television.

Between an graduate internship and planning a wedding, I hardly ever have free time. But when I do, all I really want to do is sit in front of a television and veg out. No thoughts, no planning, no problems.

(Admittedly, my usual go-to stress relief is a good book, but I'm desperately trying to finish a book I cannot for the life of me get into right now... I'm weird about not finishing a book, so I just read about a chapter a week... My plan, though, is to finish by spring break and have a whole slew of GOOD books lined up for that glorious week.)

But I digress...

Dad has built a handy-dandy platform onto our elliptical machine in the basement, so I use my workout time to catch up on a few TV shows. Some are old favorites, but I've added a few to my list this season.

The Biggest Loser-- this is my old standby. And trust me, when I watch it on the elliptical, I'll run for twice as long. If a 400-lb woman can run and take the heat from Bob Harper, I can surely to goodness knock an hour out.

The Voice-- this is playing in the background as I watch it. Now, I'm new to The Voice so I can't vouch for its longevity... however, the Blind Auditions are so exciting that I run faster without even noticing. The format is so much more involved than other American Idol-esque shows. Like I said, though, I'm not sure what really happens after the auditions, so I can't say that I'll continue to love it, but right now, just knowing that it comes on at 7 has me lacing up my running shoes.

Once Upon a Time-- Favorite show of the year. There. I said it. This is probably the one show that I look forward to week-to-week. I'm disappointed when it's not on for something like the Super Bowl or a primary debate. I love anything clever, and this show is so well thought out that it keeps you guessing from beginning to end. I have had a lot of fun guessing what characters are being revealed, from Little Red Riding Hood ("Ruby") to Dr. Hopper (Jimminy Cricket). In fact, I save this special treat for the couch with my daddy instead of the gym.

Grimm-- Similar to "Once Upon a Time," this show takes classic fairy tales and gives them a modern, murderous twist. Grimms are a dying race of people, able to spot the more dangerous of the "make believe" world, and constantly preyed on by-- you guessed it-- Grimm reapers. Action-packed, a little scary, and unexpectedly funny, this show keeps me on my toes and breathless-- well, either the show or the elliptical.

Glee and Grey's Anatomy-- okay, these are no-brainers. I've been a Gleek since the first episode. These days, I don't clear my calendar for a live viewing, but I always catch up on Hulu. Grey's Anatomy has had its ups and downs over the past few seasons, but I'm proud to report that it seems to be back on track for now. Both shows make the hour on the elliptical go by a little more smoothly.

There are lots of shows that I would love to catch up on-- Up All Night, New Girl, etc-- but they're 30 minute shows. This means that on Hulu, they run about 24 minutes. I'm going to be honest: when the show's over, I'm off the machine. So I try not to give myself that option: I stick with the hour-long episodes.

It's a nice motivation to hit the gym; I did a similar thing before where I wouldn't let myself read Harry Potter (for the second time) unless I was in the gym. Works like a charm. It may not be vegging out exactly, but nothing beats the accomplished feeling of getting it done in the gym.

And... here I go! I've got a wedding dress to fit into, folks!

Weekend Update.

After work on Friday, I drove to Birmingham to see my betrothed. We had a delightful dinner at Roly Poly, and I was in bed and asleep by 10. Nothing exciting (or unusual) to report there.

Saturday morning, though, was kind of one of those milestone days. After breakfast, Alex and I went and looked at wedding bands. Now, the first obstacle was dealing with a salesperson who, though charming enough, was clearly battling a hangover. Obstacle number two: why is every ring out there so stinkin' shiny and beautiful? 

"Do you like this one?" they would ask me. 

"Am I breathing?" I would respond.

With some prodding and lots of trying on, we finally narrowed it down to one breathtaking band that suits my engagement ring just perfectly, took Hungover's card, and headed on our merry way.

Then the studying began. My comps were yesterday afternoon, so by Saturday I was in a near tizzy. I had done some studying over the week, but as the event grew closer, my inadequacy grew more apparent. I don't know how long I studied, except that it was for the duration of the Alabama basketball game. 

(I don't care to study in silence, and as it turns out, Bama basketball is the perfect background noise. It is not distracting in the least, as it is a team and sport I care so little about, and it's just enough chatter to keep my head from imploding into a mess of theories, stages of therapeutic change, central tendencies, and everything else I've learned since January 2009.)

After a few hours of frustration and cramming, our friends Joseph and Abby came over to cook dinner with us-- homemade fajitas, guacamole, and a peanut butter trifle-- followed by a few rounds of Mario Party and a movie called 30 Seconds or Less... or maybe it was 30 Minutes or Less. 

Either way, I felt sure I would be falling asleep in 30 Minutes or Less once the lights when out and the movie came on, but instead my phone was overwhelmed by a bajillion (that's a rough estimate) text messages. My own little Guntersville crew was out and about in downtown Birmingham, and my presence was requested. Nay, demanded.

So out we went, and I got to see some of my very favorite faces.

Like my bestie/bridesmaid, Alice.

And my very dear, good friend, Morgan

The rest of the usual suspects were in tow, but I had to put down the camera and mingle. And I have to give huge props to Alex for being such a good sport about my sudden and atypical urge to go out at midnight on a Saturday night.

Sunday, I studied. I wish there was more to that story, but unfortunately that's about it... from lunch until 4, I studied. And studied. And studied.

But then... there is more!

I had the enormous pleasure of introducing my dad to what is possibly the greatest Broadway show to hit the stage in decades. It was my third time, and even still, WICKED just gets better and better. I'll have to have him write a review for you.

We went to Jim and Nick's for dinner first, then settled in for a theatrical experience unparalleled by any show currently in production-- in my humble opinion.

You'll have to pardon the blur; I was frenzied with excitement.

Monday morning, Laura and I headed to Tuscaloosa. I wish I had had a funeral march to play on my iPod as we drove onto campus; that's certainly what was playing in our minds. The exam started at 1:00 and ended at 4:30. My usual test-taking strategy is, "You either know it, or you don't." I don't linger over questions, I just go with my gut. But for the first time in my test-taking career-- a rather lengthy one-- I sat. Stared. Meditated. Prayed. Considered. Erased. Reconsidered. Changed. Tried not to throw up.

But by the end of the day, the results were in...

PASSED.

Hallelujah, hallelujah.

The implication of this is that I'll have a Master's degree regardless. My certification test is in April, and that will determine whether or not I can legally be a school counselor. Either way, I will require that I be called "Master Hays." 

I'm kidding! Sort of...

I'll cross the certification bridge, hopefully, when I get to it, but for now... I'm celebrating this.

I tried to celebrate last night with dinner with my future in-laws and future hubby, but I was really still too wound up to enjoy my food-- although the company was lovely. In fact, I was too wound up to even sleep last night, so I'm running on Coke Zero for now. But the celebration continues with a sushi date with Chas in just a few minutes...

Celebrate we must, for life is short but sweet for certain.

Blessings Abound

Sometimes I just can't help but be overwhelmed by how inconceivably, immeasurably blessed I am. In fact, I have a sneaking suspicion that I may have written this blog before.

For one, I love my job-- even though it's not a "job." Sure, I'm just an intern, but I am absolutely, 100% positive this is what I want to do. High school, elementary school, middle school-- you name it, I want to be there. I'm obsessed with the fellowship that grows within the walls of the guidance office. It's not always sunshine and rainbows, but it is always, always noteworthy.

And then my family. Holy smokes, my family. Let me be the first to tell you that not one but TWO of my uncles were ordained as deacons last night. I don't even know where to start, but I could not be more proud of these men-- humble, quiet leaders, fiercely loyal, and, most of all, God-fearing. At every family gathering, my precious granddaddy leads the family in prayer-- not a quick, God-is-good-lets-eat prayer, but sincere, reverent prayer to a Father God. I'm thrilled to death to see my uncles and dad pick up that legacy, and I pray that it will continue from the oldest grandson all the way to tiny, three-week-old Ben. Praises to Him!

With all that said, I have to admit that I was unable to attend my uncles' ordination. But that leads me to my next blessing. Every Sunday night, I have the distinct honor of leading a handful of middle school girls in Bible study. When I started this study, I will confess that I was Lindsey-focused. Boy was I going to go in there and show them how good Lindsey is at being a Christian, how awesome being a woman of God is. Typical Lindsey-style, look at me! look at me! Very quickly, the Lord used this opportunity to pour into me. Week after week, I am blessed abundantly by the fellowship with these girls. True women of God, seeking Him with a determination that I had never felt as an 8th grader. They discuss, they participate, they challenge... and they teach. Me. These girls are such sunshine in my life: always there with a hug, a smile, and an encouragement I didn't know I needed.

I don't know where to start with my friends. As our wedding comes together, Alex and I are both overwhelmed by the love we've felt from our friends. Every member of our wedding party is a cherished part of our life, and I am SO excited about having all my best girls with me as I get ready for the biggest day of my life. My darling niece, my sister-cousin, my bestest, my Mini, my hetero life partner, my soul twin, and so many others... And at the end of the day, the love of my life. Too excited. Too. Stinking. Excited.

And speaking of that whole love-of-my-life business, a most excellent perk of getting married is getting married to a family. In all the desperate prayers of a single twenty-something, I could not have dreamed up a more perfect family to join. As Alex says, they're a "family that actually genuinely likes each other." You might be surprised how uncommon that is these days. When your own family is so fabulous, you kind of expect some kind of glitch in the system-- after all, movies and television train us to dread the in-laws. Those people didn't have a family blindly support them when they decided to get married after just six months, I guess.  And you know what... I think they might even like me.

So today, I've had a good day. Coming off a fantastic weekend, I had a great day in the classroom with ninth graders then a good workout to the tune of my new favorite show The Voice... and now I'm winding down and feeling a little bit sappy... But mostly just blessed.

you have to start somewhere.

You have to start somewhere... and today, I started at the bottom. The bottom of the stairs, that is.

As I polished off my getting-ready routine this morning, I loaded down both arms with jacket, purse, and tote, and rushed up the stairs for a quick breakfast before heading to school. Only when I got to the top of the stairs, the door knob didn't budge. I turned and shook and pulled and shoved to no avail.

My dad locked me in the basement.

Kind of like the scene in Cinderella when the stepmother locks her in the attic, except below ground.

Now his intentions were not evil like the stepmother, obviously. In fact, I don't know what his intentions were. I can only assume he had no intentions, just mindless morning bumbling.

My heart started pounding and I broke out into a sweat as I realized my keys were upstairs in the kitchen, meaning that even if I escaped my prison via the basement doors, I wouldn't be able to get back into the upstairs to get my keys, breakfast, lunchbox, etc.

If you've ever tried to wrestle me or playfully pin me down, you know how I panic when I feel trapped. At this point I was fit to be tied. I called Mom, was infuriated by the humor she found in the situation. Called Dad, was infuriated by his, "Ohhh yeah, I might have done that..." response to my irate, "DID YOU LOCK ME IN THE BASEMENT?!"

When at last I got to school, I was convinced that my day was on a downward spiral. But I was pleasantly surprised.

First thing, I got to go to the First Grade Program. This year there theme was Love Songs, a la the "all-your-favorite-love-song-collections" infomercials.

The collection includes...

The Beatles' hit "Can't Buy Me Love"

Teen sensation Justin Bieber's "Baby"

And a special guest appearance by none other than Ludacris

The program also included "L-O-V-E," "Stop in the Name of Love," and several other classics... and lots and lots of cuteness.

With this and a very special delivery... GIRL SCOUT COOKIES... my day got increasingly better. I guess that's bound to happen when you start your day off locked in the basement... you can only go up from there.

whip lash.

My internship schedule is simple, in theory: Monday and Tuesday, I work with ninth and tenth graders at the high school. Wednesday, I start off with high school and go to the elementary school at lunch. For the remainder of the week, I'm the elementary school counselor's intern.

It's a nice, routine way of doing things. Same thing every week. Pretty much exactly what I've wanted for years now.

Except.

(and isn't there always an 'except' when we get what we want?)

Except that the difference between high school and elementary school is astronomical. My head spins for the entire afternoon on Wednesdays as I acclimate to my new surroundings, looking down at students and not up.

The height difference is the least of my concerns, though.

This past week my high school made the news at gun threats ran rampant (and mainly rumor-fueled) on social media forums. We had several fights on Monday, most driven by racial tension, and it all peaked with a few threats on Facebook and Twitter that were then blown way, way out of proportion. Even so, proper safety precautions were taken. So on Wednesday, I left a school swarming with police-- teenagers checking out every minute, supposedly because they were scared but more likely because their friend checked out-- and arrived at a school where I played Candy Land for an hour and a half and taught a lesson on playing fair and being a good sport. 

Now it's not always this dramatic. Most weeks it's just a leap from scholarships and career counseling to stranger danger and not breaking in line. It's using a completely different vocabulary for the first half of the week than the last. It's remembering things like, "First graders won't understand this reference to Katie Couric." (She penned a children's book I read to the second grade last month, and my first comment was, "How many of you know who Katie Couric is?" Cricket... cricket...)

But then again, high schoolers didn't get my reference to Gossip Girl. I can only be so hip, I guess. 

At the elementary school, I only have to tell the first graders that "I want to see all my good leaders," and they immediately close their mouths, face the front, and give me their undivided attention... desperate for my approval and the coveted label of "Super Leader" (that even comes with a cape). These tactics don't work with high schoolers. For that matter, nothing really works on high schoolers. 

So I'm living in parallel universes and considering seeing a chiropractor for the whip lash.

On Daniel Helton.

When you've got a ticket to Paradise, you don't dig your heels in and fight to stay put. You just say, "Just tell me when." And that's the way Daniel Helton lived his life: as though his ticket was bought and paid for, purchased by the blood of Christ.

Carefree and one of the kindest men I've ever known, the only thing Daniel worried about was whether or not everyone else was having a great time. He was always the first one to wander up to the new person in the crowd and make sure they felt welcome; at least, that's how I met Daniel Helton.

Freshman year of college is tumultuous in a lot of ways, not the least of which is finding your new niche of people. I met Daniel when mutual friends brought me to his birthday party just before Christmas break Freshman year. From that night on, Daniel's presence colored my college career. Back home over Christmas break, we took turns gathering in my parents' basement or his parents' living room. There was always a guitar involved, and there was always, always lots of laughter.

He was the kind of person that would rather talk about you than himself. He'd reference things from your last conversation that you wouldn't even remember telling him. He'd call you just because. He'd get so lost in a song on his guitar that he wouldn't hear the room around him. He'd make fun of himself, or high five you if you got to it first. He downplayed his own illness so much that we were all shocked when he went Home this weekend-- he'd rather we not worry about him, so he didn't really mention it.

As I looked through pictures of Daniel yesterday, the word that came to mind over and over again was 'alive.' Every photo captured Daniel in a moment of joy: always ready with a laugh and a pose.

And so, as hundreds of people from Nashville to Auburn, and beyond,  mourn Daniel, I try to focus on Daniel's smile, his quick wit, and his warm nature. He was always ready for an adventure, and I picture him on his greatest adventure of all: exploring Heaven with the other saints, finding answers to life's mysteries (subject of many a late night talk in the basement). And most of all, worshipping. Worshipping at the feet of the Creator he so loved to serve.

Cheers to Daniel, for the life that taught us all so much, that helped each of us along the way somewhere, that spread joy no matter what.

Game nights. Panini Thursdays. Lunch on the quad. Auburn game days. Any instrument with strings. Hats. Ginger jokes. Deep conversation. Adventures. Rolling tumors when he finished chemo the first time. No such thing as a bad mood. Athlete, scholar, friend, musician. Midas touch. Hanging on your every word. Asking the hard questions, just for the sake of conversation. Always up for a challenge. Fiercely loyal. Kind.

We'll all remember different things about Daniel in the coming days and weeks; we'll all relive our favorite memories with our favorite ginger. These are the things I'll remember.

Stealing my camera.

Another night in the basement.

Dinner at Loco's

Considering a brown wig during chemo.

Road trip to ATL

Rain soaked and still War Eagling.

Game night and Breakfeast.

Rolling Toomer's Corner after finishing the last round of chemo.

Posh and Beckham at the annual Halloween party.

Summer nights at the lake house.

Dancing machine.

Always ready for a photo shoot.

I'm so glad you've found healing and peace, Daniel. Really, I'm jealous that you're walking streets of gold while we trod through this barren land. Can't wait to see you again.

flashbacks.

It's been a minute since I have to write a solid paper. Last semester, I got to do quite a bit of paperwork and maybe an essay or two. This semester is an internship, where I mostly do bonafide counseling and counselor duties (read: paperwork!). So I thought my paper days were behind me.

Last week we met on campus for class, but before that, we had a "comps meeting." Initially, I didn't know why we needed a meeting for this.

Do I have to take them? Yes? Then sign me up.

Oh, if only it were so simple.

Apparently getting my Master's degree is a little more complicated than signing up for graduation in during the last semester of undergrad. This week I have "petitioned for Master's candidacy." I thought if I passed, I just got the Master's. Evidently not. Let's hope my petition was persuasive.

(to those of you who might worry, this is standard protocol. I'll be approved. It's just another academic hoop to jump through.)

I have also officially signed up for graduation, assuring that my little name will be read at the podium on May 5. And don't worry, they charged me a lovely fee for this service. I guess my tuition just didn't stretch that far.

Additionally, my CV is updated-- I'm not sure when it goes from resume to curriculum vita, but alas here I am, official owner of a CV-- and soon I'll be pulling work samples for my portfolio, another step toward comps.

The work samples will have to wait until I'm done with this delightful 20-page paper I'm currently putting the finishing touches on. So much for an internship of just real world work. Let's pile on a few projects for good measure.

With all of that being said, our comps meeting concluded with being told that comps are Feb. 20. The professors have put together a 3.5 hour exam that will cover every class I have taken during my tenure at the U of A, regardless of whether or not I had that particular professor.

So now I'm sitting in my room pouring into this monster paper while Ryan Adams and Nickel Creek take turns serenading me on iTunes, and I can't help but to flashback to... well, every paper I've ever written since I first began my post-secondary career at Auburn. Regardless of subject, I have always managed to work best with my laptop plopped in front of me on my bed and indie music blaring-- admittedly, at this exact moment, I have deviated from the usual playlist with a little acoustic ditty from one Eric Clapton. Even the weather right now makes me think of late Spring in Auburn, writing those final papers for development classes, making plans to meet at Laredo's for dinner with friends...

Miss that place. Won't miss these papers.