need to plan weeks in advance, he told me that “the cat was halfway out of the bag,” and further illustrated that the cat’s back legs were out and now it was just going crazy with its head left in the bag. Hello, internal struggle.

A few hours later, we had made our way onto a jet ski and into the middle of the lake, and Alex could take it no longer. The cat in the bag was apparently getting frantic. So we stopped there in the middle of the lake and he dropped one of his signature truth bombs on me: on Saturday, September 17, we were going to see my girl Taylor in Nashville. He had already talked it over with my best friend Lauren, and we were going to crash at her and her husband’s home in Nashville. Taylor Swift and my lifetime bestie in one weekend? Could it get any better? Oh yes, indeed it could.

We arrived in Nashville on Saturday just in time to have a cheeseburger at an Irish pub just off Broadway in Downtown Nashville. The smell and the sparse crowd weren’t promising, but the burgers were surprisingly good—I guess low expectations can go a long way. Afterward, we trekked back up Broadway to the Bridgestone Arena.

I had carefully not allowed myself to get too worked up until this moment. As we approached the arena—dressed just like the rest of Nashville with me in my sundress and cowboy boots and Alex in plaid and dark jeans—my heart began to race and my camera took on a life of its own. I took snapshot after snapshot of downtown, the arena, the tour bus, us in downtown, us in front of the arena, us in front of the tour bus, us on the escalator… you get the picture.

The show started out by opening with a band called Needtobreathe. All I knew about this band is that it is a good friend of mine’s favorite and the only part of the show that Al was really looking forward to (although he put up a good show for my sake). Needtobreathe didn’t disappoint—the band was truly talented from the musicians to the lyrics.

And then…. The Main Event! After a brief intermission, Taylor came out in a shower of theatrics. She worked a metallic gold dressed and belted out ‘Sparks Fly’ before letting the crowd know how happy she was to see us. Obviously, she meant me, but I understand that she felt like she needed to acknowledge everyone else. It’s just good business.

Taylor has this delightful way of coming out on stage with this “Aw, shucks” look, as though she’s truly shocked to find us all here watching. After almost every number, her jaw drops and she looks around in awe as the crowd goes wild around her. This could seem a bit contrived if you think about it—I assume she does this same routine at every show she does—but if it is, I would like to nominate Taylor for an Oscar. Even Alex agreed that she seemed completely and truly humbled to have so many people there supporting her.

In between “sets,” when Taylor was being changed into her next costume and the stage was magically morphing into a new scene, a chimney sweep tapped his way across the stage in an extremely entertaining show of talent. And then Taylor popped out of the floor, seemingly from nowhere. In her white flowing prairie dress, she picked up a banjo and joined a string band for a few numbers, including the first Taylor song I ever really loved—Our Song.

I could describe every set change, but then this blog is getting long enough as it is. Bravo if you’ve stuck with it. So I’ll just hit the highlights. Among them, a tree made up of twinkling Christmas lights descended into the audience in the back of the arena, so Taylor made her way—escorted by multiple guards—through a crowd of fainting teenagers desperately reaching out for a touch from their idol. And she obliged, over and over. At the back of the arena, she sat at the base of the tree and played Fearless, Last Kiss, and a few others while the tree turned slowly, giving all of us in the back a closer look.

After she made her way back to the stage, there many more memorable costume changes, but the most excitement was brought about by the “special friends” Taylor brought out. First, she introduced a man known and loved throughout the South for his songs about youth, football, and summertime… “Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Kenny Chesney!” Kenny came out to a roar of applause and played a duet with Taylor—of course, he seemed to be a bit intoxicated and seemed to lose his way around the second verse, but he eventually caught back up and finished strong. Apparently, this is a pretty common happening with ol’ Kenny.

And then, the grand finale. As all stars do, Taylor brought down the curtain and the crowd went wild for an encored. The curtain opened once more to an open stage—out of the center of the stage, a couch was rising slowly. Perched a top in a yards and yards of tulle, was Taylor with a man in a black cowboy hat who could be recognized even at my seat in the upper deck.

“Is that TIM MCGRAW!?!? Oh my gosh, that’s Tim McGraw!!”

At this point, I just lost my mind. I leaned forward with my jaw dropped for the duration of Tim’s song—Just to See You Smile—and for nearly an hour afterward. Now, at this point, we lost most of the 10-18 year old audience. They looked around at each other confused as to why their parents and other adults were going nuts, but I immediately morphed into a teenage girl at an N*Sync concert. At the peak of his fame when I was 13, the man’s still got it at 23-going-on-24.

So there you have it—what is quite possibly my best birthday present ever. And to think, my “birthday weekend” (a little early though it was) wasn’t even over yet.

fantasy.

I recently delved into a phenomenon that's sweeping the cyber world: Pinterest.

Pinterest is a website that allows you to create as many "pinboards" as you like, basically bookmarking every good idea you see online onto one page. Not only can you pin your own finds, you can peruse all your friends good ideas and re-pin them on your own board. 

My pin boards are pretty common: Fashion Inspirations, Craft Projects, Wedding Ideas, Dream Home Ideas, and even Nursery Ideas. I would be embarrassed about some of these if every other woman, single or married, didn't have these very same board. And like every other woman on Pinterest, I have spent hours dreaming of what might future might look like, from the most beautiful outdoor fireplaces that I hope to find in my backyard some day, to cute fall outfits that I hope will find their way into my closet, to cute wedding favors that just might pop up at my reception someday. 

In all of my excitement, I forced Boyfriend to have a look at all my new boards. His only comment was, "Girls don't understand guys' interest in fantasy football, and y'all manage to have an entire fantasy LIFE online." 

And I thought, truer words have never been spoken. Each year, men around the country gather to draft their favorite athletes onto fantasy sports teams that will compete with each other throughout the season. Now, I'm not entirely sure how it works, but I do know that each week you face off with a different guy from your league and, depending on how your respective players do that Sunday/Monday, a winner is declared. For instance, all day today Alex has been checking NFL scores to see how he's doing in his game against his roommate. 

Fantasy baseball seems to be a bit more consuming than fantasy football, but either way, girlfriends and wives all over the nation find themselves rolling their eyes as their significant others obsess over "their" players.

But Alex is right, they might be fantasizing about their sports teams; meanwhile, we ladies have developed fantasy lives in a parallel cyber universe to obsess over. 

But you know, that's pretty much okay with me, and now I'm off to pin and repin. 

match.edu

Apparently, the world of education is the new dating scene.

Student: Miss Hays, do you have a boyfriend?
Me: Yes, I do.
Student: I have a math test later today.
Me: (blank stare) Okay....?
Student: Oh, I thought we were talking about things we could cheat on.

Later, I was meeting with a student who had guessed I was 19, then wanted to know if I had kids, then wanted to know if I was married (logical order):
Student: So are you married?
Me: Nope, not married, no kids.
Student: Well, I could hook you up.
Me: I have a boyfriend, but I'm curious who you were going to hook me up with.
Student: ... my dad.
Me: Yeah... I'll just stick with what I've got.
Student: Or I could hook you up with my uncle.
Me: That's okay, I'm pretty happy where I'm at.

Later she told me that her dad had a girlfriend, but, "she's the kind of girlfriend that lets him hang out with other ladies." I guess that's where I come in.

So... I could date a junior in high school and go to jail for the rest of my life or become a student's stepmother. Endless options.

9.11.01

I was 13. Two weeks from 14, and in the 8th grade. Mrs. Hudgins' Algreba class, to be exact.

We knew something was up because teachers kept coming to our door and whispering to Mrs. Hudgins, and there seemed to be some debate over whether or not to turn on the classroom television.

I didn't even know what the World Trade Centers were, to be honest, but apparently a plane had crashed into one of them. A fluke accident, probably. "Terrorism" wasn't a word I was familiar with in middle school.

As I walked into the Gifted Ed. room for my next class, Mrs. Zimmer had the television on-- I don't know if this was a rogue decision on her part or if had finally been decided that the students should be informed. As I put my mesh backpack down, I watched as a plane flew into a tower, and I asked Mrs. Zimmer if this was a replay of what had happened earlier. When she told me that, no, this was live, my 'fluke accident' theory was shot.

I was blissfully unaware that anyone wouldn't like America; we were America, after all. I can even remember thinking proudly that we'd never been on the losing end of a war-- we rocked out that whole Revolution thing, and it seems we were a critical part of those world wars. So who would attack us?... and why?

So when the commentators on the news started postulating this idea that we had been attacked by terrorists, the terrorists got just what they had aimed for-- I was terrified. In my eighth grade mind, I imagined foreigners parachuting into Guntersville, bombs dropping on TVA, and a new regime setting up in DC. In fact, we had a minor earthquake a few days later and it occurred to me for a moment that Suddam Hussein must have just landed and set up shop here in Marshall County.

Ten years later, I still don't board a plane without wondering if I'll ever land, and not because the idea of a multi-ton vehicle flying through the air just boggles my mind to pieces.

So what I've seen on the news, on yard signs, and on Twitter and Facebook all day-- We Will Never Forget-- is true. Ten years later, it's as clear in my almost-24 mind as it was when I was just almost-14. And I suspect when I'm old and withered and almost-34, I still will not have forgotten exactly what was I doing when Terror crashed into America.

Call me a bad sport...

... if you want, but Saturdays in the South are proving very hard on me for some reason.

Well, 'some reason' is a bit misleading as I know precisely what the reason is. Namely, Alabama fans.

I don't know why I'm so fiercely protective of Auburn. It's really not just my football team, coaching staff, or adorable mascot, although those things all factor in quite a bit by now.

High school was not a fun time for me. I'll never be one of those people that dreams of going back to high school. I was uncomfortable with growing up-- anyone that smoked or cursed or drank was on my black list immediately. I witnessed more bullying than I experienced, but it was enough to make my skin crawl. I never really fit into one clique or another at my dear alma mater, as I was neither star athlete or beauty queen. I was average at best, and quite resentful of those who got to the top as they seemed to embody all the things I deemed intolerable.

So when it came time to graduate, I was hardly shedding tears and reminiscing about the Golden Days. I was packed and ready to go by the last day of my senior year, with a whole summer to wait on my big move. When the time finally came, I didn't just walk onto Auburn's campus-- I bounded.

And for the first time since kindergarten, when I ruled the playground as the Pink Power Ranger, I felt accepted. I quickly made friends and sorority sisters that have been with me ever since, and I can't say that my college memories had to fight for space among my high school memories. I went to a church pastored by the Godliest man I've ever met. Between my church family and my Auburn family, I learned an infinite amount about relationships and quite a bit about myself.

So to me, Auburn is very, very personal. It is family, no matter how hokey those outside the family think that may be. And when Bama fans attack my family for no other reason than that they're an Alabama fan, it especially gets under my skin. Especially those that don't know enough about football to actually criticize the team, and instead go for things like Gene Chizik's outfit or the shape of our stadium. It's one thing to say our defense is garbage-- I'll give you that; it's not our best year. But let's leave it at that, can we?

I don't trash talk-- ever. And later today, I won't magically morph into a Penn State fan. That's ridiculous. I'm an Auburn fan, and that's it.

So get a grip. I'm thrilled to death that you guys have had a good team for the past couple of years, but I'm old enough to remember the Shula years and so are you. And that's what makes our rivalry the best in the nation-- there is no consistent victor. Both teams have had dynasties, and both teams have had the lost years. So let's play nice. Here's a novel idea: what if Auburn fans focus their energy on cheering for Auburn instead of against Alabama (with the Iron Bowl being the obvious exception), and Bama fans do the same. I know, that'd be pretty crazy.

I'm sorry I'm not sorry for this rant. I never thought I'd be this fan, but... when you insult Auburn, you insult me. Today I came close to cussing a little group of Bama fans, but instead I wrote this passive aggressive blog instead. You're welcome.