And We All Bleed

There is a moment when your son turns bright red and starts to choke while you're sitting in front of him, about to have a panic attack, and he suddenly throws up an entire meal's worth of avocado and grapes - green, thick, and entirely disgusting  - then he gives you his biggest and most charming smile.

Gross.

Being back in the Seattle area is difficult.

Real difficult.

It is difficult to no longer be in such a little tight knit bubble of fierce community where missionaries are plentiful and encouraging. It is difficult to not spend our days together as a family. It is difficult to be on Pacific Standard Time once more. It is difficult to not have time specified for things other than work. It is difficult to begin writing support letters and create pledge cards. It is difficult to explain why being home is difficult.

50+ year old films are my cure for what ails.Well, that, and Syria.

"And all is relative, relative. Everything is relative, yes it is.

It's all about the way we receive it, how much we believe it, depending on the life you lead - if you lead it. Compare it to yourself, compare to someone else - you care. If you took the drugs in your closet, the cash in your wallet, the color of your skin in your blood and how you got it. Compare it to yourself, compare to someone else - you care." Relative, Gavin Degraw

See More

We had a rough night at the Dullanty home - sleep eludes. So this morning, driving to work, when I heard on the radio that this was happening, I very quickly dissolved into tears. Haven't we proven already that all war does is create a body count? Picking sides like this was a dodge ball game in primary school. It makes me physically ill that we never learn.

And you could argue that we're helping.

But who exactly are we helping? Because we certainly aren't helping the millions of Syrian refugees fleeing the country. We are not helping these children, these parents, these families. We are not helping anyone or anything but our own agenda. And it hurts. It hurts our image as a nation, it hurts our relationships with others, it hurts our world, and most importantly, it hurts these displaced people.

I don't know that I will ever understand why we are more concerned with patriotism than humanity.

... I wish I had a more positive note to end on. But my mind is preoccupied and my heart it heavy. So perhaps I will just leave you will the hope we all have.

"Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of nations.

No longer will there be anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and His servants will worship. They will see His face and His name will be on be on their foreheads. And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be our light and They will reign forever and ever." Revelation 22:1-5

Bonded

Three strings rolled together: Father, Son, Spirit.

Tied at the wrist, a blessing given to one another.

Culturally Thai, bonded in Christ

What a gift,

What a gift.

Marko finds the sweetest ways to affirm who I am. And I am grateful. Rory has a gift of making you laugh just when you're maddest at him. We are beautiful and I thank God for the bonds of our sweet family. "A threefold cord is not easily broken." Another strand can only strengthen what has been given to us.

And I am reminded, each day more and more, that our family is not only three. But millions and billions of brothers and sisters around the world. Connected not by our blood, but by our humanity. Our humanity.

Being back is difficult. But I have my darling family, of three and of the world. And I have these strings to remind me.

"I will remember the deeds of the Lord; yes, I will remember Your wonders."

Psalms 77:11

Speak to Me In The Light of The Dawn

I wish I had been better about blogging because at this point? There is just too much to tell.

I'm really not sure where to start.

"She is clothed in strength and dignity; she can laugh at days to come." Proverb 31:25

I don't know about that whole strength and dignity bit - but I can certainly laugh. These days? It's pretty much all I can do. Like today, today we spent a copious amount, probably too much, on going to Detroit to be commissioned. And it makes me physically ill. Do we absolutely have to be there, standing on stage when they call our names? ... not technically. So why pay? Because it's important. Because when we say we are in the process of becoming long term missionaries, we are serious. Because serving communion to the thousands of people there representing their churches means something. And we want to be a part of that something.

Yah, I drank the ECC koolaid. And I liked it.

Chicago grows on your soul like ivy on so many of the beautiful brick buildings here. Slowly, but intentionally, it creeps along the edges of your spirit until it is suddenly covering a rather alarming portion of your heart. And you realize, that while you were trying to rid yourself of the ivy, it has actually made the structure more beautiful than before. Yes. That is what Chicago is like.

For instance, Sunday. Sunday we went to a beautiful church that is renting their building from a different church (who has service on Saturday), and that church is genuinely multi-ethnic and multi-generational with a strong presence in the community. One of our mission classmates runs their "warming house" which provides a meal for the homeless community and a place for them to "warm" - the cleverness abounds. But there is no need for cleverness when the work is good. And the work is good. So good.

"LOVE IS ALLAH'S SIGNATURE ON THE WORLD"

- read the sign above the shop door on Devon. Beautiful. "Can I kiss your baby?" The muslim man asked Marko as Rory slept against his chest. Beautiful. What a beautiful gesture of God's signature on the world. You see, we had this afternoon where we were supposed to wander along Devon St. between California and Western - and while I understood the reasoning behind the task, I mostly just found myself burried in Islamic bookstores. The Arabic, the Urdu, the Pashto - scribble me in ecstasy! Oh, but to know even one. Someday I will conquer you, middle-eastern scripts of beauty.

I'm not going to lie, I fully expected to go to Chicago and hate it. Mark and I were going to spend two miserable weeks listening to people spout off dogmatic nonsense about how Christians are supposed to look. Heyyy, look at that, judgement comes from all kinds of corners (like me). It wasn't. I loved it. It was hard and Mark and I miscommunicated and there were tears and the days were so long and so many new places and two entire seminary courses over the course of two weeks and Rory has four teeth now instead of just two and grew another two freaking inches... but it was wonderful.

"Till I only dwell in thee."

I am covered in henna and my hair is wild. Bracelets of wooden beads adorn my wrists and there is matte on my lips. Oh the joy. My son sleeps long hours in my arms and my own eyes are heavy. The music that plays convicts and saves my soul so many times. There are things to be done around the house, bags to unpack, new books to find homes for. Maps line the walls and scripture lines my palm.

"Religion that is pure and undefiled before God, the Father, is this: to care for orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unsustained from the world." James 1:27

Are you sure it's not to judge everyone I meet, James? Because I'm pretty sure it is... - don't worry, my sarcasm is lost on many a wandering soul. But seriously, this is a good Word. We met some truly amazing people these last two weeks, so many of whom embodied this scripture. I can't even begin to tell you about them all, but it was so wonderful to be with so many like-minded people. It is hard to find others with international hearts in this, our tiny corner of the world. And yet, the work begins here.

Oaxaca.

I will save exactly what it means for another blog post, but it is coming! And we are eager.

Penguins

"You have great handwriting."

"Yes, the nuns made sure of it."

These are the magical people I am working with. And I love them.

So, METE stand for Missionary Equipping and Training Event. There are 9 of us including Rory; all from different parts of the US, all going to different part of the world, all passionate for different areas of ministry. We have one girl who grew up as a mission kid and so she has a real heart for others "MKs" (missionary kids) and will be a dorm mom in Taiwan, a couple who fell in love with Thailand and will be doing "business as ministry" and probably some microfinancing there, another woman who has lived and breathed camp-life for over 10 years and will be taking all her talents to Thailand (though a different area), a young physical therapist who will be making the big move to China to work with Evergreen, and a couple who are fiercely passionate for mission work in general and currently serving in Ecuador (yayyy other Latin American cronies).

These first two days were primarily introductory. A lot of ice breakers and getting to know eachother, the staff within the ECC and Covenant World Mission, and the general overview of everything. There was even Geo-pardy (geography + jeopardy, don't worry, no one else got it either). Honestly? The game part was a little (very) cheesy, but the learning aspect was great. We got to travel around the building to various continents (conference rooms) where staff had set up pictures of the missionaries present in those continents by country and described the cultures and general overview of the work being done in each place. My team started in Asia and I immediately fell in love with the mats and the ridiculous shoe policies and fish farm ministries because our host was so in love with all of it. Then we moved to Africa and I decided immediately that I wanted - nay - needed a piece of fabric to tie Rory to myself  and use as a grocery sack and as a dress (also, agriculture and sustainable living within the CAR - my heart is still present there). From there, Europe - which I have already travelled, but we were able to Skype a couple in Belgium and I suddenly was passionate about Antwerp. Seriously, Antwerp. I'm not sure there was ever a place I cared less about, but today? I fell in love, because listening to someone else talk about their call moves me. And it should!

And then, oh and then!, just when I thought perhaps Marko and I had made the wrong choice, I went to Latin America. The amount of info I knew about everything happening within Central and South Americas, the potential, the fact that our picture was among the pictures of missionaries for Mexico - our picture, guys!!! We are faces of CWM and oh my sweet Lord it brought me joy!

And the blurry pictures of a happy baby abound.

We sat in Latin America and ate mango then sipped matte. Real, delicious, Argentine matte. Needless to say, I emailed my darling Jesús last night and told him I miss him (that would be my roommate from Peru, in case you're curious as to when I had the opportunity to sit down and share tea with our Lord and savior). Oh, Latin America, how in love with you I am! I had almost forgotten.

Everything is being set up so we can fundraise when we return home - so if you'd like to help us flee the country, please let me know - but honestly? The money is just money. What means more is the support and love we are so blessedly receiving all the time from everyone.

This is pretty representative of our night. See my foot? Rory decided around 6am that this is where he needed to sleep. So I have had the great privilege of blogging all morning because I was sitting upright when he placed himself there.

It's not hot so much as a sauna. Everything sticks to everything else and I am tired an heavy. I don't think it would be so bad except that Rory is the sweatiest, stickiest, hottest little one I have ever encountered. So he raises the temperature another several degrees. Currently, he is sleep-drunkenly rolling around between Mark and I on the bed, chatting to himself and headbutting us as he tries to sit up and fails. Just when you think you're going to disown your child for waking you at 6am and not being old enough to turn on the coffee, they do something precious like lie on your stomach calling you "mama" over and over again. The cuteness overwhelms.

And then?

Poopy diaper.

Sneaky.

Hit It

This is Rory the week before we left for Chicago, naked as he is allowed while over carpet and vastly happy slapping the window and trying to eat it.

Now? Now we are in Chicago. Mark is sleeping by my feet and Roranicus Rex is snuggled into my side - the jet lag is definitely lagging us.

We are in the Windy City for METE. What is METE? I don't actually remember. Essentially, it's missionary training. For 14 booked solid days we will be trained in the fabulous art of ECC missionary-ing. I will let you know a little bit more about what that means once I know...

Our travel to Ludlam Ave was a lot simpler than I had imagined (see: panicked excessively about). Rory had zero trouble on the flight and while he didn't get a nap (too much to see), he was such a pleasant little boy and everyone on the plane enjoyed his between the seat peek-a-boo and giggles. We lucked out with a social child. All of our bags were carry on, so being picked up from the airport was easy peasy and our very kind chauffeur, Curt made sure he already had a carseat all ready to go and we dropped him at his house and then drove ourselves to our newfound home for two blessed weeks (aka: the home of the generous Husby's).

We were so exhausted on night one that we fell asleep early and got most (but not all) of the jet lag out of our system. Day two began with a member-care interview and lots of plastic dinosaurs for Roranicus Rex. He felt quite at home. Rory will be the only kiddo at this conference, so he gets to just tag along any and everywhere we go! I'm praying for good behavior and premium naps, but we will see. Our care interview went well, Mark was his sassy self and I tried my best to deflect questions about myself and play with Rory. We have discussed how much I hate talking about me, yes?

But hey, "We're on a mission from God."

I have only seen two Starbucks establishments (sacrilege) and no other coffee stands... ergo, I'm not sure how I feel about this city all-in-all. Except, of course, the over abundance of Blues Brothers references (see above quote), that I quite enjoy. There is a Chicago version of a Whole Foods exactly one block away, so that is nice and we have gathered many snacks for the mini monster. The weather is: hot, muggy, sometimes pouring down rain, sometimes thunder and lightning, generally heavy. I don't really understand it, but I like the heat part.

This morning we met with the head of the missions department, Lana, which was great because we have been emailing back and forth for a year and its always good to put faces to people. We went over our (hypothetical) budget and made adjustments as we needed them, it will continue to be a process, but we felt a lot more comfortable with the numbers once every penny had been accounted for. Yay monies? Or something...

I have been reading Barefoot Church by Brandon Hatmaker and it has been amazing. He and his wife are phenomenal authors and really stretch me in ways I need to be stretched. Brandon talks a lot about the flaws with our churches today and why people are leaving in ever greater numbers, but also how he and ANC (Austin New Church) have sought to repair the image of the church within his community by living out Jesus' commandment to love ones neighbor as themselves. It is a heartfelt challenge to not only churches, but individuals. To carry the banner of Christ and truly exemplify love and kindness.

I apologize if this is getting spotty - I am typing it on my phone while being head butted by my freshly awake 9 month old dinosaur of a son.

Tonight will be the first true day (evening) of METE and we will meet the other new short termers and get the low down on why we are missing two weeks of work. I am excited. It has been really nice to be in the home of such loving people who used to be missionaries and meet everyone we've been in contact with for so long. It has also been nice to kind of just get my traveling heart back out there on my sleeve.

"It's 106 miles to Chicago. We've got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses."

"Hit it."

General

This blog

Sometimes things break your heart to build you up.

I am in the middle of writing our itinerary so I can staple it to Mark's jacket. We are leaving for Chicago for 16 days. 16 days of driving someone else's car, with Rory in someone else's car seat, sleeping in someone else's bed in someone else's house using someone else's kitchen... yikes. We are going to Chicago for "missionary training." I don't really know what that means, but apparently it's important in this process.

I wholeheartedly believe in the "drop your nets and follow me" version of mission work. But that isn't really the way things work anymore. Your heart isn't enough - the rest of you needs to be poked, prodded, and over analyzed in order to follow the Great Commission. Physicals, insurance, evaluations, "training" ... don't get me wrong, I understand the world we live in, I just wish we didn't - live this way, I mean. Always angling to get ahead so the church needs to protect against the very people it should be taking in. Deep sighs for days.

It isn't the fault of the ECC that we have all these hoops to jump through, it's just the reality of our broken world. We don't trust people because they've proven untrustworthy and we can't let just anyone represent us because sometimes they do it poorly. I mean, just think of the stigma being a Christian has. Anyone? Anyone? The second I use the word people shut down and shut off. The assumption is that I'm a judgmental bigot who believes my worth is superior to theirs due to my belief in God. And, to be perfectly honest? That is the same conclusion I jump to; as if I am some super breed of open-minded Christ follower that is above petty church hierarchy (which, I am, of course).

The truth is, I am just as judgmental toward the Westboro Baptists of the world as they are toward... well, everyone else. And you can make the argument that "they deserve it," but let's be fair, I don't get to make that call whether they "deserve it" or not. My job as a Christian is to love everyone and speak the truth in love. That means when someone makes a small minded belittlement on a friend that I'd like to berate them for or makes a comment on how I'm not "churchy enough" to effect my "churchiness," I'm supposed to love 'em like Jesus - yah, I pray a lot. I tend to embrace the coke-addicts and poor decision makers while soapboxing the gluttonous contented suburbanites. When Jesus said love everyone - did he actually mean everyone?

Probably.

I'm getting off topic though. The point is: sometimes you jump through hoops. Other times? You set that hoop on fire and demand the ringmaster jump through his own damn hoop. Paperwork and missionary training? Are not flaming hoops. At least, not for me. Marko would burn each and every hoop then make the culprit snort the ashes, but that's why he married me.

Psalm 118 was all over everything today and it resonated.

"Oh! give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; for His steadfast love endures forever!" 118:1

I am ready for Mexico, but I don't know what it looks like. Being a missionary can sometimes be an excuse to live somewhere exotic on someone else's dime. I don't want that. Marko and I have thought extensively about going to do mission work abroad on our own, but we felt called to the ECC mission program. And we haven't agreed with every step, but it is important enough of a call to work through those issues (none of which were horrible cover-ups or scandals or anything).

Sometime people will ask why we don't just do mission work in Maple Valley or Hobart or close to home, don't those people need missionaries? The simple answer is yes. But Mark and I aren't those missionaries. There are churches on every block in our small suburbia and some of those people might be called to this area, but while we love our church and being involved in our community? This is not the place we are called to. And that is okay.

"I was pushed hard, so that I was falling, but the Lord helped me. The Lord is my strength and my song; He has become my salvation." 118:13-14

For a long time, I was told that I was only as "good" as I looked/sounded, and if I was ever struggling? I was to abide by the "fake it till you make it" rule. It makes me angry that such nonsense is permitted to be pushed onto the children of this area. But I have come to better understand that a "good" person rarely looks or sounds "good." Nice clothes and kept house might make your outside pretty, but it doesn't clean up what's under the surface. Using all the right "Christian language" might make you sound righteous, but it doesn't mean you know God. If you "fake it" ? You might come out of that, but you might just learn to have a surface level calm/love/hope/joy instead of one that penetrates.

"The stone that the builders rejected has become the cornerstone. This is the Lord's doing; it is marvelous in our eyes. This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it." 118:22-24

This is Emily.

Cute, right?

You can read more about her here. She was all ready and set to be adopted when her mama-to-be found out she has breast cancer - which means Emily's would-be-family cannot adopt her due to China's adoption laws. How heart breaking to believe you are going home, where people want you, only to have those dreams crushed. And how heart breaking to know that this sweet girl you called your own, would never be that. So, Emily needs a home again - maybe it's with you?

Post Script

Blogging twice a week? Ha. Ha. Ha. Pretty sure I owe like 8 blogs...

But, the reason I have blogged less is that I have spent less time on the interwebs - which is good, I think. Well, and the Dullanty tribe has been busy painting our war paint and preparing for battle! Are you ready?

We leave for a two week trip to Chicago on the 27th of this month. Pray for us. Seriously. You've seen the Jurassic Park films, right? Dinosaurs in a closed space - not the brightest idea ever concocted. And yet, we are still attempting this feat by putting Roranicus Rex onto an airplane. And then we will be occupying the guest room of a stranger's home and toting our 9 month old around to missionary training... yah, nothing could go wrong in this scenario. Not.

Ergo, anxiety ad nauseum. No paychecks for two weeks, no space of our own to corral the destroyer, no kitchen for homemade baby food, no hammock, no 500sq ft apartment... deep breath. As I've said, Mark and I live (comfortably) below the poverty line and we make two part time jobs work so we can spend more time with baby and one another - two weeks off is basically financial suicide. Hello, trust in God, I've missed you.

Mark always says worrying isn't my strong suit and it's true. When I worry? It's like an Olympic sport where you just buckle down and make it to the end - even if it kills you. I do better when I'm happy, in the sunshine, laid back, traveling... or in crisis mode. General anxiety does not work on me; the colors are wrong, it drapes in funny places, it whelms.

But missionary training!

I am so excited to be commissioned and begin fundraising. SO EXCITED. Mostly because I feel like we are finally fulfilling our call - I cannot wait to be in the midst of the sunshine and Spanish. Cannotwait.

Our Lost Boy

Do you ever have one of those days where you just seem to be able to accomplish everything you set out to? Me neither. But today I came pretty close. There are still a couple dishes and the floors need mopping, I need to finish the Mother's Day gifts for Sunday and not all the compost is in the new bin, there are clothes to sew and garbage to take out... but those things can all wait until the adorable little bear cudded in my arms wakes. Because this? This is what it's all about.

Sleepy boy

Mark and I are moving towards our nonprocessed lives with our bee hive and hand tools, plans for homemade soap and a hand mill for wheat, sewing machine and natural dyes.

Life is sometimes slow and steady, but sometimes fast and full of rapids. This river moves and it is beautiful. Full of sleepless nights with a teething little boy and warm sun filled days of eating grass and other things. And I am blessed, so blessed.

The Least of These

I have Syria on the mind. Look at these kids!

 

Look at their smiles, their laughter, their joy. Look at their hope. They are 6 out of 1.16 million refugees displaced from Syria, 1.16 million. And my chest has been pierced with guilt over them. Welled up in me is a pain that won't quit. I am broken over these children and their hope - what am I doing?

The truth is, I get lost in the things I think I should be doing. How organized is my house? Budgeting, grocery lists, new toys for baby, washing machines, dishes, internet speeds - wait. I get so distracted, so caught up in what is my life. I get all discombobulated over

"I think it must be really difficult to live in such crisis." Yes. But what faith. What remarkable love it instills in people, what remarkable action.

See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is. 1 John 3:1-2

Want to know what else I have on my mind?

This kiddo. Precious, right? His name is Matthew and he is a 13 year old boy with absence of skull and dyskinesia of right limbs - but that doesn't effect his life much and he can still run and play like other boys his age.
In some countries you can "age out" of adoption, for Matthew? That happens in September (you can read more about him here, here, or here). I think that until I can adopt a sweet child, I should be an advocate for them. Because this handsome young man deserves a home and a family. Just look at that grin. Seriously, did you look? Maybe Matthew is your little boy and you didn't realize until right now. Maybe...


Father of the fatherless and protector of widows
    is God in his holy habitation.
God settles the solitary in a home;
    he leads out the prisoners to prosperity
Psalm 58:5-6

All these darling children, all this need. I am so guilty of forgetting to care for "the least of these." Not because my problems or life are worth less than those of these - but because my problems and life are equally worth those of each of the kids photographed here and all over this world of ours. Because I know pain, I should reach out to help another in need. Because I've suffered, I should extend my love to someone I've never met somewhere I've never been.

This is the kingdom come.

Quarter

My husband turned a whopping 25 years old this past Autumn and (due to the fact that he insists he is 2 years older than I am) I have mocked him mercilessly. He's halfway to 50! A quarter of a century! A quarter of a century...

I turn 24 today (putting him squarely at 1 1/2 years older) and then my own quarter of a century mark will be closing in. Mark has this "30 before 30" list that he keeps and while I have a Dust List, being married and a new mom often lend to forgetting ones dreams. So, I decided I would take a page from my darling husband's book and give myself a deadline. 25 things to accomplish before I reach 25.

A Quarter List

1 Get tattoo for Rory: "We have this hope as heleuma for the soul" Hebrews 6:19 I'm thinking an anchor, which is so cliche but it's what his name means and I like anchors. Sue me. I would like it to be a "water color" tattoo with splashes of blue, but the where is still totally up in the air. No idea. I would like to have a tattoo for each baby (all 12 of them) so size and equality are things that matter...

2 Finish first draft of novel: For the love of continuity, I just want to finish one blessed thing! I started, I love it, I just-have-to-freaking-finish. I feel a year is an adequate time table, if not very realistic.

3 Have a location and departure date: This is somewhat dependent on sources outside of myself so - we'll see. But our location seems fairly secure already and hopefully that means we will just need the fundraising in order to leave - finally.

4 Build furniture rather than purchasing it: We currently have in our possession: a beautiful sofa, a neat little bedside table, a coat rack, two chalk boards, a shelving unit for our laptop/tele situation anddd a very fun pegboard set up for Roranicus Rex, Destroyer of Worlds. We are in the process of building a bathroom cabinet, chopping block, and a bench for the backside of our couch (whatcha gonna do with all that junk? All that junk inside that trunk? ... Black Eyed Peas, anyone?).

5 Stick to a budget: I almost want to laugh at this because Marko and I are constantly coming up with new projects that "absolutely cannot wait!" But if we put money in our budget for that - would it not be possible? Maybe, maybe... Our attempts at a grocery budget, savings, insurance, healthcare are really kind of laughable so I'm hoping we can step up our game and really penny pinch.

6 Size 4 jeans* : See asterisk. I would like very much to fit into the jeans I wore as a high schooler. I'm not super concerned with weight, primarily because I don't have a scale, but also because I know very well that weight does not always equal fat. But jean sizes? Those don't lie... there should be another asterisk that allows for the fact that most jeans sizes fluctuate. A lot. But I would like to average into a size four. I'm sitting (happily, as I am only 8 months out from having created a small life) in the jeans I wore before I was pregnant at the moment and that is okay, but a whole year from now? I'd like to be kicking ass and taking names in the jean department.

7 Sew clothes rather than purchasing them: I said it. I have this beautiful brand-new sewing machine that needs to be worth it's weight in something, why not clothing? I think I'm going to give a little grace here and say that if I find a keeper at Goodwill or Main Street Thrift, I can keep it. But I would primarily like to alter and fit clothing on my own. My wedding dress finally came out of the closet this week and I am going to dye it and chop it up, probably this weekend, so I can have a pretty fancy dress... :]

8  Continue to grow hair out: Speaking of inconsistency... I have this problem where I go back and forth from wanting my hair to be long and flowy and embracing my Hawaiian roots TO wanting short spunky Peter Pan hair that rocks people's socks off. But I've decided that I would like long hair, I want to hold true more to who I am rather than relying on product. I realize I'm a hippie.

9 Blog twice a week: Insert laugh track... I would like to blog more consistently. I think if I set a goal for myself, that might be more of a reality? Maybe? Possibly? Chastise at will...

10 Draw one sketch a day: I think I'm going to broaden this to be "do art once a day," but the sentiment remains. I used to do a lot of art. I now do a lot of running after a rapidly growing child. So whether it's finger painting with Rory or a full on oil pastel day while Marko entertains the Destroyer, I need to be doing art. It's freeing and all mine.

11 Learn to play the guitar - Hawaiian songs: I'm not expecting to be a miraculous, but I would like to be on my way to learning some songs. I've had a lot of people die on me, most of them unexpectedly and most of the young, some of them slowly and some of them old, all of them heart wrenching. But having a baby puts sharply into perspective the mortality of my own parents (sorry guys). I believe death crosses my mind a healthy amount, but I would rather focus on living, you know? But it has recently come to my attention that once my dad dies? There will be no one left alive to play guitar and sing in Hawaiian. No one. This must be altered. Which leads me to...

12 Get my dad to finally record a CD of my favorite songs: I am Daddy's Little Girl. It's yet another one of the great cliches that encompass me. And my favorite thing is to be in my parents living room and sing along with my dad as he plays my favorite songs; Hawaiian, lullaby, worship, whatever! And it's even better with Rory sitting and listening too. And I will get my father to actually, finally, freaking record an album for me.

13 Workout five times a week: Initially I wrote "run three times a week," but Mark and I only have one car and it is way easier for me to stay home in the afternoons with Rory than drive Marko to work, go for a run, drive home and then have to go pick Mark up. It might not seem like a hassle, but keep in mind that Rory isn't particularly fond of his carseat. So, running from home is a thing, but it's a little harder because of where we live so I allowed for yoga, swimming, weight lifting, at home work outs, and the fact that I have an 8 month old so sometimes five workouts is unrealistic.

14 Dos niños* : Asterisk! Size four jeans sound lovely. What sounds more lovely? Putting my body through the blatant abuse of having another tatertot! Having a second kiddo is definitely a priority for Mark and I, but a couple of things need to happen before we really consider it: Rory turning one, paying off the little bit of debt we have left now that Emily (our car) is officially ours, and an ETD (estimated time of departure) for missions. There are probably other things we should concern ourselves with but meh.

15 No processed foods: Hippies for days! Or is it daze? Hmmm... anyway. Mark and I are really good about making all our own bread, meals from scratch, etc. But it would be great if we could get completely away from processed foods. Yah... that's a phase by phase thing.

16 Harvest our own honey: We get bees in one week! Bees, bees, bees! They shall buzz and Mark shall love them (probably too much for his own good) and hopefully we will be able to harvest a little honey in August.

17 Plan for Nallim's quinciñera: We have a little time before Nallim turns 15, but if we don't make a plan to get there, it won't happen. So I would like a fully thought up plan of attack for getting to Mexicali in April of 2015 and a piggy bank to fund it.

18 Take Marko skinny dipping: He's never been. He is 25 years old and has never been skinny dipping. This needs to be altered.

19 Second income: I don't really know what this looks like yet - whether it is Farmers Markets, writing, a second job or something I haven't even thought of. But I would love a second income to just tuck away circus money (We Bought A Zoo reference, anyone?).

20 Quality tools: Marko loves wood working. Let's be honest, I love wood working. But I hate power tools. Mark and I have decided that we are going to work toward having a full tool box with hand tools that will last: draw planes, hand drills, clamps, screwdrivers, saws and more. But we want quality tools so we have to wait patiently in order to afford them. You think we're crazy, and we probably are, but I've already said we're hippies!

21 Footprint: No processed foods, harvesting our own honey, building our own furniture - we would like to reduce our footprint. Compost and recycle more, use less paper, maybe get a bidet.. I would love for our family to be off the grid, but at this moment? That is unrealistic. So just reducing our footprint any way we can over the next year and consciously being aware of our impact on the world around us.

22 Homeschooling: Set up a curriculum for homeschooling Rory. I know you're probably thinking - homeschooled kids are weird! Which is true a majority of the time, but as a product of public school and with both my parents being public school teachers? I am just too knowledgable on how often (see: rarely) good teachers come along, how there are too many kiddos in classrooms, how curriculum and testing is not set up to accommodate students but rather to just push them idly through a flawed system with the least amount of creativity possible... I could go on. I would like to at least have started compiling materials for preschool Roranicus.

23 Time for technology: How often do I pull out my phone to check the time, get on my Facebook, post on Instagram, Pinterest (the later being by far superior to the former two)? The answer is: too often.  I have a rapidly growing little boy who I am afraid will feel less important than my cellular device because of my devoted attachment to Google. So I think I would like to limit my phone use. If there is nothing else I could be doing (i.e.: chores, blogging, engaging in conversation, playing with my son, sitting quietly alone with my thoughts), then I can play on Pinterest. And only then.

24 Dye my own clothes: I could put this under sewing my own clothes... but I'm running out of ideas. I watched this video on doing natural dyes and it seems really cool! So I would really like to experiment with the over this next year - starting with my wedding dress. I'm thinking reddish/orangish. I'll post pictures with the various plant life I decide to use.

25. One year album: Rory will be one in August and I would like to assemble a one year album for him... it's pretty self explanatory.

And that is my list of 25 things. I'm excited.

With Jazz

I considered titling this post "I'm Not Alright," but after the outstanding reaction to my last post, I decided no. While I am thankful, flattered, and very pleased to have so many of you wonderful people in my corner at the end of the day - my last post was not meant to be a gasp at friendship ties. I maybe should have spent more time on wording...

I was raised in a nice big church with a nice big community of nice big Christians. I say "big" not because they were physically oppressive (although spiritually oppressive might be true...), but because their "Christianity" defined them. This meant that everything looked very pretty. Nice clothes, nice cars, nice houses, nicely put together families that were often really suffering beneath that gilded cover of "nice." Being defined by your Christianity is a big difference from being defined by Christ.

And I struggle with it too.

It would be really easy to tell you that I'm all laid back and okay with showcasing who I really am, but the truth is a little more complicated than that. In English, we often ask "How are you?" and we aren't really interested. It's like a greeting in American culture. You do not ask how someone is in: Mexico, Peru, Bolivia, Chile, Ecuador, Brazil, France, Italy, Tunisia, Spain, or even really in England - it's not polite. And unless you know someone well enough to be informed of the intimate details of their life, it isn't really all the polite to ask someone how they are. But we do it anyway.

And we don't care. Not enough. We don't want to know about the affair or the struggle with self worth or the alcohol addiction - at least, not from the source. It's much easier to gossip and speculate than to empathize, sympathize, live the pain alongside the one experiencing it. And the church is the absolute worst at this. We get all dressed up in our "Sunday Best" and smile for posterity if nothing else, but what about the rest of the week?

What about when our marriages are suffering because of lack of time, communication, honesty? What about when we wonder if we were really cut out to be a parent because our baby doesn't sleep through the night, isn't potty trained, throws tantrums that make us want to assume the fetal position? What about when our friendships dissipate due to distance, time, stress? What about when our in-laws drive us crazy? What about when we struggle with depression, inadequacy, heartbreak, grief, mood swings? Do we have to be "okay" all the time?

I sincerely hope not.

Thank you. Thank you for all your love, dear dear friends. But I just need to be honest about where I am at. And last week and the week before? I was a hot mess of tears and self doubt - but that needs to be okay. The second we sweep our dirt under the carpet rather than letting it be seen? That is the moment it starts to accumulate. And sometimes, we don't realize it until it has buried us.

Am I a crazy person? Probably. But I'm fairly certain people would like me less if I wasn't.

The Anything Prayer

Sometimes? Sometimes it is all I can do to keep from breaking down into a million little pieces. And sometimes, I fail. Miserably. For instance, this week. This week I have been one breakdown failure after the next. And it's easy to look for external reasons why. I can list off one hundred and one reasons I've been a hot mess, none of which have anything to do with me and all of which are valid.

Let's begin.

For the last three weeks, our tiny 500ft flat is currently housing an extra sofa, random wood working projects, two sinks and countertops full of dishes. Our work schedules? Crazy. Rory has come to work with me more than once or twice in the last two weeks. Easter, a Capital Campaign, and various other church shenanigans for myself PLUS a doctors appointment (4 shots), two top teeth, upset schedules due to a busy mama and mastering the art of "cruising" for Rory PLUS bunches of signs, local events, bees, and aforementioned wood working projects for Marko (I would explain his business better if I understood it...). The floors need mopping, the bathroom needs bleaching, the laundry needs doing, and our bed could use a serious shake out.

Needless to say, I am exhausted. Each day has begun too early with too many wake ups in the night and too much screaming creating too short tempers. There is not enough time and not enough coffee and not enough happy noises. There is not enough Bible or writing or journaling or running or anything that resembles rejuvenation. There is not enough sex, not enough room, not enough sleep, not enough communication, not enough self-love. There just isn't enough. Of anything.

There is, however, a lot of prayer. Perhaps not enough, but a lot.

You don't need to be a parent or a spouse or (honestly) even to believe in God to know the "anything" prayer. You just need to be human and know stress. Odds are, you've said this prayer. Regardless of your beliefs, regardless of your temperament, you've spoken these words aloud or in the quiet recesses of your mind. It goes something like this:

"God - I can't - I just - please - anything." 

I probably make this exact plea one hundred times before the end of a day. Eyes closed, tears streaming down my face, bottom lip turned down just like the 4 year old I am at heart, I whisper these words. Out loud, to myself, in the car, while Rory is screaming, when I'm frustrated with Marko, as I am trying desperately to not be upset about one more damned thing. Because more than being exhausted by all of those very reasonable outer variable, I am exhausting myself.

BULLET ONE: Being a doormat. "Oh sure, I'll do those eight more things." My workload is something fierce. And all I want is to do everything that people need. It isn't just a work thing though, it's a life thing. And I need to learn to take a step back and say "Hey, I just can't right now." Those words are my unattainable goal. But, I'm... trying?

BULLET TWO: Friends. I'm no good at having friends. I put in these huge efforts and very often get nothing in return - or walked all over. It's pleasant. So, my knee-jerk reaction is to withdraw entirely. And making friends? Oh buddy, if you don't initiate? Probably never gonna happen. I'm socially inept and awkward. And not in a "Hey, she's awkward and that's cute" kind of way - purely in a "Why isn't she talking - what's wrong with that girl?" kind of way. I hide behind my cute baby. Literally. Also, no one gets my sense of humor with the exception of Mark, which is why I married him.

BULLET THREE: My self esteem. Or lack thereof. Which seems to be the norm as of late. I can't even look at a picture of an actress I deem attractive without my own self worth plummeting into the ground at full speed, God forbid an actual film. And if Mark finds them attractive? I may as well curl up into the fetal position preemptively. Which is honestly, really unfair to Mark. One, he has to deal with my neurotic mess of self and two, he feels bad for objectively commenting on the very true fact that Jessica Biel is pretty.

So I pray a lot. A lot a lot. And I ask for anything. Anything at all that will get me through this absolute horrible awful wreck of an emotional state that I am in. And today. Today is Easter. A day for new beginnings. So I think I'll start here. And by this time next week, I will probably have said the "anything prayer" one million times over and had about as many new beginnings. But if the new beginnings don't start with me, they won't start at all.

This Week

“The philosophers [and theologians] have only interpreted the world, in various ways;

the point is to change it.” Marx

^That^

And this...

Hahahahahahafunny.

Just purchased this beauty for something like dirt cheap on hsn.

 And with it? I shall do so many things! Like sew the cushions for the couch we're building, start making my own clothes again (+Mark & Rory's), crafts, cloth diaper covers, anddd...

 ... create this beautiful little swing! Or one like it... I already have all the materials and everything.

(click the photo to find out how you can build yours)

Mostly, I'm excited about my sewing machine this week. Oh! And we paid off Emily (our car) with our tax return, so she is officially ours! We gave her a ceremonial cleaning - which was honestly wayyy overdue - and got Rory a new cars seat to christen the whole ordeal (he's too tall for the baby one now *tears*).

Other than that? Rory's been sick all week so I've had less than enough sleep and had a pretty fussy little boy on my hands - plus side though? He only wants to sleep in my arms so I get a lot of blogging done!

Parent, Not Grown Up

Mark and I watched Cheaper By The Dozen last night - the one with Steve Martin. Yes, you read correctly, so stop with the judgey eyes. In case you aren't aware, Cheaper By The Dozen is a family comedy about a family with (you guessed it) twelve children and the hilarity that ensues. It is loosely based on a novel by Frank & Ernestine Gilbreth, and by "loosely" I mean the title and premise of twelve children are the same. Mark was the one who suggested it, but I quickly jumped on the band wagon due to the fact that Steve Martin is easily one of the greatest comedians of all time and I love Bonnie Hunt.

Also, unbeknownst to me, the film features Piper Perabo, Tom Welling, Hillary Duff, Alyson Stoner, Alan Ruck, Ashton Kutcher, and a plethora of other actors and actresses your jaw drops for as you realize how young everyone is - with the exception of Steve Martin who hasn't aged since The Jerk in 1979. It was crazy to see the 2003 versions of everyone, but mostly? It was crazy to see how my ability to identify with characters has changed. In 2003? I was one Sarah Baker; tomboy, prankster, and general leader of mischief. Now? I am Kate. When did I become Bonnie Hunt?

I'm not complaining, it's just kind of a wonder... to watch a movie years later and feel more like the parent than one of the kids. Am I a grown up now? Because I certainly don't feel like a grown up. I still have a toe ring and prefer black nail polish. I swear regularly and forget to brush my teeth sometimes. I mean, I'm married and we have a bank account. But some times we forget to budget and Mark and I have misunderstanding all the time. I shop at Goodwill and do Bountiful Baskets, but I also buy pleather bomber jackets and make pie plate cookies (which is one big cookie baked in a pie plate or cast iron pan). I couldn't be grown up - could I?

Life with Rory is often hard. There are nights when we haven't slept and spend hours rocking a very tearful little boy and tears run down our own faces. There are days when we just want two minutes alone. There are weeks when a shower is a blessed thing we see maybe twice. And there are months where the sink is never empty and the floors are never clean.

Marriage is often hard. Mark and I aren't fighters so we pull away when we are hurt which just leads to more hurt and more pulling away. Sometimes we don't really see one another all week due to conflicting work schedules. And money is always a strain even on the most affluent of people.

I may or may not be grown up, but I am certainly a parent now. And not just because I have a child. I watch Cheaper By The Dozen and see a beautiful marriage with ups and downs, parenting realities in love, and a house full of children I covet. Yes. I covet a messy, full household with twelve children. I like that they talk about always having to wear hand-me-downs and that twelve is the number of times they max out their bank account in a year to make ends meet. They don't portray life with twelve kids as easy and neat, they showcase it as incredibly hectic. But I want it.

Mark thinks twelve is probably too many - at least to have all at once. And he's probably right, he is certainly the more realistic of the two of us. But I find myself looking forward to this. I like being exhausted in the way that children exhaust. I like the growth it forces from me. I like the laughter and the head shaking. I like the honesty that being a mom has given me. So, maybe not twelve, but who knows? A Dullanty Dozen has a nice ring to it...

Passover Me

I have been trying (see: failing) to post about Lent since before Ash Wednesday. Reason being? Lent makes me angry. Christians treat Lent like some secondary opportunity for a New Year's resolution. You know the social media status I'm talking about:
"I'm giving up chocolate."
"I'm giving up Facebook."
"I'm giving up carbs."

To what point and purpose?!

Lent is meant to be a time of meditation and focus on the cross and the sacrifice that was made there - when we give up (chocolate, social media, carbs, etc.), are we giving it up to better concentrate on the things that matter? Or are we giving it up selfishly?

... deep breath.

I've decided that while I am irked (see: furious), I don't want to (see: can't properly) discuss how Lent has been bastardized into something of a fad diet. Instead, I am going to talk about myself and how this Lenten season has affected me this year.

"For we have this hope as an anchor for the soul..."

If I am being perfectly honest, my biblical studies have fallen by the wayside since having Rory. My prayer life has never been fiercer, but there just haven't been enough hours in the day to really dive into scripture. Reading novels is easy enough while I'm nursing or before bed, because I don't really need to or want to carefully consider the words on the page. I don't want to write in the margins (most of the time), underline, or pick up three other versions to reference back and forth and look up original meanings.

Now that Rory is a little older? It is a little easier. He can play with his copious amount of toys while I really dig my heels into several chapters before he crawls into my lap expecting to be snuggled. But still, I don't often get that opportunity - or, rather, I don't really allow myself that opportunity. I'm constantly doing dishes, making bread, folding laundry, and a variety of other chores instead of picking up my Bible. Bad, Malia.

But Lent has left me with some excellent resources. The first was seemingly obvious: The ECC has partnered with World Vision to create Covenant Kids Congo, which you can read more about through the link, and has provided congregations like ours with free prayer materials for Lent. Once I read about it, I decided that I wanted to read the print out and be in prayer for the multitude of children with food, water, medicine, education, etc.

Secondly, I found myself really loving the concept behind World Vision's Lenten materials - that Lent could transform itself week by week as I spent these 40 days falling back in love with (and making time for) my bible.

Lastly, the blogosphere. I'm not what one would call an "avid" blogger, nor do I avidly follow many blogs. I am more of a lackadaisical reader of blogs and author-when-motivated. But a friend of mine turned me on to an interesting concept that I hope you'll check out: Atheism For Lent. The idea of giving up perceptions of God to make room for who God actually is; The study follows common arguments against God as well as the works of Freud, Marx, Nietzsche, and Žižek. It is vastly interesting. I have had several people question me in my pursuit of this avenue, but if my faith cannot stand the examination of nonbelievers - what kind of faith is it? I would argue that if I never allow my beliefs to be questioned, that they are not beliefs at all, merely wishing projected.

I have also taken time to really read through several blogs on sexual purity within Christianity and the idol we create there, sexuality in general, adoption, physical abuse, suffering as a whole, and other various topics that I have fully submersed myself in. I've read opposing view points, gentle leadings, kind words, harsh words, angry rants... and I must say, my heart feels lifted already. I find myself clicking on link after link after link, eager to pour more over my never quenched cup soul. I also find myself examining my own Bible for 3 minutes here, 10 minutes there, and writing so much in my freedom rediscovered.

It has been, and I hope will continue to be, a beautiful season of growth for me spiritually. I am filled up, yet never satisfied and yearning for more. I am lost in a maze of glorious sacrifice and I couldn't be more contented.

Now if I could only apply that to other aspects of my life...

Prodigal Me

I participate in a Small Group through my church, as every good church girl does (sarcasm - kind of). Honestly, I really love it. I love the conversations it sparks with the other people, but especially with my husband. It is a great opportunity for some quality discussion about theology, which is something I sometimes lose in the hustle and bustle of every day life.

This particular Wednesday we were discussing forgiveness which, for some reason, brought out excellent conversation among a normally pretty quiet group. All of it stemming from a well known, if not overused, piece of scripture: The Parable of the Prodigal Son. Even non-Christians hear this tale of misfortune, but incase you haven't click here to read Luke 15:11-24. There is another paragraph or so to the story, but we were discussing this portion.

The premise is this: There was a son who asked for all of his inheritance, left home and squandered it. He ended up in a bad way and remembered that even his father's servants had more to eat than he did, so he decided to go back home and ask his father for forgiveness and a job. But before he can even get to the house, his dad sees him and runs to him. The father welcomes him back as his son with love and forgiveness, without mention of the transgressions committed against him.

It's a beautiful story. Simple, but beautiful.

Our group began discussing the son's motives for going home. With the wording and his already tainted character, most of the members came to the conclusion that he was headed back to his father for selfish reasons. Initially, I was rather upset by this and called it cynicism. They were unable to believe he could change and that his motives in heading home were less about seeking forgiveness and more for his own gain. But continuing to consider this passage and the discussion from Wednesday evening, I have come to a different conclusion.

At even the most basic interpretation of this scripture, the father is God. He is God and we are the prodigal son. And even as we think to come home, He runs to us with open arms. Welcoming us home, ready to celebrate our return, even after we have committed the worst crimes against Him, against others, against His creation.

It doesn't matter what the son's motives were. We single him out as an example of fallenness, but he is us. It is easy to consider his past and consider his words and to separate him as selfishly asking forgiveness without actually being repentant, but the truth is - we don't know. As Christians, we consistently look at others from this perspective. Instead of seeing ourselves as the prodigal son, we see a neighbor, an enemy, a stranger. And it is easy to cast this role onto them. We disbelieve they are being genuine and so it makes their apology to God invalid in our eyes.

This is wrong.

This story should not be called the Parable of the Prodigal Son, it should be called the Parable of the Loving Father. It is not important that you understand why the son travelled home, only that he did. It is more important to hear that his Father welcomed him home without a word about his committed sins. Not one word. And if it isn't important to the Father? It shouldn't be important to us. We spend so much time worry about whether others have truly repented, that we lose sight of what they story is about.

There is a wonderful lyric that I came to love during some of my darkest and most troubled days:

"To label me a prodigal would be only scratching on the surface of who I've been known to be."

I am not just the prodigal son, I am so much worse than that. My right is not to judge the prodigal son's reasoning for returning home, but to understand that he returned home. The rest is the right of God and God alone. If Christianity is to continue growing and moving forward, we must remember that we are all prodigal children, none worse than the other, and as long as we take that step towards home? It doesn't matter what our motives are or were, it matters that we took that step.

It's funny how this girl, just barely beginning the tumultuous journey that would be her life, could turn into this one.

Or is it beautiful?

Somewhere in Morocco

I dislike coasters. I don't really see the point of them because I like coffee rings - specifically when there is only one because you always put your mug in the exact same place every time, but lots of rings are fine. It gives an otherwise inanimate thing character. Which is important because it isn't as if that inanimate thing has a personality that can inform you as to it's character, you must inform it.

I like paint on canvas, but appreciate it less on walls. Unless it is spray paint and outdoors, but that is another topic. I prefer wooden walls and open beams. It makes things a bit bigger and a bit more drafty, but also smaller and homey all at the same time. Paint seems to only muddle or bore due to the fact that most walls are white or beige or someplace in between. No one likes the color beige, it's just fun to say. If you painted on walls as you painted on canvas, that would be something magical. Because paint on canvas is a doorway to the unknown. Imagine if all your walls were doorways, each leading someplace different. That would be lovely.

It's funny, your past builds you to who you are while still not defining you at all. Life is a developing picture. You can take it out and look at it one moment, then let it settle longer for a clearer image. It's almost the same, but it isn't at all. The past is like that. Who am I now is not who I was then, but it still made me who I am and is making me into who I'll be. I think that's a riddle, but I'm not sure. Riddles always seem so much more clever than I could ever be.

I find cliches to be boring and most love stories are cliches, but I find love stories to be wildly wonderful. I think it's because of the details. The big picture is what matters in general, but in a love story the big picture doesn't matter at all. You are not two people in a room full of people in a building in a city in a country on the earth, you are just two people. One entirely enraptured by the other, so ardently that nothing else is of any importance. And that is what makes them.

My preferred method of communication is "in-person," then blog. And maybe email. But the phone is too loud and text messages are too short and Twitter is for hashtags and Facebook is for self-absorption and I hear there are other methods, but I don't participate. Face to face is perfect. You can appreciate the person. The affect in their voice and the motions of their hands, the way their face contorts with emotion or remains still with apathy. You can use all 5 senses and know them the way we have forgotten to know people.

Do you think clouds get lonely? Those dark wisps drifting alone while cumulus collect together at the edge of the foothills. I think they do. Alienated because they're different, isolated drops of water wandering together, blown about by the wind. I wish I could hike up into those distant clouds and whisper into their very center how much they are appreciated, if only by me.

I'm watching Casablanca again, for the thousandth time. It's a coffee ring and a canvas, a riddle and a love story, honest in all 5-senses, a whisper into loveless clouds. There is fresh bread in the oven and a sweet little boy asleep in the canvas hammock hung from the ceiling, my husband is away at work and I miss him. Sam on the piano makes it all seem easier than it is. Idealism and romanticism spun into a web around my heart. I'm worried spring will never come, but I know that all things pass. Life is a constant complicated slur. But then, so am I.

Brown Sugar Chai

My 5 month old is teething. He's grown over an inch in less than a month. He can roll in succession and spin 360 degrees, but prefers to crawl (slowly propel himself forward) at a glacial pace. It makes him furious that he can't get where he'd like in a timely manner. Introducing solids is an adventure that sometimes leads to an upset tummy. And because he doesn't feel well? He wants to be held. A lot. And he can't sleep because he's growing and his mouth hurts. So I don't get to sleep. Needless to say, Mark and I are exhausted.

it . is . beautiful

You read me correctly. Maybe I get 45 minutes of solace while he is napping, but it is more likely that I am doing two days of dishes that have piled up in the sink or finally sweeping the kitchen - please don't talk to me about the bathroom. Showering twice in three days is a luxury and I can never remember whether or not I've washed my hair or not because I'm so distracted by the list of things to do once I get out. Mark and I have opposite work schedules and I miss him. We both need new clothes and Rory needs better winter gear and the amount of drool on everything in our house? Is impressive. I want to work out, but who has the time? Twenty minute work outs would totally work if I had twenty minutes. Ask me how I am managing to blog: Err, well, it has taken me five days to post this.

but , still

Sometimes I do yoga at 4am in my underwear and socks. When it's quiet and Rory and Mark are still and sleeping, they look so much alike. I see more and more of my dear husband in my sweet boy. I drink a lot of brown sugar chai, it's peaceful but charged - just like I want to be. My playlist shuffles between Macklemore, Dario Marianelli, Flobots, Brooke Fraser and JJ Heller. I like that my jeans don't fit and that I cut my own bangs. My nails are navy blue and chipping. I am wearing a tube top and poncho rocking my darling baby to sleep. Sometimes when I see other moms, so put-together and made-up, I wonder who gave me a parenting license.

then i remember

And I get tired of people telling me to enjoy every second of being a mother. Children are changing every second of every day and it is true that if you blink for too long? You'll miss it. It. Them growing up. First crawl, first word, first run, first electrocuting themselves with a fork and a socket (my baby brother). That being said, I do not enjoy the fact that waking up every two hours is equal to a good night's sleep. I do not enjoy Rory jolting up screaming because he had a nightmare or his teeth hurt or he was having growing pains. I do not enjoy not being able to spend quality snuggle time with my husband because of our opposite schedules. I do not enjoy a fussy 5 month old who drools all over every item in our house attempting to find just the right chew thing for his sore gums. Does that mean I don't appreciate this beautiful, wonderful, amazing stage of our life?

no.

I am not under the illusion that the next stage will be any better or easier. Just different. There will be cords to put in mouths, more teeth to cut, not enough words to communicate exactly, sand and dirt, skinned knees, bruises, miscommunications, embarrassing truths spoken at inopportune times, tantrums, and oh, then there are the teenage years. The years I am dreading the most. But all the difficulties simply make the joys a little brighter. For instance: Rory gets grumpy when he's tired (like everyone else I know), but he also starts to laugh at just about everything so it's this mixture of half cries and hysterical giggling. And I could not love it more than I do. I probably have 5 or 6 videos of it on my brand new phone. He also loves to be outside but gets really snuggly and quiet because he's so interested in everything around him and it is precious. He is precious.

and always will be

So, for now, I have nap times and Macklemore. For now, I have navy polish on my nails and crazy hair that refuses to be tamed. For now, I have the occasional afternoon with my Marko and lots of crash-course and wiki-learning. For now, I have videos of my giggly grumpy baby and brown sugar chai tea. And that is enough. Partially because it has to be - but mostly because it just is.

______________________________________________________

In other news, there have be quite a few updates on the mission front and our very first email blast will be coming to you soon (assuming you have contacted me and let me know you would like one, ahem). If you would like to be on the inside loop, please let me know.

In other other news, I started writing that book I always tease about. And I actually have a coherent concept for it, which has never been a thing before. Yay me. We will see if it actually comes to fruition. Keep me accountable. Accountability is good.

Annnd I love you. Unequivocally and unconditionally. But my baby has awoken and you come second.

Mourning the Loss

I have this friend. His name is Cody. Cody and I became friends in a strange, round about way that started with dating. There are more, sad details to that story that I would love to share interpersonally, but they are not so much for the internet. We dated at a strange turning point in both of our lives. We were both unhealthy, mentally and physically, and we really trying to turn things around for ourselves. Or maybe, just I was. We fell in love. Not so much romantically as within a friendship. And when things ended, they just ended. I wasn't really injured and neither was he. Our friendship ceased for awhile as we both did other things.

We got back in touch after I had really turned my life around and Cody, well, he hadn't. You see, Cody is a douche. Do not mistake me, I love him more than there are words, but that doesn't make him any less of a douche. He is that guy that women date because they believe that with them? It will be different! They can change him, save him, be the one to bring him out of the darkness. I think the reason Cody and my relationship never imploded was because I thought none of those things. I didn't expect our relationship would be one for the ages, it just was. Cody gets involved with these beautiful, independent, loving, caring women who want the best for him - and he messes them up. Pretty badly. I don't think it is intentional, but it always happens. Cody enters, ruins friendships and self esteems, and then is gone. And to ask him, it is always his exgirlfriends' fault. But it isn't. It is because Cody doesn't love himself and doesn't understand why anyone else would love him. So he treats them as he treats himself, badly.

Cody came to visit me in Cusco during a very messy break of a very messy marriage to a very wonderful woman. The mess was entirely Cody's. When I picked him up from the airport, he hadn't eaten or slept in days. We went back to my flat, got him fed and tucked him into my bed until we could check him into the hostel downstairs. He let me gush about the man I had fallen in love with and fell quiet when I warned him not to say one bad word about his wife. I'm not sure why Cody ever listened to me, but he always did. Because while he is a horrible boyfriend and husband to just about every other woman on the face of the earth, he is a good friend. He listens and gives excellent hugs. He is always willing to try new things and loves freedom of any and every kind. He lives by his own set of rules and often forgets to follow them. He is a beautiful, beautiful mess.

I remember asking him to live his life and not to settle for convenience. We were on a plane to Toronto and the flight attendant mentioned he may have had too much to drink. I settled him down and got him another drink - of water, but he didn't need to know that. I told him that sometimes we choose happiness over sorrow, even when we don't feel it. He laughed, "You're probably right, Mal." That was something he said to me a lot, always while laughing. He is the only person in the world I ever let call me Mal. And only because he won't not.

The next time I saw Cody, we were in JFK and we took NYC and Washington DC by storm. We spent the four hour bus ride to DC speaking and laughing loudly in British accents and making up stories about our lives in the UK. We laughed so hard we cried. Cody had been sober for over a month. He was headed back to the midwest and I was headed to Italy. We had a hilarious week of wandering. Before Cody, I had never really met anyone else who wanted to see the world like I did. We tried to touch base when he moved to Germany, but I was already back in the US. So we made plans to potentially buy a sail boat and do a stint around the world in the next year or so if we could save up the money. We couldn't. And by then, I was engaged and Cody was living in Chicago. Our lives were so different! And yet, somehow, still the same.

Right before I got married, Cody and I talked on the phone and he told me he was proud of me. When Rory was born, Cody was on the list of people who received that very first picture and update. "He's so beautiful, Mal. I can't wait to meet him." I think we talked on the phone once since then. And last week we chatted on Facebook about Mark and Rory and I possibly being in Jamaica, so he should try and come visit. It's hard to keep track of Cody, his life is transient. He typically has a girlfriend who reaches out and we become friends, he has wonderful taste in women even if he isn't the best boyfriend. I try to keep in touch with him as much as I can and I always remember to tell him to be nice to people on his birthday, even if they give him gifts. I remind him that the girl he is dating is not the enemy and he should be better. I tell him he looks like crap and to cut his hair, that MCR is coming out with new stuff and that travel is the best thing for a hurting soul.

I asked him how he was last week. He didn't respond, but I know he saw it because Facebook is creepy like that. I probably should have known that meant he wasn't doing well. I found out this morning that Cody will never meet Rory. And words cannot express how heart broken I am. Cody was not the greatest human being, but he was a wonderful and profound friend that I love - loved. I can't help but wonder if there was something that I could have done or said even though I know there isn't. Cody lived life on his terms, freedom was what he lived and died for. I mourn for the loss of such a vibrant and free spirit in the world and I mourn the loss of my friend.

Codybear, I love you. You are missed. 1988-2012