Super Happy and Uplifting Stories

The blinking cursor is my enemy.

I literally have 9 drafts sitting in my blogger, waiting to be finished or edited or even begun. But I can't. I just can't. I don't feel like it. I don't want to. I don't have any desire to hit that publish button and let you all in on what I'm thinking, feeling, experiencing. For awhile I was too busy. Then I was too busy and too boring all at the same time. And then I was too busy and too boring and too involved in other things (I've overcommitted myself this Fall). And now? Now I don't want to talk to you anymore. Now I am struggling and I feel bad for not including you in what has been happening previously so why would I bother you with the negative crap?

But I'm going to.

Because the other day someone told me how much the loved and appreciated my blog.

-insert guilt-

So there's that. And I love to write and I am wondering if maybe, just maybe, much of what plagues me can be worked out on my keyboard. I've been reading a lot and it reminds me of why I love to write - because I love to read. Seriously, you should see my side of the bed. It is all books. Copious amounts of books. Stacks and piled and leaning and each one more desirable than the next and I just don't have time for them all which breaks my soul into pieces - book shaped pieces. But it also reminds me that I love to read because I love to write, and vice versa. They are the perfect little yin and yang that make up my ink stained fingers and hardback heart. So here I am at the computer again.

Wah wah.

Firstly, they are clear cutting around our house. Gross. It makes me want to move. It makes me want to pack our things and find some new house in the woods with goats and donkeys and chickens and coyotes and elk and all of the things. I do not live down a long gravel road so that I can have wide-open-clear-cut spaces around me. No. Just no. Trees are like my books. I want them around me. Lots of them. And when they are missing? I am incomplete. I just wander aimlessly or focus too much and too hard on stupid stressful things. Plus, my husband is like two trees away from becoming an eco-terrorist and I would really rather he stays out of prison. And I want my trees back.

Like, now.

So, I work for a church and our church is kind of small, which means we have 3 employees - *had. Our Youth and Children's Ministry Director decided to go back to school to get his Masters. This is a grand thing that I am actually quite jealous of! However, it also means that we have to hire someone new. We haven't yet. It's a long and tedious process and in the interim? I have kind of found myself in a leadership position with lots more responsibilities than I would like. This is not so much due to other people shirking their duties as it is me taking on responsibilities that no one else likes because otherwise, who will do all of the things?!?!

Needless to say, my life has kind of turned into a Circus - capital "C".

Like I said, I've been reading. Lots of things, but Carry On, Warrior: Thoughts on Life Unarmed by Glennon Doyle Melton specifically. I like her writing style, mainly because I feel it reflects my own, but also because her stories reflect my own. I was in tears by probably the second vignette. It might have actually been the first. Yes, because the book is sad, but not like a Nicholas Sparks novel sad. It's better than that. Deeper than that. It's sad in the way that real life is sad. It's sad like stubbing your toe after the worst day ever. It's sad like when you feel you don't love people enough. It's sad like realizing your kiddo is sick after you've been angry with them all day because they've been "whiny." It's sad like that. Which is the worst and best kind of sad. It makes you smaller, which actually makes you better.

That book makes me better.

Then there's the fact that I'm fat.

Well, kind of. Actually, not really. See, I had a baby and then that baby became a toddler and weaned himself and I lost weight and got skinny and I was super excited - except I didn't do anything, I just had a baby and the rest was science. So now I am realizing/remembering that in order to stay small or continue to get smaller, I have to work hard because I'm not 12 anymore. Yah. That's stupid. Why do 12 year olds get good metabolism when all they do is treat their bodies like crap? Riddle me that.

Anyway, my lazy self just wants to casually do yoga and continue to watch pounds shed like unwanted puppy fur in the Summer time. But it's Winter and I am not a dog, sooo... back to intense yoga and running. In the freezing. In the wind. In the rain. And I still feel fat most of the time.

And then there's Bible Study.

So, the youth group kids, you know, the ones who lost their youth group leader to University? They would like a Bible Study (did I already mention my life is a Circus?). And honestly? They need one. Because youth group is still kind of settling into what it looks like without a paid staff person and it's a little disastrous - definitely lacking structure, anyway. And the topics that the kids want to talk about? ARE AWESOME. They are so awesome. We have the best kids in our youth group. Thee best. I would challenge you to find better, more involved, more justice and civic minded students. All of them. From 2-20, they are amazing.

So now I am building a Bible Study and I thought I had a good grasp on what they wanted to learn - I was wrong. Or rather, I just assumed in the wrong direction. What do my very intelligent, civil servants want to discuss? All of the stuff every adult wants to hash out with teenagers - sex, abortion, gender equality, homosexuality, prayer... the list goes on. I'm super excited they feel comfortable enough to have these conversations with me, but seriously - CIRCUS.

Oh, also, poop.

Literal poop. Rory's poop is a constant conversation in our house because he struggles with his tummy and gets so upset when he doesn't feel well (as he should), but that makes Mama and Dada upset in turn. Because we want him to feel well and play nicely and snuggle, but he feels all gross inside and this leads him to be cranky on the outside. Every Circus needs poop, I suppose.

Aren't you so glad I gave you an update?

I know, you missed me.

And I missed you.

A Lack of Commitment and Other Things

I have like six different drafts going.

I just can't commit.

We are trying to get Rory to sleep through the night. Kind of. It's essentially an epic battle. Two nights ago he screamed between 2:30ish and 5am. The boy has will power. Struggling to even just get him to be still, I just closed my eyes and thought "This is how God feels about me; Like, "Malia, STOP STRUGGLING, I promise I know what's best for you in this moment, just go with it - idiot."" This is comforting for reasons I can't even explain. It makes me love my son more. It makes me feel like I'm doing okay even when we've had an entire day of awful. But then there are moments like this one...
 

My son, like his mother before him, should have had bad eyesight. Because we look adorable in glasses, Amen. He's like a miniature Clark Kent in the flesh! He took them out of his Nana's pocket and tried to put them on his face and laughed. Oh! how he laughed. The boy is full of so much joy it makes me look morose. And I'm a gaggle of fun. Sometimes. Whatever, don't judge me.

Listen, being a mom to a dinosaur is difficult. We don't always see eye to eye - primarily because he's like 2ft tall, but sometimes because he thinks crying for three hours in the middle of the night is a good idea rather than sleeping. I should add, he slept until 10am following his disastrous wake up, so I think we all know who won that battle... him.

But you should hear the way he says my name. Clear as could be, "Mama." And isn't it worth it? To be covered in banana and see those little feet run toward you when you get home? I can't think of anything better.





Except Maybe This...

I Am Not A Pinterest Mom

Awhile back, I wrote on the Facebook wall of a friend from another era. Just a "Hey, how are you doing?" kind of hello. He asked me if I had beaten Pinterest yet. I wanted to kick him in the teeth.

Truth: I love Pinterest. It combines the two things I love most in this world after God, my family, and adoption: images and information. I am almost entirely visual. I cannot handle being told anything verbally unless I have a pen and paper. Pinterest beautifully weaves together my learning style and passion for knowledge into a blanket of lovely. If you scroll through my Pinterest you will notice that every single pin is my style of aesthetically pleasing. There are two notable exceptions: home school information (which pains me that no one has made a pretty graphic for all of it) and things I post for Marko. I have a problem.

I try every recipe I post.
I sew every clever project I pin.
I plan out every housing project I would do if only my pockets were deeper.
I create home school curriculum.
I honestly spend more time just scrolling through my own pins and admiring all the pretty images than anything else.
Except maybe the "Kiddo" tab.

 

Adorable.

And the Kiddo tab is my undoing. I consistently find pictures and stories that bring me to tears - happy or sad. It's ridiculous. But also found on the Kids tab are parenting articles. I'll admit (with extreme prejudice) that sometimes I find a blog that I find humorous or informative, but mostly it just makes me feel like a failure. My son is 13 months old and nowhere close to sleeping through the night - or in his own bed. We don't have a washer/dryer so we can't do cloth diapers (don't get me started, I fully understand how uneconomical and un-ecological disposables are). I tell him "No" more often than I would like. I get frustrated with him when all he wants is my attention because I want to get something done. I am upset because we live in a way that means I work part-time and I don't get to be a stay-at-home mom. I never actually got around to teaching Rory sign language. We didn't do any cute month-by-month pictures. And he ate peanut butter and strawberries before he turned one.

Lord help me.

I consistently forget to get my son breakfast before 11am. Sometimes he doesn't go to bed until 10:30 because I don't feel like making it a battle.When Rory throws a tantrum, I often forget to calmly explain to him the what and why and just throw a tantrum back. A "well balanced lunch" is regularly frozen blackberries with bread dipped in peanut butter and jam. I use sarcasm (in case you weren't aware) and realized yesterday that I have been actively trying to teach my one-year-old to throw things (plushy footballs, but still). I swear, I have little-to-no sense of time, I let Rory play with any tool that has no sharp edge, and enjoying watching Criminal Minds while he plays with his toys next to me.

I am winning no parenting awards.

Last week while hanging with my wonderful girlfriend, Becca, we were discussing what it meant to let God "love on you" and we came to the decision that it was a balance of accepting who God has made you to be and really living into that. The analogy I decided on was yoga (you're surprised, I know). In yoga, there is no perfect pose because the goal of each pose is actually to go beyond physical limits; putting your forehead to your shins is not the objective, the objective is to go through your shins into the earth - but that's impossible. You are constantly accepting where you are while striving to go further in yoga. And that's what it is like to let God love on you.

And that's what it's like to be a parent.

I have the perfect example laid out for me in scripture. A Father who loves me unconditionally, who calls me back when I have wandered, whose heart breaks when my own is broken, who forgives me all of my many many transgressions. And I will never compare. Not to the Pinterest Moms, and certainly not to God. But one of those is worth striving towards and one of them isn't. Some perspective is in order here. Who cares if I potty train my son in three days as long as he is unconditionally loved?

At this point, all I can do is pray for wisdom, strength, and have another cup of coffee. Because being a mom is never going to get easier - just different. And there will be one million voices telling me I'm doing it wrong, but there will always be at least one telling me even though I will always do it wrong, it's still worth trying.

Commissioned And Home Again

"And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”

So, we were in Detroit. It was... an experience. I don't want to tell you it was hard and whine about how difficult the Dullanty Tribe has it - but, bro? It was hard. We got into Detroit after an entire day on airplanes at 1am. Then the well rested baby wanted to play until 3am. Then he woke up and ate for forty-five freaking minutes at 6am and as I was laying his sweet head back down on the bed at 6:45, Marko's alarm went off because the first thing for the weekend began at 7am. I rolled over and went to sleep then woke up two hours later to a cappuccino and a plate of fruit. My husband wins all awards. All of them, ever.

There are way too many details to tell you about, but the big thing was: we were commissioned!

 

Yes, that is a sleeping baby. Rory slept through the entire service. I told you - it was a hard weekend. We were (are) exhausted. But being commissioned? Was wonderful. And serving Communion? Was wonderful. Sometimes the great things are the hardest, you know?

 Want to watch us wave flags and be commissioned and serve Communion? Here we are!

Be amazed.

Just kidding, but seriously it is amazing. Not so much to watch, I'm sure, but to live? Amazing is the word. I feel so blessed and overwhelmed. It was great to catch up with those people we fell so in love with in Chicago two weeks earlier and it was just... just... it was awesome. Plus - my hubby is a stunner in a suit.

Now we are home and I think it might be harder than an exhaustive weekend (and then disastrous flight home) in Detroit. Our tatertot isn't sleeping and is really struggling with growing/teething/not being around these people who were intensely present over the month of June. Sometimes I bring up pictures of other METE participants and Rory waves and coos at the computer... this makes me so happy and so heartbroken all at once. I'm glad Skype is a thing.

We are in the process of writing our initial support letter, which I will probably also post online for all you techie people, but it is difficult. It is also hard to have been surrounded by supportive, globally minded people so consistently and now be back in the fray of American normalcy. This is not to say that everyone who lives here is small-minded or not on mission or somehow less than we are, so don't misunderstand.

I remember feeling like such an alien for wanting to travel and for feeling called internationally; and not for vacation. I kept asking people to come with me and they kept having excuses (not illegitimate ones) until I finally left on my own. It was big and different and scary - but all of the sudden, for the first time ever, I was surrounded by people who also had a deep love of travel and international awareness and cultures outside of their own. They were confused why I had waited so long, when those I had grown up with had been confused as to why I went at all. It was blessed. And that was what being around Covenant World Mission and staff was like. They immediately understood our call to international mission. I miss that.

It is all a process. Beautiful, difficult, and still happening.