Ooof.  Y’all.  Don’t ask me why I’m up at 6:45 am when I went to bed at 2 am.  It’s all Vann’s fault!  For the first time ever, he took my Dad and me to see “Mission: Impossible IV” at the IMAX last night.  At 10:45 pm.  That is completely unprecedented.  Usually I’m the one who is begging him to take me to a late movie – which he almost always does, and even to the ones that involve teenage vampires – isn’t he good to me??  I do have a sweet hubby.  The movie was CRAZY, y’all – and we all know I love me some good Tom Cruise gossip (although I DO think he is coo-coo for cocoa puffs) and even though his unauthorized biography is chock-full of good tabloid fodder the man is a MOVIE STAR.  He was wearing very expensive suits in the movie and all of his pants were too tight and you know they try to make him look like he’s 6 feet tall although he’s really like, 5 feet.  Supposedly he did all of his own stunts.  Hmmm…I seem to be the stark face of reality in these action movies because while Vann and my Dad are like two kids in a candy store I’m the one very loudly saying things like “NU UH!” and “C’MON!” and “Oh, GIVE ME A BREAK!” or trying to figure out plot points.  I’m a great movie date! Anyway, after two nights of super fun Christmas parties, I am pooped!  I was just saying to a friend last night that Christmas with kids involves so much prep – and then it’s over in a flash.  I wish the actual day could stretch out a little longer.  It really is one of my very favorite days.  I just wanted to say thank you to those of you who are still reading.  I can’t tell you how much it has touched my heart to receive so many kind words about my writing.  I’ve trained my whole life for something entirely different than this – but as it turns out maybe all those years of scribbling away in a journal and sending short stories to “Seventeen” magazine were in fact pointing me here.  Vann has been such a champion of this blog since the beginning but especially since last spring when I decided to “up the ante”, as it were.  At any rate, I’m always convinced no one reads what I write so it’s such a pleasant surprise to hear otherwise.  It really does fill my heart with such joy.  So, thanks. Merry Christmas, friends – we have Christmas Eve service at church today and then lots to do to prepare for Santa’s arrival!  We also have to go pick out a cake for Jesus’ birthday – a tradition that my sweet niece started and I just love.  Because, as always, celebrating Christ’s birth really IS the “reason for the season” and the most miraculous story ever told. Luke 2: 9-12: And an angel of the Lord suddenly stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them; and they were terribly frightened. And the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which shall be for all the people; for today in the city of David there has been born for you a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. "And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in cloths, and lying in a manger."

Oh Sweet Lord, I fear I am losing all self-control.  I am *this* close to hitting my “goal” weight.  *This* close.  And I have a killer dress to wear on New Year’s – the first year we are going out since before Charlie was born.  SO IT HAS TO FIT.  But my sweet tooth is conspiring against me, and I may not be able to keep it together.  I’m trying SO hard to track everything – but of course I brought back all kinds of goodies from Chicago (including Garrett’s popcorn) and they are calling to me.  Or should I say, my PANTRY is calling to me. I’ve told you before that she and I had become quite involved.  I almost had to break up with her after Halloween.  She wouldn’t keep her mini Kit-Kat’s out of my face.  You’d think she wouldn’t be such a show-off.  So, ok, I need to come clean because I just had a rendezvous with her and might have eaten some peppermint bark, a chocolate-covered Oreo, and a fourth of a pan of brownies.  My name is Amanda, and I’m a holiday food-aholic.  There.  I said it.  Helllllp meeeeeeeee.

I think it’s safe to say I’ve struggled with contentment most of my adult life.  At first, it was chasing down a dream of success and fame – starting out as a big fish in a small pond and then jumping headfirst into the ocean and having no idea how to swim.  Wanting to be recognized for the talent I was sure I had – but unsure of how to live with the scrutiny of the sharks.  But God was there.  Then it was wanting to find someone who would cherish me, love me, take care of me.  Someone who would walk me to my door at the end of a date, remember my birthday, make me feel like I was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.  Someone who wanted me to be “the” one.  God was there, through all those sleepless nights. After I married my best friend – well, babies, of course!  Girls.  Especially girls.  I wanted to hold an extension of myself in my arms.  To be a mother.  To love something, really love something, give anything for and to this tiny person that was half Vann, half me.  God was there, as I delivered two baby girls over the course of four years.  Both healthy, teeny, fiery, salty, spirited, precious creations.  Our apartment in the city was too small.  I wanted to be closer to family, to my Mom and Dad.  I wanted to be able to drive to see my brothers, sister-in-law’s, niece and nephew.  I wanted to feel the warmth and safety of suburban life.  The space, the ability to stretch out and grow if we so desired.  And yep, God was there – in the midst of a cross-country move and our first house and all that entailed starting from scratch. And so here we are.  We’re in our spacious home, and we have all that we could EVER need – and I find that I still struggle with and focus on the things that I DON’T have versus the things that I DO have. For instance: why isn’t MY tree as beautifully decorated as her tree?  Why is she able to afford those shoes and I can’t?  Why aren’t we able to take that big trip we’d like to take, and they can?  Why did we buy a house that needs updating?  What if it takes us awhile to redo our bathroom and replace the appliances in our kitchen?  Why is that person doing that play and I’m not?  Why is that person able to sing like that and I can’t?  And of course, why is she skinnier than me, able to eat more junk food than me, sporting those Cameron Diaz arms I covet so much – oh, the list goes on and on.  But here’s the truth: the Devil loves this.  He LOVES this.  He can’t believe how great his luck is – I’m his perfect target.  All he has to do is whisper one lie and my brain goes into free-fall.  It only takes one little push.  And he’s won. But only for the moment, because God is there.  And this morning, during worship at church, my heart was stirred.  Through the music, the singing, the clapping, the heavenly praise, I felt God’s presence.  His gentle hand on my shoulder.  His loving embrace.  Here’s another truth: NONE OF IT MATTERS.  Do you get that?  I’m pretty hard-headed and I’m almost 34 years old – but I think I’m beginning to understand.  So I wish I had been the next Kate Winslet, so I wish I could eat donuts until I’m blue in the face and not gain an ounce, so I wish I kept a cleaner home, so I wish I never yelled at my children.  SO.WHAT? What matters, truly, is that I am loved by the Son of God.  He sees the big picture.  He knows what my purpose is on this Earth.  He has trusted me with this life, this family, this home – and all of this is exactly what He has for me, where I’m supposed to be, right now.  He is the One who is supposed to sustain me.  Not a pair of red-soled shoes, hand-scraped hardwood floors, or a prestigious role on Broadway.  And when I can finally get that through my thick skull, hopefully the rest of it will fade away.  It won’t matter.  Because He matters.  Holy are you, God Holy is Your name With everything I’ve got, My heart will sing how I love You…

How in the world I survived years of casting calls and commercial auditions is BEYOND me.  I guess I was just braver then.  The thought of it now brings shivers down my spine – literally.  I have enough trouble getting dressed for carpool drop-off for goodness sakes (did I really just say carpool drop-off??)! Ok, to start things off – I never did find that “perfect” thing to wear.  You know how sometimes you have to find something to wear to a wedding or something and you only have a small window to shop and not only are you panicked about said garment fitting but the dressing room lights make everything seem more terrifying??  Add that feeling to the one you’d have trying on jeans and/or swimsuits (God forbid) and somebody just give me a drink already. I got a little lost finding the place – and of course couldn’t go in without coffee so a Starbucks detour was a must.  When I arrived, the makeup girl was waiting for me and I promptly sat my butt in the artist’s chair and let her go to town.  Ever had glamour shots made?  Oh yeah, I did baby.  Have you ever popped that collar?  I seem to remember wearing a RED denim jacket.  And there might have been a velvet choker.  Don’t worry, this gal had a lot more experience than the makeup “artist” at the Tyler Glamour Shots, but it just brings to mind the AMOUNT of makeup that I had on my face and the fact that it was airbrushed on.  Oh yes, if you’ve never had THAT done before… My hair was BIG, y’all.  That was the one thing I told the girl – BIG hair.  Messy, bedhead-y.  I looked in the mirror when she was done, and I gotta say, I was a little bit…well, shocked, to say the least.  I didn’t look like me – but it was me – this doppelganger.  When the photographer arrived, we went over my wardrobe choices and the makeup artist left so it was just the two of us.  It dawned on me that she’s seen everything so I pretty much walked around in my skivvies and I thought of Charlie and how she likes to run around naked about once a day – yeah, felt pretty good, I’m not gonna lie.  The shoot went by super fast and the photog made me feel really comfortable – a few times she had me in poses that seemed awkward but now that I see the pics I get it.  I never thought all those years of watching “America’s Next Top Model” would pay off, but guess what – they DID.  Ha!  Booty Tooch, anyone?? So here’s what I learned from my boudoir experience: I wish that I had felt more comfortable to er, show a little more skin, but I just had to accept that this is where I am in my life right now and let’s be honest: after two c-section’s my skin is more akin to a shar-pei than a Victoria’s Secret model.  I will say that what she did was VERY tasteful and I think I would do it again – maybe after I’ve had all my plastic surgery (you think I’m kidding) and I’m reclaiming my body after a decade of birthin’ babies.  I’d think I’d like to revisit this experience again someday. So there you have it.  A keepsake for my honey and a snapshot in time.  I promptly took my full makeup and lashes to the grocery store and bought everything for Thanksgiving dinner.  That was awesome.  After all, it’s how all the celebrities do it, y’all.