Baby Bump

I have felt like a fat cow for weeks. I want to meet these women who felt like the mother of all creation when they were pregnant. And then? Then I want to punch them in the mouth. It makes the rest of us feel bad! Because do you know what I feel like? Nauseous, fat, crying, and like I want to play with the baby gestating in my belly. None of those things are helpful. And all you women who glow for your entire pregnancy make the rest of us normal human beings who love babies more than anything but think pregnancy up until the second trimester mark has been one awful rollercoaster of bad self esteem feel like terrible people. I love the little parasite growing in me. I have never been so excited to be creating life! But that doesn't make me feel better, it almost makes me feel worse. Like I should be appreciating some part of this misery more than I am. But I will level with you ladies, because I don't want you to feel like I feel right now. Alone and horrible for hating being pregnant.

Some people can't get pregnant and most women thoroughly adore having their bodies do a 180 on them, so you? Are terrible, Malia. Except I'm not! I am stoked to be having a baby. I am excited to be a mom and deal with crying babies, tantrum throwing toddlers, and lots of dirty diapers along the way. But being pregnant? It's hard! Why do you think I've left you in the dark for so long about my pregnancy? Because I'm living in the Dark Place! It's like Chuck Palahniuk and Dr Seuss wrote my life... at least, until about a day ago. Because I have a ray of hope for you, hopeful mommies to be, it gets better.

Finally, just barely into my second trimester and I have the tiniest of baby bumps. Self esteem? Back to normal - let me rephrase that - back to AWESOME! I bought a skirt that hangs ridiculously low on my hips so my tiny little bump can hang over it and I showed off that bump All. Day. Long. I've decided that being pregnant and getting to experience the pregnancy? Two very different things. When there was a little baby growing inside me, but I couldn't see any evidence other than my breakfast coming back up? It didn't feel like I was going to be a mom. It felt like I was never going to experience food coming out the other end ever again. Having a baby bump? I can see it! I can see, that is where my baby is! In that little bump! I am making room for him/her! And I am so excited I squeak. On a regular basis for no particular reason. Baby bump!

And not only do I have a bump, the baby moves. And damn, does our baby move. One minute it is hanging out low, just chilling, then it is pressed against the wall of my stomach like it wants to escape (not the most comfortable thing in the world, but so exciting!) We can find her/him almost all the time now. The baby is the size of a large apple. A freaking apple! Now? Now I feel like I am on top of the world. I don't mind that I don't fit my jeans like I used to, because I am creating life! Word. It's an entirely different stage of being pregnant, guess that's why it's referred to as the second trimester...

We are starting to get the influx of baby things. Already my parents are stock piling for us; a portable crib, a car seat that pops onto a stroller, blankets and swaddles, baby clothes, diapers - it's a baby party! I'm amazed at the generosity of the people around me (that, or they just finally found someone to load crap onto - I prefer to believe they're generous). And I am so thrilled about all the love and support around me. There is a disgusting amount of bad advice circulating the baby circuit, which is really unfortunate. I try to correct or ignore it, idiots will be idiots. For the most part though, this stage has been wonderful. I am relieved to find that I am not a terrible person who hates being pregnant, just a terrible person who hates the symptoms until she can she proof of her baby. I'm a visual learner, don't hate.

For all you gentlemen out there? I am sorry in advance. The first trimester is probably just as difficult for you as it is for your lady. You have to watch her get sick and know that there is nothing you can do about it, you have to listen to her hate on that body that you love so much you put a baby in it, you have to leave her basically stranded on the sofa when you go to work knowing she probably won't feel well enough to get up while you're gone except to pee (cause you gotta pee). Marko struggles an infinite amount with not being able to protect me from the big bad baby and I have come to find it is a pretty typical frustration from husbands and baby daddys. You're men, you want to fix it. I get it, but don't beat yourself up about it. Your wifey knows you can't do anything to help and she loves you just for wanting to. Trust me.

I officially love being pregnant. It took long enough. I have all this energy to clean and cook and organize. I constantly am redecorating our apartment in my head. But I am waiting until my little mind figures out the perfect design because I think it might drive Mark a little nutters having to watch the apartment shift with my moods. I think I'm getting close... I love my low sitting skirt and my bump sticking out over the fun purple patterns. I adore that I got my first belly rub today! I like tying my hair back in a bandana like a southern wash maid. I like doing the dishes by hand so my kitchen is clean and making a 2 course meal despite the fact that I can really only eat a half portion at a time right now. I love sweeping and mopping and making grocery lists where the fresh ingredients are three times as many as the packaged goods. I like being a wife and dancing around my little house to loud country music or some quality lmfao Pandora. I adore my husband and how he loves me despite my craziness. My very very very craziness. I love my friends and their willingness to save me from my cleaning frenzies. I love our little apple sized baby and how it does not sit still. It's obnoxious how much I love everything. Someone really should hit me in the mouth.

Now, I am on to daydreaming about baby showers. Ones themed in green. No blue or pink for this little lady! But really, are you surprised? I dream of green sodas, rock candy, and little tea sandwiches. Decorating bibs or onesies, diaper raffles, and green glasses from Goodwill. Green grapes, apples, and strawberry spinach salad! Green pajamas, swaddles, jackets, tshirts with jean overalls, and a forest green jogging stroller. You don't have to tell me I'm being ridiculous! I already know! But it doesn't stop me from loving every green smothered dream I have! Heh... I know you anxiously await the next moodswing of a blog post, so I will attempt to adhere to your needs as soon as I can think of something other than green baby related things. Maybe don't hold your breath :]

Spoken

i am not concerned with pattern

not worried about formality

i am unsure of where this is

but i know exactly i am

i'd rob you of your discontentment

and i would murder injustice

i would steal pain from you

and i'd slay oppression

i'd avenge your heartbreak

and i would kill malfeasance

this is my vendetta against evil

i have but one weapon

my fists are useless

and sharp edges can only cut the physical

bullets cannot pierce what is not corpreal

hope joy and love

these things cannot be destroyed

except by your own allowance

within you

is the greatest capacity for good

you are a fortress

in which goodness flourishes

if only you would care for it well

there is glory of the likes you have never seen
blossoming and unfolding
blushing we turn from it
embarrassed due to our undeserving
flustered and frustrated we look away
not seeing
not believing
running from the only thing worth running towards
burn us up
with the ashes they will paint a new world
a better world
don't wait for it
make it

Cry Me A River

The other morning I woke up and touched my flat tummy only to find... it's actually flat! There is no longer a dip between my two hip bones and if I trace it for long enough, I can imagine it's a little bump. I, of course, woke Mark up immediately to inform him of this and make him feel the imaginary baby bump. He mumbled something that sounded positive and rolled over - he loves me a lot to put up with me at 7am. I laid there in bed just touching my stomach as if I had never really noticed it before. Thinking of the little parasite growing in there, my little parasite.

My secondary visit with a midwife has be thrice postponed due to weather and my mental incapacity to plan well, but shall occur Thursday. I can't wait. The various websites I check each Saturday (baby's weekly conception day ("birthday" doesn't work if the baby isn't born yet)) tell me that baby is roughly the size of a kiwi and does summersaults. It also says that if I poke, the baby will squirm. I thought I felt it move the other day, but it may have just been a tummy grumble. I pretend I felt it move.

The mind altering and day shifting nausea is fading - thank you Jesus - and now? I cry. Dear Lord above do I cry. I get upset and the tears just start flowing. I get excited? And voila! I am a faucet. I watched V For Vendetta and when they show the clip of her mum being taken? Tears. And then again when Gordon is taken. And again for a full 3 minutes or so when she finds out the whole torture thing was fake. Again when V dies, finishing the film with little eyes shrink wrapped in salty residue. I used to be a badass.

This evening, I cleaned the kitchen as I made a delicious tuna casserole when I was suddenly struck by the image of doing all of these activities with a baby on my hip and Marko coming home to the two of us. He's going to be an amazing father. The picture was so vivid and clear, it was one of those moments where you truly see your future. No crystal ball needed. And then I smiled to myself because we won't be one of those families where dad comes home from work to mom and baby for long. We are headed into the unknown of the mission field, as God will have us. I can't wait.

Shortly thereafter, I received a phone call from one Alexis Allen. You may not know this shining star of my life, and I assure you - your life is less full because of that fact. She is, without a doubt, the other half of my soul (Marko is the third half). I don't remember who decided we should meet, but it was because of mutual friends that we became acquainted. I have no fonder memories of anyone in Bellingham, than I do of Alexis. I hate my birthday, so when I turned 19? Alexis and I stripped down to our underwear and swam in the fountain in the middle of Red Square. We went to nude beaches and BBQ's. We did long hikes and started our days with Mike's Hard Lemonade, even though it is the most disgusting form of alcohol on the planet. We spent long hours dancing to GirlTalk and curing hangovers at Little Cheerfuls. I can easily say she is one of the greatest people I know.

We caught up on each others lives with ease, even though we hardly ever have a chance to talk. And then she mentioned being pen pals and I almost sighed relief. You can only be pen pals with a true friend. I haven't been as good at it lately, but have desperately missed all my letter writing - especially with several of my correspondents out of reach for the time being. I am excited! With Marko working long hours so we can save up - well, there are only so many tv shows you can watch on hulu. I am excited to get into writing letters again...

I must say, being the selfish spoiled little thing that I am, having my husband work these long and tedious hours that just so happen to be opposite my normal work schedule? Not fun. Not even a little. I do appreciate that he has been given Sundays and Mondays off to spend with me, as well as being able to work the opening shift on Wednesdays to give us Small Group/Date Night. But, let's be honest, I just want to whine about him not being around whenever I want. I have had to do drastic things such as rediscovering hobbies - no! - reading entire novels - stop it! - cleaning my messily/conveniently arranged house - the horror! - having fun with recipes - the ... wait. That sounds, lovely. I get to have a clean house, homemade dinners ready for my husband, catch up on tv shows I like, sew clothes that need mending, read novels I love, listen to sick hip hop music about changing the world, google mission companies endlessly, write letters and blogs and emails, drink chilled limeade with ice cubes, finish work related things, play with old cameras, sketch a bit, and still have time to harass people on facebook? What a life!

To be honest, I miss Marko a ridiculous amount. But I've decided to look at it from a different perspective. We are making more money to save in order to take care of our bun in the oven and travel the world, while I have the opportunity to nest and get back into all the things I love and care about and have really been shelved while I got used to being married. I think that's a fairly blessed tradeoff that I can deal with. I reserve the right to whine like a little bitch though. I am pregnant and hormonal, after all, and what use is it if I can't play that card? It isn't, so there. Obviously my arguing skills are becoming far superior as I am great with child - or something.

I think I will wrap this session up as I have said nothing witty or sarcastic enough for my liking and don't want all those publishers to rescind their offers. Cheers!

Butterfly

Whenever a time of transformation occurs, whenever there is a metamorphosis, we compare ourselves to Butterflies. You know what I mean. Starting out as a caterpillar, humble beginnings. Then evolving, but not quite ready for ourselves, we hide away beneath the transparent but protective cocoon. And suddenly, we burst forth into the world as a beautiful glittering Butterfly. This? This tale of dramatic change and alteration?

Lie.

We live in a world where Suicide is Sexy, Alcoholism is Appropriate, Drug Abuse is Alluring, and Self Destruction is the greatest compliment to your life. We blame everyone and everything and we are just waiting to emerge from our cocoons of self pity and self importance. Sounds Delicious.

Don't pretend like you're above this lifestyle deemed worthy of attention and I won't either. You can blame society all you want, but you're a paying member of that club. Wholly and totally inclusive of all humanity. Your silence is your compliance. You are not a precious little Butterfly, you are a human being. Now act like one.

Our generation? We live for the moment. It's sexy, right? It's so freeing and rehabilitating coming up from all those rules. Except, is it? I believe in living in the moment just as much - actually, probably more than the next person if we are being honest. Go skinny dipping, try weird food in Thailand, tell the person you're in love with that you're in love with them, splurge and buy a bottle of 20 year whiskey for special occasions - but also? Floss, tell that stranger they have awesome shoes, defend the underdog even if they are someone you might not like, travel to a different country not just to vacation but to give people clean water, get outside of your comfort zone.

Live for the moment, hoping to create something that outlasts you - the next generation. Stop being so selfish, live for your today and someone else's tomorrow. Stop spending so much time worrying about when you're going to get a chance to come out of your cocoon and help someone else. What you find, might surprise you. You don't have wings, but you can help people fly.

The Pregnancy Files

Time is fascinating. This time last year, if you had told me I would be married to Mark Dullanty and just barely pregnant, I would have told you that I have a mohawk and wear pearls and I am not the fondest of Mark Thomas Dullanty. And then possibly punched you somewhere unpleasant. But you would have been right and I would have been wrong and all would be forgiven by this point. Because this Traveling House Rose has changed her last name and is creating life as we speak.

Warning: It's just a warning, heed it.

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be a mom. There was a era in my life where I had no intention of every getting married, but I would still be a mom. No one was going to stop me. Some of you who know me a little better, know that I have this habit of seeing babies, toddlers, and really any child under the age of 12 and holding my stomach while I say "Babyyyyy." Always good for a laugh, this one. But what I never really gave any merit to was the whole actually being pregnant thing. Oops.

Throwing up a delicious dinner of Italian food (my favourite) and Sangiovese wine after a week of uncomfortable nausea? My husband was right to throw on his jacket and speed to the grocery store. And as he looked down on his purchase - a pregnancy test, peptobismal capsules, and juice - he realized the pregnancy test was probably a moot point. I barely got any pee on the damn thing before that little purple plus appeared. I didn't have to wait three minutes, I didn't have to wait three seconds! Pregnant. A little tatertot crisping inside the Malia Oven.

We were stoked/terrified/stoked/terrified/stoked... honestly I'm not sure which emotion outweighed the other. I was thrilled to be a mom and to get so super fat with a baby in my belly - the only kind of fat person who can't not be adorable. But we live in a studio mother-in-law apartment that is by no means even set up fully yet, much less anything close to baby-safe. However, I am an eternal optimist by nature and rather shitty at worrying, so my worries never overshadow my excitement. My husband on the other hand, well, I married my opposite. He was so excited to be a dad! But...
thebariworkedatjustclosedandi'mnotsurewhenthenewbarwouldbeopeningandthentherewastheissueofisuranceandhowmuchdoesababycostanywayandidon'tknowanythingaboutbabiesorhowtotakecareofthemhowamisupposedtodoanyofthis??? Multiply that stream of worries by 15 and you have a typical minute in the mind of my husband. To say he was ecstatic to be a father would be an understatement, but to say his worries had anything other than the exact same weight on his mind would be a lie.

One week later, standing in the lobby of the lab at Group Health Bellevue, my pregnancy test came back positive! Like, ohmygracious! Yah, they make you take a pregnancy test at the clinic you visit for their records. Couldn't I have just brought in my pee stick and saved you the time and man power? Don't you have something more important you could be doing? No? Oh... Anyway, with Mark basically attaching himself to me because of his fear/hatred of all things hospital related, we made our way to the fourth floor. Pediatrics, Gynecology, Obstetricians & Midwifery. This floor was by far the most welcoming, nothing smelled old or like death, just like overly sanitized door handles and carpet shampoo. We barely waited any time at all before the nurse saw us. She gave us a packet about what to expect with a pregnancy, but there isn't anything in that little pamphlet that you can't Google. We then got to decide whether we wanted a midwife or a doctor. With a midwife? They advocate for what you want, meet with you once a month throughout your pregnancy, and will be with you the entire time you are in the hospital for labor. With a doctor the benefits include a surgical background, but they might not be able to make it to deliver your baby if they have a scheduled surgery and even if you do, you will only see them briefly during the actual delivery, but there are fewer check up appointments... Who in their right mind would choose doctor?!

10 viles of blood and two cups of pee later, we were allowed to leave. Scheduled for an ultrasound Monday and appointment with my first midwife on Wednesday. The weekend wasn't good. Waves of nausea and no appetite whatsoever. Monday I had to drink a Nalgene bottle of water in the hour before my ultrasound appointment. A Nalgene bottle in one hour. By the time we made it to the clinic, I felt like I was leaking water out of my pores. Marko had the opportunity to weigh himself and check his blood pressure, which was like an early Christmas gift to him. It's probably good that my love for him is overwhelming.

So, ultrasound gel? It isn't cold. It's kept in a warmer so it's your body temperature. So Hollywood can knock that right off. Also, when you are barely along? They have an ultrasound thing that they actually stick right up inside you. Awkwarddd. Ladies, you know when you go in for your annual/biannual check up and the doctor tells you it will be cold and might "tickle," but it doesn't? It is cold, kind of hurts, and you really want to punch the bitch getting to third base with you? She didn't even buy you dinner. Cheap. This, is nothing like that. It's like a thin dildo and they actually squeeze some KY Lube onto that sucker. Almost more awkward - until you look at the screen and you realize you can actually see your baby. It's just a little bubble on a blurry looking television, but you know that little bubble is yours. It's your baby. A little clump of cells rapidly multiplying and it has a heartbeat. And you can watch it flicker as it's little heart pumps blood into it's forming body. Mark's hand went limp in mine and he asked the lady if this is why they make the husband sit. She kind of cocks her head at him before he explains "I would have passed the fuck out if I had been standing and you showed me my baby has a heartbeat."

When we got home, I threw up. I went to work the next day and threw up. 3-4 times a day I found myself bent over the toilet throwing up any and everything that went into my body. Wednesday we had our first appointment with a midwife, I lost 15 pounds in less than a week. Go pregnancy? The midwife asked us about a million questions and allowed Mark his million and five questions. She then explained the way having a midwife works. You don't get one, you get six. You have the opportunity to meet each of them over the course of your pregnancy and whichever is on-call when your water breaks and you go into the hospital, that's the one who will deliver your baby. So, I actually get 6 women vying for what I want and fighting the mean surgery doctors who - as I know from Grey's - only want me if there is a complication. Also, I have a plethora of birthing suite options. Yah, I get to have my baby in a birthing suite, not a hospital room. What up new age health care?! Want to have your baby standing? You can do that. Want to have an epidural? You can do that. Want to have a water birth? You can fucking do that. Do I want any of those things? No. I want to lay in whatever way is most comfortable and then cry like a little bitch while I endure massive amounts of pain bringing a baby into the world. Standing is for psychos, epidurals are for pansies, and water births freak me out. I am almost sure the crazies of this world have discovered more options, but I'm not interested in knowing. You people scare me. The only option that isn't optional? Is a c-section. They will do it if it is necessary, but you cannot choose it. Which, I think I like. but that's just me.

More vomiting and making sure my pee is clear as a gauge of hydration, life became a game. Throw up, try to eat something and down pills so they have a chance to dissolve before you throw up - and you will throw up - again. Funny story about "morning sickness." It doesn't just happen in the morning, it hits you all day every day. And all the nausea and vomiting in the world won't stop the cravings for food. You just have to hope that whatever you're craving is easy to throw back up. Google cures, try them all. Your best bet is to be ahead of the nausea and snack all day long. Crackers, cheese, water, pretzels, water, scrambled eggs, m&m's, water, peanut butter, just eat. All the time. Even when you don't want to, even when the thought of food makes you want to tear out your hair. And sip, don't gulp, water. Constantly. But you have to make sure you're eating salt so you can absorb the water, otherwise you're shit outta luck. Try ginger, try bands around your wrists, try every homemade and pharmaceutical cure you can. Because if you don't? And sometimes, even if you do, you'll end up in Urgent Care on Christmas Eve. Okay, maybe not on Christmas Eve, but I did!

Two bags of fluid and several dissolvable pills later? I felt awesome. Cold, but awesome. IV's are kept at room temperature, but your blood is much hotter than room temperature so when you get an IV you get chills. Fun hospital fact! But they have heated blankets they give you, which are the best thing since toast. Also, everyone has pregnancy advice for you. Including people who have never been pregnant. Thanks guys, but I'd really like this fountain of knowledge to come from the source. Your $3.15 bottled information is nice, but nothing beats fresh spring water. Nothing. My doctor that night informed me that, as weird as it seems, the sicker I am? The healthier my baby is - and the more likely it is that it will be a girl. Knew it. The girl part, not the healthy part. He also let me know that coming for an IV isn't a bad thing and I should always just come in if I have a feeling I'm dehydrated. Better to come in than end up sicker. He also let me know that it is entirely possible for "morning sickness" to last the entire pregnancy, not just the first trimester. And here's why...

Morning sickness? Is not your baby moving around and kicking at your stomach to make you regurgitate everything as a sick joke. Morning sickness occurs because your body's hormone levels are doubling every 48 hours and producing more vitamins and nutrients for the baby than you usually would for your lonely self, but the baby isn't really even quite big enough to absorb all the vitamins and nutrients or to grow with the rate of your hormones. So your body reacts to all this extra crap by trying to get rid of the extra - vomiting. Cool, right? Except you can't vomit hormones, so it's a terrible cycle of awful. This is why secondary, tertiary, etc pregnancies are usually easier on mom. Her body understands what's happening to it.

Basically, go apologize to your mother right now. Go on, I'll wait.

Thank you. So Mark and I rang in our first Christmas in Urgent Care. And, finally, at some point between 1:00-1:15am, we passed out cold. Waking up early on Christmas is almost a rite of passage, but we both slept pretty well until after 9, thank God. We sat on the sofa and admired our pleasant little Christmas Tree tacked to the ceiling and tilted by towels in it's Folger's coffee can so it could remain upright with our First Christmas Decorations on the floor around the tree, it being too weak to hold any actual ornaments or lights. And we exchanged gifts. A big beautiful Interlinear Bible with Hebrew and Greek literal translations and English in the sidebars for me - oh yah, my husband got lucky on Christmas - and a "Green Handbook" for Marko so he can save the world. He'll do it you know, I really believe it. We then did the Christmas at each parent's house. Next year? Next year we will be having Christmas just the 3 of us. No negotiating.

After my trip to Urgent Care, I stayed on top of eating and sipping and finally tried the last Google cure I hadn't already - lemons. Sniffing them and occasionally having a small nibble. It works. It is the only cure other than fun dissolve under your tongue pills that seems to do anything for me. I still have bad days, really really bad days. But sometimes it's almost like I am a normal functioning member of society. Hormones doubling every 48 hours means I cry more than usual, but that isn't exactly a difficult task. I'm not a crier. But I saw a preview for The Lake House with Keanu Reeves and Sandra Bullock? And I wept like a little girl. A preview! Other than that though, I haven't been too bad. To be honest, Mark is much worse than I am. He can't watch anything with small children in it without having a mini-meltdown, bless his heart. I think becoming a dad is a bigger adjustment than becoming a mom. For the most part? Women are wired for it, men become wired for it once they have a baby in their arms.

My insides feel like a door the dog scratches at to be let out, not in pain exactly but definitely uncomfortable. I am currently sucking on a lemon and I seem to eat more popsicles than real food these days, but I don't have enough energy to do anything so I feel like the laziest human in existence. And fat. Damn being pregnant. You don't just magically become "cute fat" where you can where baby doll clothes and look like the most adorable creature on the earth. It's a slow process where your stomach becomes hard, almost like abs but not. Then all the sudden all the fat in your body starts migrating towards your middle to protect baby. You can almost watch it happening, like armies moving. "Right thigh! Prepare to move to the tummy! We must protect the baby!" So yah, you feel fat. Because literally all your chub is gathering in one place, but you're not quite big enough to wear tight fitting t-shirts and show of the bump. Awkward. However, your husband will notice that your shoulders stick out and your ribs show and your legs feel skinnier, which makes you happy. And he'll probably shower you with compliments anyway because he's afraid you'll turn into one of those raging hormonal women from the television.

Then there are your boobs. Whether you like it or not, you've suddenly got two more cup sizes to deal with. Without milk! And if you're like me and already hate Victoria Secret for not believing in small ribcages and large cup sizes? You do not want any more to rock in the chest department. Doesn't matter though. It happens and it happens fast. You're throwing up half of the things you eat and your boobs are literally defying laws by continuing to blossom out of your shirt - outlaws. And you sigh with frustration because you don't know of a bra that isn't a $90+ special order that will come in whatever size your boobs have decided to grow to today. And you flat out refuse to wear anything beige or "nude" and unflattering. Until... your HuffPo obsessed husband finds an article on parenthood from the sister online news source of Jezebel. The article is funny and this sister news source is alright, by women for women, but you don't find new age feminism anything more than a pathetic hypocrisy so many of the articles are a bit angry for your taste. But the ad for a product line called HotMilk? Click. Not pregnancy porn, which there is a surprising and disturbing amount of, but Designer Maternity Lingerie. What Up?! All nursing friendly and a 32 all the way up to a GG regularly and even H & I on some bras. You small chested ladies are lucky enough that you will never have to understand what I'm talking about, but I am so excited! Back massages every night are awesome, but I'd really just like for some part of my body to be cooperating at this point and, hello? Sexy bras in my size for under $75 is a flat out miracle. $49.95? I could faint from the joy.

(This paragraph is the definition of TMI) I read an article that said pregnant sex is the best sex ever. I would have to agree that it is pretty awesome, but honestly I am struggling with an upset stomach more often than not these days so it's kind of difficult to get in the mood. And not just for me, but Mark too. Having bigger boobs is only so much of an incentive before he starts worrying about how I'm feeling and how the baby is doing and his normal stream of other worries. Whoever said men think about sex more than women was a flat out liar, we objectify just as often - if not more - than men. There are just those handful of chauvinistic asshats who appear to be the majority. They aren't. Way to ruin it for the rest of your gender, dudes. Girls are just sneakier about it. Never underestimate a woman, most of the time we get what we want. But, seriously, pregnant sex. You've got all these hormones running through you and you stop thinking about what you're doing and just start doing what is comfortable because you're too uncomfortable every day to fuss with being uncomfortable during sex - so it leads to some different things. That's all you get on that subject - pervs.

I am due the 11th of August. Mark and I are excited because that means in the future we will have the opportunity to take the little rascal places for it's birthday! Plus, we live in Washington and August is like the only decent month of the year. I am nauseous all the time, but they say it's like a light switch when you hit your second trimester. I pray to God that's true. Nausea hit's your arms and legs. It makes your head feel woozy and your chest feel heavy. It makes food feel alien and every time you throw up? You feel like you have somehow lost a point to the morning sickness monster. It's like having the permanent flu, except you still have to function in everyday life. I'm going to publish my blog and retire so I can feel nauseous in peace. I feel like the whole world would appreciate my smart sarcastic wit, don't you? Okay, maybe not. But it was worth a shot. More updates on the awkward awesome that is pregnancy life soon. Cheers, kids. Have fun while you can.

Because eventually you will be married and pregnant and having even more fun than that! Suck it.

Fairytale Ending

Fairytale endings are all they are cracked up to be, but not because anything ends. Or perhaps it is. Mostly it's that things begin. A life you imagined to be perfect, but isn't. It's something better, something real. There was a hidden room, behind that bookshelf, wasn't it? I was never really sure. Maybe I am still there.

The imagination is a funny thing. It makes everything better. And worse. Depending on the impending moment. Those are the people you might expect to be there, in your dreams. This is a fantasy fairytale. Or is it? Confusing is the least of my problems at this point. There was a beautiful crown. A tiara that sat upon my head. I gave it away, but only because it wouldn't burn like the rest of it. Who would have ever thought I could be a princess?

Growing from a glass jar, all I have ever needed is just a little water and sunlight. I survive quite well in this environment of cold frost and low fog. Or perhaps I don't. I can't seem to remember. There is something beautiful in the decomposition between the roots. It makes everything healthier, but it shouldn't. Then again.

Glass walls and streaming attentions, I feel a little more than whelmed. This is French vocabulary, I never learned any German. It wasn't really my thing. But then, did I ever really have a thing? I am waiting for the next adventure, but maybe I need to find it. There in a wardrobe perhaps or the Spine, a letter from a magical place or in a quest to dispose of a ring. There in Paris, in Netherfield, Avonlea, London, Seville, Rotterdam, the Black Forest, Heaven or Hell. Whichever is most real to me in the moment.

I close my eyes and reach my arms out in front of me. Fingers stretching, cold in the winter air. I can feel the mist settling around me as I take a step forward. A scarf finds itself wrapped around my eyes and I take another step. It isn't dark beneath the blindfold, I am not afraid. The grass is frost laden and my bare toes melt it blade by blade until they are as frozen as the ground beneath them. My hands are still out before me, but I am moving fast now. Running. Searching.

There are warm arms that always catch me. It doesn't matter where I am or where I am going. There are always there. And I know the chest that my head is cradled against. This is home. Not a house or a building. Not a bed or a sofa. Not material possessions, not things. This. This is where I belong. Always. This is my fairytale ending. Beginning.

Never Nother

I'm dressed up on the sofa. Right over left, red high heels. With lashes that slay but nowhere to go. And I could belong to the night. My heart isn't made of muscle and I don't bleed red. Hands covered in black with only fingers showing. These are the finer things in life.

Do you remember the words you spoke to me? Because I don't. Never one for auditory, it's just a silent film ending in a cigarette burn. Dissolving the film with a quick lick of fire. Then the projector. And eventually the theatre. Everything up in flames.

This is the result of slight inebriation. Nothing more and nothing less than that absolute perfect honesty. Where do you live? Not where do you sleep, but where do you live? This is life unfiltered, tin barrels and all. Embarrassment was never a question, more of a statement. I deserve nothing and will refuse nothing. A cheap scapegoat for a real issue.

Television shows are shot from such an angle that everything seems beautiful. I've got this guilded life and excuses without truth or reality. I am broken against rocks in rivers running far and fast. There was a house with bamboo and it makes my heart feel safe. There was a house with rounded edges and it makes my heart feel safe. I am hidden away from all that's near.

This could compromise me forever. I am fighting the stock per volume and all I can muster is a head ache. This is where heroes are made. This is where normal people fall prey to those around them they deem to be special. I hate the word. I find it in the corner of the bedroom, beneath the edge of the bed, further than the sheet dare to creep beneath. It's quiet and lonely but surviving. Surviving so still.

There's nothing more to say except the heartbreak. That painful and confusing heartbreak. I have nothing to say to everyone surrounding me and the more people to join the fray the more alone I feel. There isn't anything and I can't seem to find the connection, rainbow or otherwise, it escapes me. Everything escapes. This is where my story ends.

But there is always another beginning.

Time Passing

Charcoal dusting my hands, toffee colored rubber flakes covering a smudged page. We don't need erasers, not really. Just an imagination. It's slow, Italian. I miss that hillside. I am painted with pumpkin. That dark orange that only Autumn brings. Foolish, I am foolish. The color teal dissolved by stomach acid. Suddenly I am sharp again.

Shake and hustle. Small tremors at first, then it builds. Sip this slowly. Is this the only song I love or do we ever really change? The earth is just a circle with corners. I am in a vintage film strip. Breaking bread in my niche little house and the sheet is pulled tight across the bed. No time to fiddle, only violin and cello. The rosin smeared across her lips as well as her strings. I never had the talent.

Solid ivory sullied with finger prints. It's a clever sort of wood, harder than most, polished. The Captain's cap falls over his eyes as he slumps comfortably into the chair, feet upon the wheel. Complete control. You have only a moment to throw distain in his general direction as you lose you last meal into the ocean. What had been precious only a few short hours ago, now refuse among the waves. Fish food.

It's cold but the rain is nice. Plink lightly against the metal. It's beautifully painful. The light purple with white crayon over the edge. This is Hallelujah. Singe the edge of the paper and spread the ash. Red fire is anything but hot. Beams caved in over broken hearts. Defrost and pressurize. Standing in all blue, with white underneath. Is there another option?

Screening the scene with a quick glance. Permanent ink dripping through the skin. Chainlink and walls I don't recognize. I could wait forever, but that would be a lie. What time is it really. I'll tuck it away beneath the pillow and pray that that soft plushy surface is enough to protect my dreams. Pull another drag of that fresh air through that carrot treated filter. My truth is as real as I need it to be.

Open my eyes and witness broken limbs stretching further than they should. Hope never fails, but it can flail. I know absolutely nothing. A child, with never-ending curiosity and never-ending ignorance, sometimes arrogance. I am anything but deserving.

Mercy doesn't care who you've been. Grace doesn't care what you've done. Hope doesn't care where you've gone. Faith doesn't care when you lost it. Love doesn't care why you've let it go. Somethings are true, whether you believe them or not. And the more ridiculous the story? The more likely it is.

This is not a can of soup, this is a permanence beyond my comprehension of the word. Forever is an awfully long time. Today I am present. I couldn't tell you how or why, but I am here. Standing with both feet firmly on the group and both hands stretched open toward the sky. Today is! Today is.

October Center

It is the middle of October. Literally. Autumn is more than just fall, it's a phoenix in bloom. Glorious, bright and vibrant bloom. I hold my hand out the car window, windows all the way down. The last warm day before the rain, maybe. But I am not concerned. I am full of warmth. From little toe to bouncy brunette curl. Perfection is not achievable, yet does exist. And we can only pray and strive for that goal. Not disappointed in our inability to achieve it, but terribly joyous that we have such a lovely prize to run toward.

I don't know what tomorrow will bring. I used to say I wanted nothing more than to be a housewife in pearls with a mohawk. Never typical, yet oh so practical. Did you know that you're loved? This is the smooth sound of contentment slipping over your eardrums. Did you recognize it? Or did it just slide past you. I've written a letter and it starts like this... well, let's not be vulgar. We'll always have Paris.

Now what do you do when all your dreams are coming true? Do you write a script Walt could place in the vault? Or do you already know? That dreams coming true just makes room for new ones. Oh dear, the love pouring out of these fingers every moment of every day. This is leather-bound, or maybe vinyl. Something secure, sweet, and new - yet so simple and old school. I read Home Economics for the 21st Century Household and sip a light glass of absinthe while I listen to Skrillex v Adele. Smyphonous.

This violent dichotomy of all that we know is what makes this life so precious. So much unstymied evil - yet - an unlimited amount of the purest good and loveliness. I can close my eyes and whisper words of prayer, but it is the moments I am silent that I hear. Anything, anything at all. I know there may be confusion. I'll tackle it head on. I know that I cannot possibly understand. And yet, I do. What a beautiful disaster this is.

This bright blessed day and dark sacred night. Life is so vital and yet inconsequential. I can smile and shake my head as I listen to the soft silence of sunset. Oh love divine. Delight. I am exhausted by the sheer wonder and amazement of all this surrounding beauty. A line in the sand is so easily washed away. But the lines on your heart stay. It speaks to who we are, who we will be. Each line so carefully etched. Planned.

Sweet spontaneity in the limelight, sharing it only with an unspeakable good. I am glad. This is my life and it is beautiful. No more than that of the next person, and yet... so much more in my mind. Love, love, love. Unfiltered and unkempt. Messy but complete. Whole and satisfying. I am still here.

Standard of Beauty

The knowledge you gain as you grow, is far more useful in retrospect.There is so much to teach, but more to learn. I'm wistful for that which I lacked. Precious in the eyes of now, but not then. It's heartbreaking really, there is so much more than what you imagine there to be. I could never know it all, I'd never want to. I'm enjoying the growth, but it makes my heart hurt for the child I was. Why didn't anyone tell me this?

To go about this, I'm confused and concerned. Worried, I want to be worth your admiration. To live up to the standard and make you proud. To teach you and to learn from you. I want you to know and fully understand your value, your worth. I want you to comprehend who you are. I'll listen and I'm here, for advice and counsel and just an ear to listen. But your relationship with me is not the important thing. It's you, it's you.

I kiss the lips that call me "wife" and hold the hand that holds me safe. In those arms I rest and in that serenity I find my piece of mind. Mine only, belonging and true. There are words I forget to recognize. And my neurotic behaviour and simplicity is distracting from the light that shines from eyes unhindered. There is a love greater even still.

Here in my chest is occupied space. Not rented or leased but owned without a price. Permanently paperclipped to the covenant by which I live. A covenant sealed by blood and tears and death, in this I live. Joy burdening my poor heart to the point of collapse. Happy, content, beautiful, victorious collapse. And my heart burns for this, for this intense and fiery passion. I break for that which does not hit me and bleed for those who do not cut me. I am joyful! in the return of vibrant colour!

I can hear the voices. They whisper behind corners, sharp as they are. The words cut like fiberglass, you don't even know it's there until it's under your skin. When I could hear the gossip, I was disappointed. Now that I cannot, I understand. I am not hurt, I am heartbroken. Fiberglass buries itself into you, you see, as far deep as it can manage. Too young, too soon, too typical, too little, too much, too foolish, too rash, too. I disagree and I am ashamed of your building and all that it is meant to stand for.

I hold each moment precious and I bleed the color of my words - transparent. I seek truth and light. Laughing at the clouds because they bring the rain I will dance in. These are children's rain boots. I am unconcerned with proving anyone wrong because that isn't what this is about. The smiles I find are hidden deep in a life everyone had given up on. I will follow. This is my path, my joy to follow.

My desire is for you to fully understand who I am. No lies, no hidden secrets. I have messed up more than my fair share. I have been a bad example to those more impressionable, I have made mistakes, I have injured those I love. And I am sorry. While I would not wish my life on anyone, I do not regret it. Not because it was worth it, but because I would not be who I am without those things. Because I have found forgiveness in the calm and quiet of my own mind, by the grace of One who always knows better than I.

The hope would be that you read these letters and that they form more than words but meaning. Meaning that bleeds onto the page with every ink splatter I make. Did you know that I fall in love every day? It wasn't just once, but it isn't a decision either. And I imagine it will be harder some days, but it will never be impossible. Because I have practice falling in love everyday with Someone who never fails to love me back.

Move Like

don't

just

stand

there

move like

printed on white paper

offwhite, really

no formalities here

the black is almost offsetting

pressed there against the white

offwhite

they are letters without form

deformed

not understood by any mind

but spoken by every tongue in every nation in all the earth

there is a gall

in all that black achieves

despite its circumstances

or perhaps because of

between the lines

and even over the top of them

told what to do only

by time without a clock and keys without doors

single, double, triple

free from the patterns of the mundane

demonstrating a command

a comprehension

creating anew

rest

effect affect

ingredients

marrow

bone

nerve and vein

organ

muscle tissue

greasy molecules reacting to uv radiation

blue and white woven

gene - jean

rayon and cotton

the percentage matters

color patterned

bounce sheets

rubber soul

ink

grey matter

gray

synaps and react

electric

no need for an outlet

the possibilities could break the scale

break

broken

vintage sunlight

8 minutes old

and today

that is far too long

sugar

sweetheart

dearling

by any other name

it just wouldn't be the same

does each word belong to you

or just disolve in your mouth

candy

ivy honey sweet

dripping onto the page

dark like ink

first learn the rules

so you can manipulate them to serve you

we live like this

the easy way out

stand up

marble statuesque

stoic

now move like

And We'll Disappear

This. Won't. Make. Sense.

This is where the roses live.

And if I had one sleeve, I'd be happier than I would with two.

Photographs can document far more than you mean them to.

Sugar sugar.

Tell me, when did you know for sure?

The bridge is across more than just the expanse.

The outcome is obvious, it's the journey you have to consider.

Cool like cream, smooth like ice.

Which day would you like to know best, I've got one for each.

I'll write code for my life and rattle it out like a machine. Machine.

The breakdown of the breakdown - simple.

Things fall, together.

And here now.

I'm done looking, the picture frame isn't empty here. I don't need a mirror when the reflection is apparent. There's nothing more to say besides, hm!

Take What You Need

This should be interesting. You might be a bit surprised, but then you no what I know. So now what? Indifference is injustice and I am angry. We should be better. We should know to be better. And we are not. I am infuriated and my voice is too light which makes me as guilty as the next. The future is in front of us and we are abusing it. We are ignoring it. You need not grow up to be responsible and apparently you need not be responsible to grow up. I am disgusted. And this is a less than reputable venue to voice my opinion.

I have a new hair clip. Flower. Red. Gifted to me by someone who knows my heart better than even I do. To see the world from a child's perspective makes you a bit short, but not short of anything important. To live in a fairy house and receive joy from the little things. Pens all in a row, rainbow. Each moment more enthralling than the next, but knowing enough to know better. Oh excitement! Oh joy! Oh wonder and love! To be a child. This is how I want to see the world. This is the whole world available to you.

I'm lying beneath the stars and I am between your arms. There by your heart. I hear it and it comforts me. Two Six Eighteen. Tell me what the pattern might be. There's not much to be said for sitting alone, except to be brought a sandwich. I'd rather write with you next to me. Sweet dreams are made of these. Is this where the breakdown in communication happens? Because I don't see it. Self is the destroyer of unitedness, so say the wise. I can't claim to be wise, but I know this to be true. Seek out that which unifies, put value on something beside merit.

Blindsided by the maybe. Hold tight to all that's good, all that's real. But then, what is? One will make you big and one will make you small. Those are your options and the cakes both taste the same. This is beyond the edge of everything else, but before you reach the end. Day dreamy little girl, I burn feverish at night. Not hungry, not thirsy - there isn't anything you could offer me. I could never be bought, child. Keep yourself at attention or you might miss this next bit. Boom. This is the mashup, rap songs and screamo, operatic pop melodies. This is all you get, it won't sound like what you thought. Once you know this truth, you won't remember the noise you thought was your anthem.

I want it all - isn't that the truth, sweetheart? I've heard this whispered in dark corners behind dirty hands before. This is the theme of those who see without understanding, sing it loud. Brush the water off your shoulder, the drops should just glance off your skin. There's nothing soaking in the way you'd like. But that makes for a much more interesting stage. Unappreciated are your vain attempts to grasp the attentions of those around you. Was there something important that you wanted to share? Some things are better kept to yourself. For ever is the silence that is worthless words formed by needy lips.

Soft serve ice cream. White sprinkles are always the sweetest, something about the dye dies the taste. Piano forte, and yet isn't it still softly served? Animals behind bars and glass windows, aren't you just another creature caged. Looking out over the vast expanse of pavement and steel from your glistening tower tops. You don't really have control over the world you see. It's just motion that you feel like you've set into play, but it doesn't belong to you. Does anything belong to you? And if it does, what purpose does it serve? Where do you find solace - here in the middle space. Distracted by the caffeine and cold starlight against the window. Yellow only looks warm.

Painting the carpet with decent pastels. The way it looks is as important as you'd like. Choose. Write your list of priorities or it will write itself. And then where will you be? Courage and enthusiasm, maybe. Love and perserverence, definitely. Winners write history and I'm certainly not one of those, but I'll take the pen in my hand regardless. There is something to be said for perserverence. It's easy to be courageous when you can see Dragons. It's impossible to perservere when you can't see what you're fighting, still, it must be done. I've outrun much of what haunted me, only to turn and defend myself. It's been said a thousand times.

Enjoy the show for what it's worth. Expect nothing more than what you're shown, but hold hope in high esteem. Do you deserve anything? No. But you should demand it. And I will push you to that end. Sway in time and hope it is more than you think. Asleep. That half state between alive and dead. Dreams live here. We run from them or embrace them, but where do they belong really. Just belong. Don't try to wake me in the morning. Open to the world, love is hard. All kinds of love. There's more at play in this life than just romance. There is so much more. Sing to me.

Something Small

It's the beginning of the end. The end of the beginning. Whichever, something is happening. It's a simple concept. Love is hard. I like it that way, between you and me. It's not always easy, but I wouldn't say it's a choice. I couldn't say it's a choice. I already have my one, I already have my two, I could keep counting but why bother? I'm in the sunshine. I am in the brook. My toes are between sparkling water and my hands are fiddling with blackberry bushes. A scratch here and there and purple all over my fingers.

I'm learning a lot about prayer. But more about listening. It has a little to do with patience, a little to do with love. A whole lot to do with ignoring myself, which sometimes means paying attention. It's backwards, but that's the way it should be. If it made sense, it couldn't be true. Isn't that the way of the world. We'll light a fire to keep us warm. Falling stars and all the rest I've forgotten to mention. I always make wishes for other people. I know not what I'd wish for myself.

They're all so precious, like stones or gems. But more so than even that, more so than any of that. What is in a human life that makes it worth so much. It breaks your heart and sooths your soul all at once, never seperate. Hold tight, this is the new knew. Love. Pour forth and never let it cease. Incontinuity ruins all that could be continuous. That should be. I want them to know, to absolutely and completely know. To be aware of the affection held for them, of the esteem. How can I make it more apparent! My eyes are already welled up and my heart spilling over. Over over.

Low expectations and a fiery imagination is how I break things down. I have a hunger for things that won't satisfy and a thirst for that which cannot be quenched. I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm not what you like to see on paper, and in person it's not much better. I know that I bring something no one else can offer, you'll have to see it for yourself. There is white linen and a chain of roses I made, just hanging on my way. I'm not worried, I'm excited! But it's quiet and calm.

Not typical, but I'm not sure anything else would be appropriate. I don't have any answers right now, nor do I have a direction for you. I have more than that, so much more that it weighs me down as I spin in circles beneath the sun and between the music notes. Joy! to all that is and will be. I don't have enough words, I don't have enough sentiment. Just hope that you feel my meaning. This is more. Or less. Perhaps I don't even know what I'd like to express. Only that I wish to express it.

Love love love.

Go And Pack Your Bag

This is today. Gray skies and mild pain that I ignore. I'm on the edge of something great here and I can't wait to take that leap. I complete no one, but am complete. This is how riddles begin. If you shut the door with the music up, it acts only as a muffler of the muffled sound. I'm thrilled to tell you all about how much I don't actually know. My life is built with broken glass that has been melted back together, each piece mixing in with the next. Not unbreakable, by any means, but a beautiful medley of who I've become. Have no regrets, only experience. This is where the healing lives.

Sunburst. I'm glad to have a pen in my hand and scissors and a tank top. This is mine now and I'll make it my own. Soon I won't have a mine, I'll have an ours. I think I like that better. In fact, I'm sure I do. It seems inconsequential, those 45lbs of glossy paper. And I'm thankful, but not glad. I think this is the beginning of much of that. But none of this belongs to anyone else and so it shall remain. I'm low maintenance and I never intend on being anything else. That cabin by the river is just perfect. Not my future - ours.

Imagination is a funny thing, you can never quite live up to it. But you know reality is good when your imagination never came up with anything this amazing. Four letter words tend to be a cop out, and while this one isn't, it still isn't enough. But we'll have to make do with what we have. I'll write on the walls with my fingers and press flowers into the floor boards. I'm not the type of woman to just sit back and wait around. I want to be a 2:18 and I want to do it well - but only for two.

I'm dancing in my living room, not for long will it be. I rub the sleep out of my eyes and kiss my shoulders, first right then left. I never said I was anything less than odd. I'm happy. Not just in this but in everything. I'm full and it has nothing and everything to do with me. Braided into the perfect shape of joy. Cursive tends to be my motif. My hair is disheveled and flopped as it pleases, I couldn't care less. There's a beautiful word in a language I can't remember, it will explain everything now that I've forgotten it. This way, that way, anyway.

I love you, I love you, I love you. A million more times is it said. And I would be rich for every penny rained from Heaven if it rained on you and I. Our names next to one another is what I like best, it's what I love. And I don't want anything in the inbetween, you and me together we could do anything, baby. You and me together, yah, yah. Just resign to it and smile. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Engage Me

I've been set up. Bamboozled. The wool was yanked over my eyes. I had a fast one pulled on me. I've been tricked, mislead, and swindled. I've been taken for a ride and hoodwinked. I'm befuddled and confused as to how I got here, but I'm sure I was hornswoggled. It all started when I was called home, when I felt drawn back here to the place that had previously filled me with fear and doubt. With hatred and anger and, quite frankly, disgust. But I returned to Maple Valley as I was called, and here I am.

First I met Jimmy Creek, a funny name for a funny young man. He stood awkwardly outside of the reception tent and I awkwardly approached him to make conversation because it's who I awkwardly am. We hit it off and now call one another soul maytes, you know, maytes in the way that Australians mean it. Then there was Lindsey Watson, the baby sister of boys I went to High School with, and her boyfriend Chris Bunn. Fun loving, easy going - they were all easy enough to befriend. The Scoop was reformed and we all started to meet. My favorite books are Ecclesiastes and Revelations, I hate Paul and I love the old testament - "Malia, do you know Mark Dullanty?"

I knew you in High School and I never much cared for you, you were always a bit of a douche. You knew me in High School and you never much cared for me, I was always a bit of the same. The constant insistance that we should hang out and all we could do was scoff. I came to Mars and you decided maybe I wasn't all that bad, I decided you were still a douche but I loved all your friends and I wasn't about to let them fall by the wayside because of it. Then Mexico came and I didn't mean to go, but God placed me there (yet again). And it was there in the dirt that we created a spark of friendship that would lead us places we never imagined.

It was San Diego that changed my mind about you, in the car after getting your nose repierced. You tried to keep a straight face and you couldn't manage it, I don't know that I had ever really seen you laugh like that before. I realized what an amazing friend you are, even if you pretend not to be. From that day forward, I'm not sure there were three days in a row that we didn't spend doing something. Whether it was cheese and wine night or comic movie marathons, gabbing about Pauly Shore or art or cooking, sustainable living and south of the border... and somewhere along the line I came to care for you. I remember the night, I fell asleep in your lap. I had a nightmare and I may have even shouted. It scared you, I remember you asking if there was something you could do. I didn't want you to touch me, because if you touched me it might comfort me and then our friendship would change. I didn't want that, I told myself a million times I didn't want that. And then, less than a week later we made the decision we were dating.

It was terrifying, really. I was so sure it was going to end up in tears and disappointment like so many other things. But you had become my best friend, and what is better than marrying your best friend. You were there for me in the best of times and the worst. You sent me sweet uplifting text messages or just called to tell me something funny. You were always upfront and honest with me, you challenged me and accepted me for who I am. You made sure that I was always comfortable and yet you were always pushing me to be the best version of me. I fell in love with you. It was slow, slower than you, I think. But it was always real, more real than I even dared to hope for.

We talked about getting engaged, I knew you were asking my parents permission. We talked about how we want to save and only buy a wedding ring. We emailed about a house and we signed our names "mark and malia" - all lower case, because only adults capitalize. But, all the same, I wasn't expecting it. I didn't see it coming. You started to tear up and asked if I would add another name to mine, I couldn't even say yes. I started to laugh and cry all at the same time and I felt ridiculous. You asked again if I would marry you and to my great suprise, I could finally manage a yes. A resounding and overpowering yes.

We haven't been together for long and we are young and we make mistakes all the time. But you know me and love me for exactly who I am. And I know and love you for exactly who you are. There is nothing I would love more than to be your two. There is nothing I would love more than having coffee every morning and falling asleep next to you every night. There is nothing I would love more than being broke with you because we refuse to buy cheapy food. There is nothing I would love more than to read the Bible and watch old cartoons. There is nothing I would love more than to flip through old comics and graphic novels and go grocery shopping with you for the rest of our lives. There is nothing I would love more than Pauly Shore marathons and laying in the sunshine. There is nothing I would love more than to be called your wife.

It wasn't romantic in a Hollywood sense, but I wouldn't have had it any other way. I love the $.25 ring that is on my finger until we actually get married. I love the white gold nose ring and that we want our ceremony to be like 15 minutes long- tops. I love that we want kids to come to our wedding and that we are planning it together. I love that we are more excited about the marriage after than the actual getting married part. I love all of it and I love you. I am so excited for our life together. I am so excited!

Cheers!

Chemistry Major

It is said of pleasure, not to mix it with business. And why should the two ever even be tempted to fraternize? No reason at all, really, save for curiosity, which has already slain the cat. Merely busy bees and walnut trees have any interest in merging the pair. And so, the rest of those inclined to suppose that the two should intertwine? Should reconsider the thought in order to better their circumstances.

I have never been in danger of mixing pleasure and business, as pleasure is my business. I have no work, only play, and I refuse to ever consider giving into only one. I need no caution signs or admonition, for I have refused business since the beginning. Never have I like the pencil skirt, nor the pen. And I am afraid blazers have never much suited me in the bittersuite. The caveat is much appreciated, but rather unnecessary in light of the fact that I avoid the issue altogether.

However candid I may be about my lack of business, I must acquiesce that I do dabble in chemistry. And while I may not mix pleasure with business, I often infuse it with pain. I feel it a stronger dosage, and I can get it for half the price. I am not sure of what qualms come of such a coupling, and yet I am altogether too aware. But you should already know, dearling, the sunshine is best when it burns.

As a girl, so young a girl, I found myself often seeking out to self destruct. The bigger the explosion is always the better. There were so many ways to mix pleasure and pain and I found myself with an industrial blender, every morning trying a different cocktail, each stronger than the last. I was never much for continuity. After awhile, I lost the lid but never stopped creating new concoctions. And so I was left with a mess that seemed to coat every surface and seep into every pore. My amalgamations not only covered, but defined me.

It takes a breakdown to break down, and there were many. I would just sharpen the blade, to sharpen the taste, of every pleasure and pain filled drink. But, eventually, everything stops. And nothing you knew and nothing new works anymore. There is a point of no return and you decide. You can place the blame on anything, really, but it all comes down to responsibility, that silly seven syllable word. There are tears and much more that you cannot control, but in the end it's freeing. The honesty and transparency are worth far more than what you've been selling.

Sweet as the sentiment was cemented in my mind, I removed it. No longer needing to seek self destruction and the panic! button need no longer occupy so much of my thoughts. I need not worry for I believe in what is said and what is done around me. My emotional paroxysms and seizures have ceased and I can breathe without the assistance. This tube is obsolete. I'm not bleeding and I do not need aid of any kind. I'm not afraid, but I am terrified. Of what and where and who and why and how comes next. This sequence never seemed to have a pattern, only a constant. I've written my lab report and now class must come to an end. I have new things to begin. I am a new thing to begin.

State of Absence

There is dirt on my clothing and a patter on my heart that I haven't felt in awhile. I pulled my laundry out of the wash and there was a scent I didn't want to recognize. It used to be that I would wake up not knowing where I was, now I know and I wish I didn't. My heart is in a different timezone, my mind is on a different continent, and it's sunny in Cusco. I'm tearing apart my closet searching for a something - what was it? My bag is packed and I have cash in my hand. I could get pretty far, but not far enough. Ride the wave out, clap in time. Every star is a wish I want to make, every flash of headlights is time passing me by, every morning is a moment I remember where I am. Thunder storms predicted tomorrow in San Jose.

Clouds blanket my Washington and I forget to speak in English. I smile and I can hear my voice, but it isn't mine and I am not sure what is being said. His response is cordial, polite. I can tell that he thinks I'm a day dreamer, but I'm not. I'm not dreaming and it's not day time. There is a swift wind blowing through Porto this evening, I love it when it gets like this. All the green leaps to life on the breeze and I can taste the ocean. The man I'm speaking to looks confused, and I realize I have answered him in Portuguese. I apologize and try to laugh it off, but I've never been a good liar. I'm not standing here with him, I am thousands of miles away. Up in the mountains, out on the coast, shaded between the trees, covered in salt water and sand.

Being choked up is a literal statement, it's not an exaggeration to make your point. You'll know the moment you feel it. The firm hand of emotion pressed against your windpipe and you gulp down as much oxygen as you can manage, but it doesn't really matter. Try drinking water, still nothing. It's not so much painful as just a constant state of discomfort. It's not so much debilitating as disheartening. Firenze is still warm from the summer sun. Warm rain is falling on Haleiwa, perfect day to head out on the surf. Perfect day to sail away.

I know you're speaking, but I can't hear you. To say the least? I am distracted, absent, missing. And I wish that I was more of the latter than the former. One girl, one bag, one love. Vagabond is hardly descriptive enough, and yet it is too much. It's green and black and white, I won't have more, I can't have less. I'm bleeding airplane tickets and train fare and I am not standing here. But there are people I need to be accountable for. There are people I need to protect from my flight plans, even as it break my sanity and holds me hostage. I can already feel the bamboo growing through me.

I am pouring out all the love that I have and still there is more. It's not that being here is difficult, as not being there is impossible. My nails are embedded deep into the Maple as I convince myself to remain, my muscles are exhausted from being tensed as my body breaks down from standing still. If you crack open this chest, you'll find maps and photographs where the heart should be. Instead of lungs, breathe a sail and a steam engine. My circulatory system is waves of salt water and mineral drenched amazon river. Each muscle is a deep green plant and my stomach is digesting three or four languages all at the same time. There are kidneys made from coconut twine and a liver in the shape of a plane, metal and fabric and all.

Raw flight and I'll have to file for state of absence if you'd like to continue speaking to me. I'm not here. I'm not even there. And I'm not sure where I'll be tomorrow. I'm not a planner, but I can't not know. I like surprises, but not being unsure. I don't know where I am, and I certainly do not know where you are. I'm on the carpet, I'm on the pavement, I'm on some mode of transportation. The motion is making me just ever so sick and I wish we would stop rocking for even a moment. But I can't, because I'm not really going anywhere. I'm still. Still still.

I close my eyes and talk to God, because I'm tired of not knowing. There is only one response to someone who can't stand still - and He knows it so well with me. He picks my off the chair I am clinging to and holds me. Not restraining me, but just holding me. Playing with my hair and whispering on my heart. There is no greater comfort. He peels my fists open and calms my worries. I'm lying in the hands of my Father and breathing hard as He opens my airway so I can breathe again. It's been so long since I've filled my lungs. Here in the arms of the One who will never let me down, I am reminded. Of what, I can't tell you. That's something you have to find for yourself. I am comforted and whole, until, of course, I let my running feet touch the ground once more. But for now, I am safe in the arms of Him who loves me, unrivaled and unconditionally.

Wait

Eyes closed, pressed against the seat with salt on my face and my hands over my mouth. This is where the fear descends. Shaking, unable to remain still any longer. Houdini in a word, I cannot do this anymore. I feel the shadows closing around my sunshine, and that last ray of warmth is stolen from my tremoring soul. I've been here before. Shut down, break down, fall apart.

Quiet and still, there is a small whisper on the back of my mind. Gently tugging at the strings of my despair and easing them into peace and contentment. The book falls open somewhere near the middle and I sigh in relief. You have granted me a new heart. Once upon a time, I had asked for it. I remember now. It was a silent memory, but silence is not always indicative of nothing being said. Sometimes, silence is all the sound you could ever ask for. I beg for it now.

I'm on my knees in desperate agony of love. The kind of love the drains you until you're a small puddle at the dip in the porcelain. Not nearly enough to make anything of, not nearly enough to matter. The sort of love that takes you for everything that you are without giving anything in return. And yet, wait. Be patient. Be still. It has offered you everything in return. Everything you never knew that you needed. It's always in the small things, in the things you never knew you were important.

It's the smile when asked to get ice cream. It's the head on your shoulder and arms around your waist. It's your name being shouted from across a room. It's the funny compliments. It's the shameful look of being reprimanded. It's the excitement. It's the teasing. It's the laughter. It's the refusal to do what you say. It's the tears you wipe away. It's the hair you play with. It's the blessing that you are allowed to do any, all of these things. It's that you waited and waited and this is what you received. It's that you didn't recognize it at first. It's that it exhausts you. It's that it breaks your heart. It's that it breathes into your lungs. It's that it feeds the part of your soul you never even knew was starving.

I am starved. It's hard to face - when you know you've dropped the ball a thousand times before. It's difficult to be responsible when there are hundreds of eyes on you, each pair brighter than the last. Not because being responsible is hard, but because you might fail. You might fail without ever realizing it. You might let someone down, you might break a heart, you might disappoint - and that is too much to bear. You want to be all of the things those little eyes see you as. You want to live up to that standard so they might have that standard for themselves. You want to be good and honest and transparent. You want to be appropriate and loving and stern. You want to be upbeat and real and you don't want to be any of these things for yourself, but for them. Always for them.

I am heavy as I wander from responsibility to responsibility, and I remember God telling me that this Summer would be difficult. That it would be impossible. I remember Him gently loving me to this point. I am burdened and weighed down, and I find it so difficult to retain the joy Christ has placed on me. Oh grace, how you escape my grasp. How I forget to grasp for you... to be still in silence would be a beautiful thing. A beautiful thing.

And as I am here, I remember. I remember to wait, to wait, to wait. When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none, and their tongue is parched with thirst, I the LORD will answer them; I the God of Israel will not forsake them. These are the words of the God I know. These are the words of a God I love, who I strive to be like. My heart is soft, pliable. It has been beaten and bruised, and restored. I will wait on what I know to be true. Eyes tilted towards He who made me, in earnest and waiting. I will lead by example and love beyond my capability. Love like Christ has called me to love, love like I have been made to. I will live up to the expectations of who I was made to be and never question the possibility of it all. I will be enough. I will be more than enough.

Wait.

Seven Syllables

Responsibility is a big word. Six syllables at least, you could make it Seven. You're a terrible liar, but you can talk yourself into anything. You are terrified of all the people staring at you, not because they are looking but because of what they might see. The rumourmill is running hard and fast. You've always been a fan of a scandal, especially when you're the last to know what you were involved in. You are not afraid of your reputation. You are afraid of how it will effect those you care about most. You've dropped the ball once. More than once. You can't stand to drop it again.

You're standing on a carpeted stage and there are so many earnest faces. They are eager and confused. They'll believe what you tell them, so you'd better get it right. You can't decide if it's a shame or a good thing that you lost my poker face years ago. Lady GaGa would be so ashamed of you, but Christ would be proud. At least of this. There was a time where you forgot how to spell. And you didn't realize responsibility could be a Seven syllable word.

One. Make good decisions. It's five-thirty in the morning. Typical. Count the hours of sleep. One one thousand, two one thousand, thre- "Hello?" You put on your cape and rush out the door. Windswept you show up on the scene. There are worse things than romantic heartbreak, we forget that. It's cold and you listen to the anger pour from the lips. You are angry with those lips, but squeeze the hand. Forgiveness. Grace. Sigh.

Two. Set the standard. Be on your best behaviour, now. This moment could change everything. Be courageous. This could be your only shot. Be transparent, but appropriate. Be strong when others can't be. Be a listener and give sound advice. Be honest. Be truthful. Be patient. Be kind. Be trustworthy, be trusting. Be calm. Be outgoing. Be hopeful. Be faithful. Be everything good. And do it well. The lives of others depend on it. No pressure.

Three. Recognize. You don't realize that you're on a carpeted stage, do you? But you are. You're standing there with eyes of every color looking at you, through you. The less you realize it, the more in danger you are. Scream at the top of your lungs and hope someone hears you. But even if they do, it's unlikely they'll come to your rescue. Be aware you're in a glass cage. You're held accountable for every action. Not just in theory this time, love, not just in theory.

Four. Carry the burdens. Being loved comes with strings, but not the kind you always think of. More dangerous, invisible strings. The kind that tie you to someone, maybe even permanently. You earn the privilege to be burdened with others issues. You earn that. Trust is not given freely, it does not flow from one human to another. It takes time and energy. And it comes with a burden.You are looked up to and with that privilege comes great responsibility. All Seven syllables.

Five. Take initiative. Go out of your way and make yourself uncomfortable. Struggle. Suffer. Don't ever fake it. Come honestly and openly before others and yourself and, most importantly, God. Maybe you can't do it on your own, but you must do it. There are lives that depend on this, on you. It's terrifying, isn't it? Red pill or blue pill? You decide. Take that first step. No one can make you do it. Seek out people. Seek out answers. Seek. This is where wisdom sleeps.

Six. Live Out Love. Actions speak louder than words. Show people. Live out the love that is shown to you on a day to day basis. Live it. We are called to this important decision every moment of every day. It's possibly the most crucial one you will ever make and it's happening all the time. You can always change your mind, but which will you choose? Live Out Love.

Seven.

Shhh, quiet now. Breathe. The Seventh syllable is to just breathe. The Responsibility is yours and you can choose to let it shape and define you. To chisel you out of stone and make you into something more solid. But you can also be still for awhile and know that you do not have to dwell on it. It does not have to make you anxious or worrisome. It may hurt. It may change you. It may make you exhausted. But these Seven syllables are a gift, a blessing in disguise. They are teaching things you never knew about yourself. Holding you accountable. Shhh...

And Sons

Serve God, love me, and mend.

i believe in things most people do not

and while i am often unsure

about those things i am certain

this is the dichotomy

the beat hits

one and three

This is not the end.

you're the one i want to tell

all my nonsense to

you're the one i want to watch

the world change with

you're the one i want to hear

the truth from everytime

careful now

i might just trip over

Live unbruised we are friends.

glasses on the table

vibrating from the drums

i'm one for sand between my toes

it was the strangest moment of clarity

i'll laugh at just about anything

i'll only ever regret

the things that i can't ever smile about

so i try to make them few
if any

And I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

don't mistake my quiet for silence

oh silent mistake

i'd paint you with my words

if i wanted to

but i think i'll leave them

for a sunnier day and a brighter disposition

Sigh no more, no more.

oh i won't beg

but i will beseech

if i feel the tide is grazing my lips

pushing higher and higher

until the waves roll over upon my tongue

this is the moment

i remember

i'll always remember

One foot in sea, one on shore.

there was a man

on the street in barcelona

what a funny place for him to stand

just there in the median

without a sign or a hat

without a rhyme or a beat

yet there was a reason

unforseen in the mediocraty of his demeanor

My heart was never pure

it was that man

he knew me without a name

i was without words or hope

and he knew me better
than the closest friend i've ever known
this is that moment
of clarity
you'll know it when it hits you

And you know me and you know me.

i don't love you
so don't ask me to
maybe someday
when i can better see the stars
from where i'm standing
i am apparently not as transparent
as i think i am
And man is a giddy thing oh man is a giddy thing

it's dark outside
but i'm inside your warmth
despite the distance
without the knowledge of the future
rehab of desire
and we're back at square one
or something?
Oh man is a giddy thing oh man is a giddy thing.

trust is a bit of a grey area
and i don't speak well
it makes for a fun game of hideandseek
crop circles in the carpet
and everything meant in that
i have no idea what the future holds
but i think that's why i believe in God
i'll sing upper harmony with you
i'll sing upper harmony
Love, it will not betray you, dismay or enslave you

i won't ever say something for your benefit
being honest as i may
but i might not say it
and aren't those the same thing
hearts are easily cut out of paper
it's harder to give them dimensions
and once you do
it's hard to remember
each of the chambers you put things in
It will set you free.

lost
reward of unparalleled unconditonal if found
but then the question remains
is it something you actually want
my answer is yes
at least i think it is
but i don't worry nearly as much
as i most likely should
Be more like the man you were made to be.

i've got my head in the clouds
my feet in the water
and both hands clinging to the trees
i am always more than willing
to play in the dirt
just don't mistake me
for being grounded
i am still working on staying still
There is a design

i'll write it on your back
between the thread
i'll say "thank you
i am glad of you
and i hope you know
all you mean to me"
there is more i have to say
i'm sure
but i'm not ready yet
An alignment to cry

i can place the sunshine in my hair
and it makes my eyes so green
i'll never settle for less
than exactly what God has for me
i am standing
i'm just not sure if it's still
i am waiting
i'm just not sure if it's patiently
the music slows down
when life speeds up
dichotomy
Of my heart to see

there is a line
the question now
is whether it'll catch anything
i'm down by the river
rocky shores
and poor misunderstanding
under a bridge
over the water
this is where life happens
where are you in it
The beauty of love as it was made to be.
the truth is this
i don't know
i cannot know
but this is more than
well
more than i ever knew
i've never been one for expectations
but mayhaps
this will be the exception