Life Isn't Fair

Sometimes life is not fair. Life isn't fair for the 147 million orphans in the world today. Life isn't fair for the 12 million refugees of war torn countries. Life isn't fair for the 3 billion people who live on less than $2 a day. And those are just some big issues. Life isn't fair. There is pain, there is suffering, there is destruction, disease, loss, heartbreak, abuse, injustice - there is so much unfairness.

Life is not fair for those who cannot afford to feed their families.

As I struggle to be a better wife, a better about-to-be mom, a better daughter, a better sister, a better friend, and a better person - there are those who struggle with worse. My blessings far outweigh any injustice in my life. It has been told to me that Americans are miserable people because of one small (huge) personality flaw that we cultivate from youth - comparison. We compare ourselves with those who have more: success, wealth, beauty, money, time, passion, talent. Therefore we are nearly always unhappy because we believe that if we had what they have? That would be the ticket. And it doesn't have to be a movie star, it can be as simple as someone for a run on your street and you think to yourself, "If I looked like that." Or seeing your perfect kitchen, living room, bedroom, bathroom on Pinterest and imagining, "If I had that."

By American standards, my husband and I are not wealthy. We are at the bottom end of blue collar on a rich day. But I do not understand this way of thinking because we have way more than we could ever need. We buy things we absolutely do not need, like the paper towel holder and black bear soap dispenser we purchased this week. We have too much space that is not used nearly as well as it should be. Our bank account has money in it and we are never behind on a payment. How is it even possible that we are considered the poverty line?

Life is not fair for parents' who lose their children.

This weekend a heartbreaking situation arose in my community, not even in my community, it touched the life of a friend who happens to be one of the most caring human beings in the world and brought it to my community's attention. Her cousin and his wife lost their beautiful 5 month old little girl to unknown causes. Being pregnant? I did not want to hear this story. I did not want to hear about how much they loved their child, about what good parents they were, about how they rushed their sweet baby to the hospital, about how there was nothing to be done. It tore me into pieces and placed fears in my heart that are stronger than any I have ever known. I was kind of a wreck on Sunday.

But it also led me to really think about the entire situation, what would I do? How would I react? I can't imagine, but I think I would take a deep breath and scream as loud as I could. I would, of course, blame myself, insistent that I could have done something differently, better. And then I would yell at God, because it life isn't fair and it hurts. I'm sure I would shed tears, both angry and heart broken. But I hope, that I would pick up my Bible and read. Read about years in the desert, about others who lost loved ones, about suffering. I hope I would remember the people all around the world who lose their children everyday from preventable causes because they live in places where they are too poor, too filthy, too far from help. I hope I would think of the devastation that occurs all over the world by natural disaster, plague, and famine. I hope I would remember that it is okay to be hurt, angry, sad, and heartbroken. But also remember that I am not alone in my dark place, there are thousands who live here every day. Light a candle for each of those in the dark.

Life isn't fair, but it goes on. Life isn't fair, but it happens. And there are good things, such good things. And without the hard, those good things would not be as good. We would not appreciate them, we would not even see them. I am grateful for the unfairness in life because it forces me to see unfairness elsewhere and be thankful for all that I am blessed with on a regular basis.

Better

Today, my word is provision.

Wednesday was difficult. You know the saying, "be careful what you wish for" ? Well, I feel like we only ever remember it after the fact. My prayers obviously fluctuate, but there is one thing I consistently ask God for: to fill me up and break my heart for what breaks His. The poverty, disease, preventable deaths, and all those who feel cast out by the church. I desire to show people as much love as I possibly can, and yet I remain sarcastic and whiney. I am not who I aspire to be, I am not someone to look up to, I am not as good as I could be. I want to be better, so much better. And my ask has been responded to, my heart is being torn into thousands of pieces in opposite directions as I witness people in my community experiencing hardships, have a growing love for Africa that has never been present before now, watch my husband struggle with his job that doesn't pay or appreciate him nearly enough... I am full to the brim, overflowing with love that I feel I cannot dispense quickly enough - I forgot to ask for an outlet.

I spent the day laboring to express everything pent up inside of me and only managed to exhaust myself. Then, picking up Marko from work, I was informed that I am a moron for wanting a natural birth with no medication. Unsolicited advice is an epidemic in the United States. I wanted to say that people do it all over the world every day, even in America. I wanted to say that women have been giving birth naturally without numbing the lower half of their bodies for thousands of years. I wanted to say that I didn't judge those who choose to medicate and I shouldn't be looked down upon for wanting something different. But all I could do was stare at the wall while Mark came to my rescue. I was too drained to even consider responding. We then had to drive up to Seattle to attend a birthing class, something my health care provider strongly recommends. Our generation has lost something. We now need professionals to tells us all the things that used to just be passed down from mother to daughter, grandparent to grandchild. Breast feeding is the best option for your baby, skin to skin contact will help you bond with your little one, patience is the best strategy when learning how to nurse, bathe, and rock your newborn to sleep. Please inform me as to why a class exists to tell me these things? In the same way a cookbook will never be able to teach me the way an 80 year old woman can, there is no substitute for knowledge passed down through the ages. It doesn't mean we can't decide for ourselves what is right or wrong, it just means that you have wasted 2 hours of 15 couples lives telling us what our basic instincts are. Wednesday was difficult.

Thursday I woke up with a disposition to make life better. To make my husband smile, to look at the bright side, to be the positivity I wanted from the world. Thursday was a long day, but I accomplished what I set out to do. I remembered to pray for an outlet and flew through work. I was able to lift Mark's spirits, if only slightly, I got my house in order and I spent the whole day singing. There was much to do and little energy left to do it with, but that is the wonder of provision. Even when you think you're at the end of you're rope, you find a little more. That's always the way it is with love, though. You give and give until there's nothing left, then you give some more. Mother Teresa said it best, "I think I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only love."

This morning was the dreaded monthly appointment with a midwife. There were enjoyable when there were ultrasounds and I was losing weight rather than being scolded by an overweight woman for gaining too much. But today? Today we met Desiree. She answered every question without any tone of judgement, she laughed with us when something funny was said, she spoke with us about the best postpartum birth control options and even put it in the hospital notes so someone would know to order it, she reaffirmed my plan to do natural childbirth and shook her head understandingly when I gave my account of being called a moron, she gave us a list of books to check out, she measured to make sure I was the right size instead of talking to me about weight, and, of course, let us listen to Creature's heart beat. It was the most encouraging visit yet. Provision, provision is definitely the word for today.

I am reminded daily of how much more I have. I should seek to bless others as I am so incredibly blessed, seek to love them as I am wonderfully loved, seek to care for them as I am overwhelmingly cared for. I can do better, be better than I am now. Not because I am capable, but because I believe in a God who is. I want to spend my mornings reading and writing, seeking Christ's plan for my life. I want to spend my days serving my girls by taking them shopping and talking with them about their busy schedules, being there for them in each and every crisis and non-crisis. I want to spend my free time with friends, living life beside them openly and speaking into their lives as I hope they speak into mine. I want to spend my work hours doing the best I can and giving everything I am able to the cause I so believe in. I want to spend my nights snuggled with my husband, loving him beyond my capacity and having long conversations about everything and nothing. I want to be better.

Get Rid Of All Your Stuff

I always see these articles in the newspaper, online news sources, Pinterest, Facebook, you name it - about how to live on less than $50,000 a year, or maybe even $30,000. There are so many articles on ways to save, books written about it. And, honestly? I'm confused.

Now, these are wonderful goals in the epitome of a westernized country: to live counter-culturally, seeking simplicity instead of extravagance, steering clear of consumerism. But there is also something sickening about it. What about the millions of people living on $1.75 a day - or less? The statistics are overwhelming and it's so easy to ignore because we don't see it. Our lives aren't directly touched by those in need. We don't witness malnutrition or HIV run rampant without medication. There aren't small children tapping on our car windows every time we brake, asking for food or change. We train ourselves to look away from the homeless and the helpless. We live in a way that encourages selfishness, that promotes conceit and egocentricity on top of indulgence.

I am guilty. I squander what has been given to me; time, talent, testimony, and treasure. I am unworthy of the gifts and blessings I am absolutely drenched in. I whine incessantly and forget to be grateful. I am so guilty. I think the most evident example of this in my own life is that the worst part of pregnancy for me is the weight gain - that's entirely vanity speaking. I can think of 3 couples just off the top of my head who can't have children and it broke their hearts. They are now 6 of the best parents I know, not only to their own adopted children, but to each child they happen across within their communities. They couldn't and I can, my discomfort is disproportionate to their heartbreak.

But what if I genuinely lived in thankfulness? What if I woke up each day and was comforted by my inability to sleep and growing waist size because there are people who long for what I am experiencing? What if I lived on as little as possible, not because it makes me a better person, but because my comfort is not worth the discomfort of another. The $100 I spend on haircare a year could pay for a child to attend school for that same amount of time. One dinner out is more than the cost of a goat or chicken that could be the livelihood for a family of 5 or 6. Your lazy afternoon could be spent at your local community center tutoring kids that don't have parents to ask for Math or English help. Telling your story might inspire or encourage someone else. There are so many examples I could use.

I can always tell when my mind is cluttered, because my space becomes cluttered. So whenever I feel overwhelmed or upset with the things that are going on in my mind, I clean. Sometimes insane amounts of reorganizing and deep cleaning ensue, other times it's just tidying up a room. Either way, it's like a weight lifted off my mind. And right now? My mind is cluttered. I am ready to be better, to do better. I am exhausted of doing nothing, of simply accepting that this is how it is, of self gratification being the order of the day. I'm ready for more.

I demand more.

Word of the Day

The word for today is "encouraged."

There are so many things I could complain about today. The list is mind numbingly long. But all I can think about is how blessed I am. I am exhausted and so unbelievably busy with a number of things I still need to accomplish, but all of the things on that list? Are things that I don't mind doing, that actually kind of bring me joy. Each thing in my life that should make me tired, just fills my spirit up a little more. I also haven't seen or spoken to my husband all day, which is far too long. This week has not been conducive for us to spend time together and I miss him! But I get to spend all day tomorrow, Sunday, and Monday with him and we a realizing our dreams of living in the dirt. I have gained far too much weight to feel even the slightest bit attractive, but I have a beautiful and active critter growing inside of me who already lights up my life. There are so many people who keep putting my idea of going on mission down with snide comments and the upturned noses. But there are so many others who so fully support that idea, even if they aren't Christian!

I am so undeniably blessed and my life is just one sloppy wet kiss, you know the kind - when you're not sure if that was a good thing and, yet, you are. I got to hang out with some 10-15 students today and help them make learning fun. I had the opportunity to really share and connect with my parents this afternoon while my daddy played his guitar. I came home to a clean home and a love letter waiting up on the computer for me from my dearling husband. Tomorrow I get to continue getting my house ready for a tiny little one with my husband and then go to a family baby shower. Sunday I have to chance to hangout with my husband and two people I absolutely adore and I am so lucky to be involved in their lives while we chat about missions, Church, and God.

I am so encouraged.

By the little boy I helped read this morning. By the teacher who told me I was such a gift with kids. By the two wonderful women I had the opportunity to shadow this week, teaching me that ELL isn't always an awful and demanding subject. By the little girl I taught how to say "300" this afternoon. By kindergardeners who ask me how to spell. By hugs from little ones and waves from those too shy to hug. By my dad's guitar playing. By the book my mother gave me in support of my love of mission work, even though it breaks her heart that we will be so far away. By the loving and open conversations we are able to have. By the pennies I am earning as a freelance writer. By the absolute provision in our life, despite when we face monetary issues. By the email from Africa. By the voicemail from my best friend. By the love letter from my husband. By the kicks and somersaults in my abdomen. By the 30 minutes of yoga. By my excitement to write, whether here or for Yahoo! or in my journals or Dust Book. By my clean house. By each and every moment, whether good, bad, or mundane because I know that each of those moments are making up my life!

Today, I am encouraged.

African Dreams

I am excited to report that Mark and I have our first real possibility to go on mission! We have looked at more than a handful of companies and have finally found where we fit. Now, I don't want to jinx it or get our hopes up, but I do want lots of happy thoughts toward this opportunity as it is one we would really love...

Just so you know? It's difficult to find a missions company that fits you. First and foremost? They have to be going/located where you would like to go/be located. Then they have to be willing to work with families because, hey! we are about to be a family of three. Next there is the matter of the amount of time - we aren't looking for two weeks or a month or even six. We are looking to do the career thing. You know, 5 years plus? Yah. And finally, but possibly most importantly, there is the company you go through.

I know what you're thinking - "You're a Christian! Just go with a churchy organization." Yah, one problem with that: I don't know if you've noticed? But a majority of Christians are assholes. Now, to be fair, it isn't an actual majority. It's just the ones who get all the attention and press. But those are typically also the ones who start up mission companies. There are denominations within the Church and some of them believe weird things that I want nothing to do with. Others are really legalistic and demand you follow strict sets of rules that have nothing to do with love, mercy, grace, or compassion - which are the things Jesus preached. So all of those are out. That leaves... well, not a lot. And I am really not interested in spending my life working for a company or Church that I don't agree with.

Lucky for me? I found a Church I can get behind. Small, interested in peoples stories, all different backgrounds, and nonjudgmental. And bonus points! It's the Church I already attend. So we are looking into opportunities and hopefully something will work out. Think positively for us!

I am having a difficult time adjusting to this body. It isn't mine and no one can convince me otherwise. The weight and the constant discomfort are enough to drive me into a constant emotional fit. We experienced such a thing this afternoon... I had a good enough morning! I went to a brunch and then to work, where I got a lot done in a short amount of time so I could come home to spend time with my wonderful husband. Then I tried to make myself lunch. Right then and there? My whole world fell apart. As if a meltdown had just been waiting in the wings to burst forth. Thanks, emotional rollercoaster of pregnant wonder, thanks. Our pepper grinder broke open in my hands, sending little peppercorns all over my food, our stove, and the floor. That was enough to put me on the sofa for the next 2 hours or so while my absolutely phenomenal husband made me lunch and sat with me in my teary, whiney state. I'm super glad that man loves me.

We had our monthly date night last night. Barns & Noble then Thai food! I realize it sounds mundane, and it is, but it is also date bliss. We poured over books about travel, language, crafts, cameras, mission work, and even found a funny book called "Be Prepared" for Marko. It's about what to expect as a new dad - it's hilarious. We looked through the entire "Christian" section and were sorely disappointed at the lack of books about missionaries, about travel, about the rest of the world. Most of them were just commentaries on Jesus in society, guides to reading the Bible, and "how to fix your life up." Whatever. I demand more. I want to live out love the way I believe we are meant to. I want to live in a way that lets others know that they matter. I want to live in the glow that comes from giving everything and then some. Sometimes I think the majority of "Christians" have never read the Bible. If they had? They would not be content with being comfortable or safe, not to mention judgmental.

However, in our search for books on mission, we did discover Kisses From Katie. Now here is a girl I can stand next to. She gave up everything everyone said she should want in order to live in the dust of Uganda loving on any and everyone she could - and continues to do so. This is what Mark and I want for our lives. I respect that not everyone wants nor is called to this, but I can't for the life of me figure out why the hell not.

You can check out her book on Amazon:
Kisses From Katie

Or just take a look at her blog:
Kisses From Katie

It's funny, four hours ago I was falling to pieces for the millionth time during the pregnancy. Now? I can't wait to be a part of something like this, something where I have the opportunity to love on people like the deserve to be loved. It's too far away, too long from now. But soon. Soon.

Hallelu

Driving home from a wonderful day in Seattle with Folk Life and friends, my handsome husband posed a question that I don't really remember. Something about when I stopped doing drugs and why. Which led me looking at the big picture of my life for the thousandth time and realizing once again how amazing it is. Not that my life in itself is amazing, just that the story is amazing. You can see God moving in my life before I ever realized it, but whether or not you believe? It's a wonderful coincidence.

January of 2009, after dropping out of University and spending 6 months basically soaking my liver and brain in illegal substances, a friend texted me telling me how much she missed Washington and all of us up here. My response was to quit my both my jobs and drive 19 hours straight through the night to Riverside California. My dear friend, Jade, was attending California Baptist University. A private Christian university, things like Chapel and worship were required of students. I was sleeping on Jade's floor so I just tagged along for two weeks. I grew up in the church (little c for little minds), but God and I hadn't spoken in awhile. I left the church, assuming that included God. I was mistaken. Everyone commented on what an amazing friend I was to have driven all the way down to California for Jade, but I think that time saved my life. I just reassured Jade that she was loved and belonged in California, staying at Cal Baptist was the start of my life doing a 180. I returned home to the grey knowing I wanted something different for my life. But without the recreational substance abuse, I was forced to turn to the prescribed brands. I had anxiety attacks that would put me in a small dark corner and felt jittery all the time, most likely because my diet consisted of caffeine and medication. I rode the bus into Seattle for work and read my Bible for the first time in a long time. I remember someone asking me if I went to church and I adamantly explained that I didn't approve of church, I was just trying to figure out where/why/how all of this (Bible) fit into my life. She smiled at me. Bus riders into Seattle from Maple Valley get to know each other pretty well, so eventually we all began to have pretty interesting conversations about God, religion, church... I had a friend die that Spring. We had always planned extravagant trips and before he died he had gone on a tour of South America. "You have to go to Peru, Malia," he told me. That same week he died, I bought a plane ticket for September. As the Summer progressed, my anxiety and myriad of other mental health issues intensified. The two or so weeks before I got on a plane, I spent most of my days not being able to get out of bed. Staring at the ceiling and journaling nonsense, not eating or sleeping. I was a wreck. My mother would tell me later that when she dropped me at the airport, she thought she would never see me alive again. But I got on a plane, slept in an airport and got on my connecting flight to South America.

That first night in a hostel in Lima, I flushed all my medication. I couldn't tell you why I did it, I just didn't want to be a zombie any longer. I got on a 24 hour bus to Cusco and fell in love the moment I awoke in the middle of the Andes. Foreign grey moonscape to lush Amazonian jungle to fields of golden grass high above the clouds. I thought I was dying, "This is what Heaven looks like," I remember thinking as the sun lit up the side of the mountain to a bright glow. Maybe I was dying, because I turned into an entirely new person. In Cusco I met some young men who would change my life. The tall perfect arian and fun loving, Rolf from Denmark. Working for the travel industry, he came to Cusco in 2005 on holiday and just never left. The awkward but excellent with the ladies and dearling friend, Christian from Oxford. Traveling through South America, the US, and Asia on gap year after inventing some kind of new laundry detergent, he had stayed in Cusco longer than expected because he fell in love with it. Jesus, the Argentine graphic designer with strange sleeping hours and a love of matte and fernet with Coke from Cordoba. I lived with these three and really became who I wanted to be. I spent my days wandering the shops and streets, eventually volunteering at a school house in San Mateo, a "suburb" of Cusco if you will... if no running water and crumbling adobe buildings qualify as "suburbs." My nights were spent salsa dancing and bar hopping with the occasional Cumbia club. Then I met Tao. Tall, dark, and handsome Australian passing through Cusco on his tour of the world and I fell in love. My time in Cusco coming to an end, he convinced me to join him in New York City. I made it happen. We spent 2 weeks in blissful December joy on the island of Manhattan before he had to fly to London and I went to live in Washington DC with relatives. I combed craigslist and eventually happened upon a job as an au pair in San Miniato, Italy to the cutest triplets in the world. My life in Italy was mostly babies and adventures all over Italy with them. Eventually we went to Vermont for the Summer and I picked up my Bible again. My life was just one big coincidence after another. At the end of that Summer, I knew what I needed to do: I had to go home. I took the train across the country, stopping various places but primarily in Chicago to visit my little brother, Zach, at North Park University, then in Spokane to reconnect with a dear friend, and Soap Lake to spend time with my God Parents.

Finally I arrived home. The job market being what it was, I threw myself into volunteer work at two different churches and the community. It wasn't long before we got the call about Zach, in the hospital struggling to make it. "Touch and go," were the dreaded words. My parents went and I stayed with my baby brother Alika. This is why I was called home. Two weeks went by with Alex and I making life work on our own when my paternal grandmother passed away. My dad flew to Seattle and all three of us flew out to attend the funeral. When we returned home, all 5 of us were living under the same roof again. Zachary was recovering, slowly but surely. Alex was also recovering, from a variety of other things. I spent my time volunteering and making an odd dollar here and there through my dear friend, Wendee, at Versatile Designs. I received several offers to get out of the country, but I declined them all. Despite my empty wallet and living at home again, I knew I was doing the right thing. I went on a mission trip to Mexico by sheer grace, as I wasn't planning on going (due to lack of funds) and was reintroduced to the man who has become the love of my life. I got a paid internship and was offered a position as an Administrative Assistant for the Summer. I wasn't sure where either would leave me come September, but I was determined that this was the right path for me. I got engaged in August and in September found out my job at our Church Office could be a permanent one if I wanted it. Married in November, we found out I was pregnant in late December, and the Church offered me more hours for 2012... and I am happy. Life has it's ups and downs, but there is never a moment when I am dissatisfied. My life isn't a fairytale, but it's close enough for me.

I could have spent four years at University. I could have continued to work 2 jobs and live in a little apartment. I could have stayed abroad having adventures. I could have left the country again. I could have, I could have, I could have. And I didn't. I followed my heart and the thousands of coincidences that make up my life. But I don't believe in coincidence, I believe in God. And it's okay if you don't! I just can't seem to shake it. Now we are looking at going abroad to do mission work and everyone thinks we're out of our heads. If there's one thing I've learned? It's that people thinking I'm making an irrational decision probably means I'm headed in the right direction. Why do you need to approve of what I am doing and where I'm going? And why do you imagine you have that right? Live your life and I will do the same. If that isn't good enough for you, well, that's too bad...

Flare For The Dramatic

As you know, I'm nesting. Nesting entails cleaning everything out of our already extremely tidy and tiny studio flat. But not just the closets, cupboards, and shelves! Oh no, also the few keepsakes I tote around. For instance, my Tide detergent box of notes.

I have saved every note, card, and letter, every piece of paper scribbled back and forth upon by two friends during class, every address, every post-it hello, every piece of personal post I have ever received since 1998. It's a lot. And my Tide box has been mostly full for well over 2 years. But still, every time I get a card or a letter? It gets stuffed in the box.

Then I got married. And am now having a baby (it's unbelievable how many cards and letters you get for those two events). So my Tide box could no longer function as the container for all my correspondence - unless I threw some things out. Now, I did not count how many items were once in that orange and yellow box - but it was a lot. Remember when you used to fold notes up into cute little boxes or hearts or "pull tabs" or cats or frogs or houses? Well just think of how many of those little notes would fit into an old Tide detergent container when pressed. It's a large number. So, I had to throw some out.

I have always avoided throwing notes away, partially because it's hard to read about some of the issues I was facing and the things my friends were dealing with then decide what is worth keeping and what isn't. So, I finally undertook that task. It turns out? It is much easier to throw things away than I had imagined. A lot of them were just one big dramatic slur. I discovered that I had no desire to keep a majority of my notes. Some of them? Were great. Hilarious and full of love from one friend to another, but a lot of them were just permeating meaningless back and forth. And those aren't the memories I want to keep.

I definitely had favorites:
"I am writing this to you up against a window. While having sex. With an albino midget wigger."
"I'm applying to be your love slave... I don't mind working nights and weekends."
"If pineapples could had wings and had intelligent thought, where would they fly to?"
"It is the year of the dragon (who knows actually) and I can't wait to release my beast of a dragon."

And I kept quite a bit of what was there. Most of the cards and a handful of the notes. My Tide box is now about half full, just waiting for more letters from family and friends. From my husband and cards from my little Critter. I'm excited to fill it up again, but with happier and healthier words. All those letters brimming with the dramatic? I am no longer close with most of the authors. Not because they aren't good wonderful people and not because we didn't make fun memories. But because I don't want or need drama in my life. I am creating a tiny little Creature who will absorb all my time and energy in the best way possible. I don't need to be distracted people who feel their every issue is bigger than that. I want to devote my stress to the good things in life, nothing that brings me down.

If you don't want drama in your life, it won't be there. When you finally let your life be about more than your passing issues and let those around you know that you're not interested in being their vent about selfishness, that's when you gain. As much as it might sting to lose those people at first, it becomes a relief. - What I'm not saying is "cut them off." You should never do that to someone. But you should step back from anyone who puts their needs before the rest of the world. Let them know you're there for them if they ever really need you, and make sure you let them know when they ask for you and it's not something earth shattering.

Surround yourself with people who can see the bigger picture. Who value others as well as themselves and view friendship as a two way street. Be selfless instead of selfish and never stop being amazed at how much bigger the world is in comparison to you.

Life Hydroponic

I made a promise, long ago, that I was not permitted to mock Twilight until I tried it.

(Kids, that's how you get hooked on drugs! Just say no to the needle and Twilight!)

So, I read the books. I'm a fast reader, it drives my husband nuts, and I will dive into any book I pick up off the shelf with love and enthusiasm from cover to cover. But therein lies the problem with reading Twilight. I have to want to read a book, which is why my teachers hated me so much in school. It took me nearly 2 weeks to get through Twilight, book freaking one! - and this coming from someone who is one of those irritating people who read the Deathly Hallows in under ten hours. I can therefore say, with experience and whole heartedly:

Stephanie Meyer is the worst author to ever have been published.

Now, I can go into great lengths about how much I absolutely loathe these books, but I won't. Because that would be a very long and angry blog. To sum up? She writes at a third grade level about issues third graders should know not of. And, of course, there is the issue of dear Bella being the main character (I have similar issues with Sookie in True Blood). Anyway, I made this promise and I have kept this promise. I have painfully pulled myself through four books and three movies of absolute torture. To be fair, I prefer the movies. They don't take as long to get through, and I don't have to read Stephanie Meyer's horrid style. Sure, Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson are awkward and almost painful to watch, but I have a feeling that might just be the script.

Now, I am finally embarking on the fourth film. To my deepest displeasure, it is not the last leg of my Twilight torture, but hopefully I can find some strange redeeming quality? I do enjoy Alice and Jasper throughout the books, so perhaps there will be much of them and little of everyone else - doubtful, having read the book, but I'm still hopeful.

Moving on... I don't believe I remember to blog about the fact that I passed my gestational diabetes test - with flying colors, I might add. My hemoglobins are normal! Huzzah. In other pregnancy news, you are no longer told that a half a glass of wine is okay during your third trimester! Uhm excuse me, medical professionals, that is what gets most of us moms through those first two obnoxious trimesters. I'm not saying I'm an alcoholic and I gotta get me some booze, I'm just trying to enjoy some of the simple pleasures of life again. Seeing as I'm not allowed to play any sports or do any extreme yoga, eat sushi, have mixed drinks, eat lunch meat, lie on my back or on my stomach, stand or sit for too long, wear any of my normal clothing - and one million other things - the least you could do would be to let me know I can have half a glass of wine maybe once a week with my husband. Evil has come into the hearts of our hospital's staff, pure fucking evil.

Anyway, possibly every adult woman I have ever met has whined about how difficult it is to keep basil alive. I would like to point out that all these women are liars. Basil? Is difficult to kill.

Look at it! So pretty! Mark and I needed basil about 3 months ago for something or other and we literally could not find any basil at the grocery except starts. So we bought it, because it was the only basil in the store, and brought it home. After using what we wanted, I didn't want to just throw away perfectly good basil, but it seemed weird to put something with roots into a refrigerator. So I took one of the glasses Marko made (from a wine bottle, but that will be another DIY day), put some water in it and let it sit. Three months later? It's obviously doing well. It's currently looking a little sparse because we've made pizza twice in the last week and we typically use basil for the sauce and for on top with cheese! I really have no idea what anyone was talking about when they said it's difficult to keep basil alive. I can't seem to get rid of mine! Which lead to green onions in water, these ones are a little older and recently chopped up, but often times we have green onions growing halfway up the window.

Now I'm curious as to what else only needs water and sunlight, because taking care of these puppies is easy. They sit right above the sink so I see them everyday and can give them water when they need it, I think we are going to put the green onions in a bigger glass, maybe like the one the basil is in. It runs out of water faster and sometimes I miss it because of the cloudy quality of the glass. Anyone else a hydroponic gardener and have some ideas about what you can keep in acqua?

Rhubarb Chicken Sausage and Fresh Squeezed Lemonade

New addition to Where In The World - house rose posts! Why? Because I am the vagabond house rose, but am currently not vagabonding. Hopefully soon, but not currently. And so that leaves us with just house rose-ing.

In totally unrelated news, I literally just watched a beautiful sunny day become a lightning storm! One of the top ten reasons I love living in the countryside? You can see, hear, and smell a storm coming. And witnessing a storm come in? Is one of the things that should be on your bucket list.

So best friendling, Kendall, brought me two merry gifts yesterday when we met for coffee! An adorable outfit for Critter (it has duckies) and a whole lot of rhubarb. Then came the wonderfully interesting question - what does one do with rhubarb other than make Strawberry Rhubarb Pie? Answer? Have a fuck ton of fun.

My husband? Is a chef. I don't mean he likes to cook, I mean he is a chef - it was once his occupation. So when he cooks? It's an elaborate delicious ordeal. We shop for specific ingredients and the whole kitchen becomes slave to one meal. Two sinkfuls of dishes and a hot mess afterwards, it is entirely worth it. I am not a chef. I am a cook. I love to cook and I love to bake even more (to the chagrin of my husband as he claims his belt line suffers), but I am no chef. I typically use about three dishes when cooking, two if I can get away with it. And I cook from the cabinet and the fridge. What needs to be eaten and what can I create from it? Answer part one: Rhubarb. Answer part two: No idea.

(beautiful blue streak of lightning + thunder)

And so I googled. And pinterested. And searched my cookbooks and the internet in vain. I didn't have any pork and even if I did want to venture out of my bubble to get some? We only have one car and my husband was currently using it some 15 miles away at work. What I did have was chicken sausage. Purchased at Trader Joe's for the incredibly mean price of $2.99 for 12 links, I had a starting point. Rhubarb is good with cinnamon and so are sweet chicken sausages, go.

I cooked the chicken sausage and pulled it out of the pan in order to saute some veggies in the sausage oils, cause that's yummy! My lovely pan had onion, orange bell pepper, zucchini, and Kendall's rhubarb - but you could add whatever veggies you're most fond of. I figured I might add a little butter if the oils from the chicken sausage weren't enough, but it ended up being fine. After they were all heated up, I put a lid on that sucker and let them cook.

Then, like a good Asian, I put some jasmin rice in the rice cooker to give my veggies and chicken a nice bed to lay on (beds are important when cooking - or something). Once the rhubarb was mushy, I added a touch of salt and several shakes of cinnamon. I thought about adding a little sugar to even out the super tart of the rhubarb, but decided I could always go back and do that later if I wanted to. I threw the chicken sausage back in and let everything heat up and mix together until my rice was finished. And bam. Rhubarb Chicken Sausage over jasmin rice.

I don't mean to brag about how awesome I am, but it was delicious and I am awesome.Very North African with the cinnamon and the tart over rice. But my wonderous meal needed a thirst quencher! And I had been meaning to make lemonade for about a week... sometimes I forget what we get from Foley's. I also added a lime, because that sucker was turning into stone.

Now, in order to make a full pitcher of lemonade, you need 4-5 normal sized (not gargantuan) lemons. You do not need any more than that. I learned this the hard way, so please just trust me. This probably won't surprise you, but I like to do things the old fashioned way - which means I refuse to own a juicer. Hand squeezed is probably nine hundred million times better than anything your juicer can come up with, just saying. I get that they are an awesome invention and my bestie, Wesley, has one that he makes rather strange, but good, juices with. However, they got nothing on fresh hand squeezed. 

Plus, it's just more fun and interactive. You can only do about 1 1/2 lemons at a time in that little dish, but it has a very convenient spout (compliments to Sur La Table, Marko's favorite kitchen store)! 

Now add some local honey to give Critter all of the allergens needed to keep away allergies! Should I probably have gone with agave syrup, which everyone seems to have jumped all over as "healthy?" Maybe. But I didn't have any and I love to support my local businesses. How much you put in is totally up to your sweet tooth.

I forgot to take a picture of how much lemon juice there actually is versus water - but it's a little to a lot. That's a regular sized glass pitcher that ended up being full to just below the spout. I even ended up adding more water to mine this morning because I did five lemons and a lime. Sometimes I add whole strawberries, mint, basil... I even thought about using more of Kendall's rhubarb, but decided that would probably lead to adding more sugar. I never ever ever blend them with the lemonade though. They can steep and give off flavor. If it's mint or basil, I might slap them to break the leaves open, but I never cut them up and I never blend them in. That's gross and does not belong in my lemonade.

Anyway, my North African tasting meal was so yummy! As is the lemonade, of which I am drinking right now. Mark had some once he got home and we both lamented our lack of beer. It was the perfect meal to go with beer. Not for me, obviously, but that is a whole different lament.

Cheers!

Fat Rain

Hallo, Nesting! (picture/hear Hannah Hart in your head) I have so looked forward to your arrival and now you are here. Precious. I love the nesting, however, it does make it very difficult to concentrate on anything else. You want to talk to me about my day? I want to go home and reorganize my closet. What am I up to these days? Well, I - am just thinking about cleaning the carpet, so I really don't have an answer for you. Stop asking me questions and just let me wreak uncluttering havoc on my home!

Possibly the largest benefit from my overwhelming need to absterge, other than my neat home, is work. I work in an environment where my overly efficient pregnant self is exceedingly helpful. I get everything done in a timely manner and am on top of dates and times and programing and website upkeep and God knows what else. It's almost irritating, to be honest. Things don't take me as long as they normally do - which would be great, except I'm paid by the hour. My prompt pregnant mannerisms are depleting my paycheck. If only I had less scruples and could lie about my hours... but I work for a church and I feel like that's cheating. So, instead! I am making up stuff to do! Like working on things a month in advance and reorganizing all the files in the computer! Golly gee!

I'm listening to Britney, don't judge me.

Here's the issue lately: I want to be taken seriously. Seriously. Stop asking me if I'm ready to take care of an infant, then laughing and patting me on the head. I am far more prepared for 3 hour sleep intervals than I was to multiply my pants size, so shhhhhhhhhhhh. And while I realize the average childbearing age is rising, there was a time when being "16 and pregnant" was not news. Because it was normal. Now, I'm not advocating teenage pregnancy, there is something to be said about our generation maturing later. But for serious people - stop your judging! No judgey!

That "no judgey" line doesn't just apply to chastisement from older people, it also applies to all those young people who get irritated and uppity about their friends getting married and having babies. Do I judge you for going to club until 4am to "dance up on some honeys?" No. Well, sometimes. So I need to take my own advice! Live and let live, humans. I'm happy being married and preggo. And I'm happy for you if you're happy not remembering your Friday nights. Do I think you're nuts? Absolutely. But I'm overjoyed that you're having a good time, bro. Let me have mine.

Speaking of myself, my good friend Wynn found this gem and it made her think of me:
http://sadiedear.blogspot.com/2012/03/peek-inside.html
That, friends, is the nicer, more politely spoke, glasses wearing version of me with a better laid out blog. Have I offended you lately? Read her sweet verbage instead of my harsh and overexcited tones until you feel like we can be friends again. In all seriousness though, it's a cute blog.

In other news, the weather... yah.

I am not a multitasker. I always put that I am on resumes, but it's recently come to my attention? That I am a liar. I wasn't intentionally misrepresenting myself - I was misunderstanding myself. I thrive under high amounts of pressure and do well with lists, but that's not the same thing. Once I start a project, I am able to put it away and start/finish another, but I am not able to do them simultaneously. My ability prioritize well and do excellent work under duress lead me to believe myself a multitasker. Funny how you're never really done learning about yourself...

Marriage? Continues to be awesome. I married the anxious version of myself - right down to the curly hair (I keep praying that our child will have Mark's hair rather than mine, his is so nice and soft! Mine is just unruly.). We have deep lengthy conversations about world issues and make sex jokes, we watch Dr Who, have on going Canasta games to 50,000 points, Pinterest shamelessly, make delicious home cooked meals (on tonight's menu? Doughnuts, son!), laugh until it hurts, spend sunny days laying together in the hammock, fold laundry, slow dance in our kitchen, take long showers, and just love one another. It's disgustingly wonderful.

I love fat rain drops, it's one of those times being grossly overweight is incredibly beautiful.

Pregnancy continues to improve. I like nesting, nests are cool. I spend probably too much of my time daydreaming about baby, but I don't mind. I love the little (and big) kicks and that I can watch my belly move. I love the sleepy joy that overtakes me when I think about becoming a mom. Third trimester is definitely the best. 11 weeks to go as of Saturday? I think so. Strangely, thinking of it in terms of weeks? Makes the last leg seem a little shorter than thinking about it in terms of months. Mark keeps forgetting that the month of July exists, so every time someone reminds him it's not just June and then August and baby is here? He gets all pouty. It's pretty funny.

I'm really excited to teach Marko about babies. It's been so much fun to go through this process with him. He still firmly believes that our critter will come out and be able to go spear-fishing with Daddy and eat homemade baby food. I'm hoping reality will set in once August is here, but honestly? I wouldn't be surprised or disappointed if it doesn't. He's going to be such a good father, I married a good one.

Okay, love you, bubye!

Loving A Wild Thing

Beauty isn't in the eye of the beholder, it's everywhere. It just takes someone to behold it. Sometimes I dream in black and white, other times in color, but I think my favorite is when I dream and everything is tinted green. Walls, flooring, drapes, furniture, even the light spectrum themed forest. People talk about rose colored glasses, but I only see in shades of green. It brings me absolute, consuming joy. I've been weird lately, thinking a lot about the two/three years or so I spent pretty much functioning alone. I had friends, but no one really close to me. I was busy travelling, figuring out who I was, where I was going. I kept in touch with people, but intamacy was somewhat absent from the world I created. I had journals and blogging, I read books and thought up intricate plans for whatever was next, I listened to Putumayo and spoke in languages I only had a minor grasp on. It was a beautifully lonely time for me. I almost miss it, but then I realize that isn't what I miss. What I miss is embracing that loneliness with warmth and affection. Being alone takes a lot of work and even more work to enjoy it without letting it drag you into dark places. After some serious work? I accomplished living in the contentment of being lonely. Spending quite a bit of time on my own in the evenings these days means that I am facing that loneliness I once pressed into happily with an awkward sort of side hug. The kind you are supposed to give to people it's "inappropriate" to hug full frontally (which, for the record, a side hug is not any "less appropriate" - just more awkward). I'm working on making it more natural, slowly but surely... Shifting gears. I? Do not have gestational diabetes! What. Up. After a month of fretting about it and four days of torturing myself with the possibilities, there is nothing much wrong with me - aside from the usual nuerosis. I do have Moon River and the fire escape scene from Breakfast at Tiffany's playing over and over again in my head (I assume that if you don't know what I'm talking about you will run to the DVD store and purchase a copy to watch or http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Q7SI7N22k_A - but I'm disappointed either way that you didn't already know). I love that scene. It's the only time Audrey Hepburn ever sings for herself in a film. Happy sigh. Back to baby related things, our little one continues to kick and move. We won't hear his/her heartbeat again until June something, but after that? We will probably be visiting every two weeks instead of once a month. I'm not terribly excited about the next visit. They will just weigh me (which is depressing) and then take my heart rate (which couldn't be better) and finally let me hear little creature's heart (which is the only fun part and only lasts one minute). Other than that, they will ask me questions to which I will give near meaningless answers and ask if I have anything to ask them. Mark will probably jump in at that point with his myriad of worries and woes, which I'm grateful for. I can never think of anything to tell or ask a doctor. I always forget when I am sitting there with those high ceilings and blah colored walls with diagrams of my insides plastered to the doors and cabinets. I can only think about how I want to hear the heartbeat and go home. Mark is better at remembering every complaint or thought I've had about baby and baby related things over the last month. I suppose that's why I married him. I'm meant to be writing more, but I'm never sure what to write about these days. The iPad is too bright and I have too many thoughts running through my head, the baby is kicking and I would rather write with a pen... I'm too distracted. All the time. By everything. It's useless to try and do anything with me these days. Some yoga, old movies, and foreign music. Maybe Criminal Minds and getting pen all over my hands, some books, some sodoku, some cooking and cleaning... I'm kind of just floating on through. It's nice enough, but I do wish I could focus on one thing or another. Pregnancy brain is real. Now I'm too distracted to even finish, oh well. I think I'll watch Breakfast at Tiffany's instead. Bye, Fred Baby.

Captain America

Fade in on a girl...

First and foremost, H&M has a maternity line. Why did no one inform me of this?! I found it on accident whilst looking for baby clothing. In case you're wondering, their baby clothing is absolutely terrible. But the maternity wear? Despite it not even being a large section, I could very possibly go broke there. Go check it out.

On to the main events...

I recently had a friend tell me that Captain America was their least favorite comic film and least favorite Avenger. I very nearly took this as a personal offense. Steve Rogers has come to rival Batman for me in the comic world. Some of you who know me a little better might ask, "Really? Captain America? Since when is patriotism your thing, Malialani?" It's not. Him having "America" in his title is possibly the biggest deterrent a Superhero could have. Then why?

To be completely honest, I think it has a bit to do with me growing up a little. I'm no longer interested in self absorbed characters out for their own gain who enjoy the pleasures of this world with no thought to the cost. Everyone experiences hardships, but does that really excuse actions? Captain America represents goodness. That's a hero I can get behind. He fights against injustice and seeks to protect those around him who can't protect themselves without compromising his morals. He finds a way to be truly honorable and humble. My kind of guy.

Pregnancy continues into it's third trimester and I must report that I like this stage of pregnancy, with one exception. The Gestational Diabetes test. Swallowing 12oz of melted Otterpops mixed with syrup in 5 minutes is enough to give anyone diabetes, much less a girl who avoids candy and whose only sugar vice is 100% juice - gee thanks, guys. I threw it up, but they took three samples of blood over 2 hours anyway. I have yet to hear back from the hospital, but if they tell me I have to do it again? I might tell them to just give me the damn finger stick and check my blood sugar on a regular basis instead. It was awful, worse than my entire first trimester.

Other than that? I like being two-thirds the way there. I'm excited to be a mom and I kind of enjoy the stomach jolting kicks. I like watching the little creature move and feel like we are a part of one another. I'm still stoked to get baby out on it's own, but I am beginning to understand that glowy expression women get when they talk about being pregnant. That doesn't excuse them from not telling me it doesn't happen until week 26, but I'm starting to get it.

This morning I awoke to my little one telling me the sun was up, thanks sweetie. I checked my clock and the hour literally made me cringe, but there was no way the movement inside my belly was going to allow me to sleep so I got up. I read and journaled, then did my 45 minutes of yoga followed by breakfast and turning on the coffee pot for Marko, and crawled back into bed to find my husband awake as well. We got to cuddle and talk and watch about 5 episodes of My Drunk Kitchen (www.youtube.com/user/myharto) before getting out of bed for the day. Getting up at the crack of dawn has its benefits, and I think I like them. I will probably never set my alarm, but if baby is up? I'll get up.

Err, and get rid of all your excess stuff! That's all for now. More updates later when it's not nice out... Critter and I must soak up as much Vitamin D as humanly possible! Slurp!

Something Sweet or Something Savory

I don't get cravings, which is a little bit of a let down if I'm being honest. I was really looking forward to the excuse to spontaneously desire some food so badly that it would make my husband need to drive to the store at one a.m. But no, I just have rational needs concerning food intake. I want something sweet or something savory. But doesn't everyone?

When I was a little girl I loved to eat fruit at the bottom yogurt. It was so exciting to eat little bites of plain yogurt in order to get to the Indiana Jones treasure trove of syrupy fruit! I hadn't thought of it in years, but this morning my husband gave me a coffee mug with my favorite Vanilla Honey Yogurt and after a few bites? I discovered strawberries! It was like a magical throw back.

I'm one of those people who loves to listen to loud music in the car. One of those people who likes surround sound and a volume on my media player that upsets the people sitting next to me on a bus. It's not that I like loud music, I don't. Loud music is just loud. It's that I like to feel surrounded by my music. Like it's enveloping me, taking me to another place entirely. Often times the playlist you hear obnoxiously leaking from my headphones is made up of my favorite operatic numbers. Other times it's piano pieces or soft movie scores. Then there is all the worship music, the occasional country themed day, some reinvent-the-world hip hop, but very rarely is it ever rock music and I don't listen to metal. I simply enjoy escaping into my music. Shutting out the whole world and just melting into that sweet resonance. My own sweet resonance.

I'm sitting on the floor of what might be consider my living room, I say might only due to the fact that we currently occupy a tiny little studio house. And despite the wonderful sound technology offered to me here in the comforts of my own home, I have headphones on. Plugged into my phone and blaring at something too close to full volume to be entirely appropriate. I have fresh squeezed lemonade sitting just right of the computer and can't help but wish I was writing all of this on paper to be published in a journal rather than online. Technology is amazing, but what artisanship have we lost? Too much.

And still I blog...

Yesterday was a day filled with little kicks and squirming inside of me. From the moment I woke up to my last blurry eyelash filled vision. Today there is little movement, just the occasional twist to remind me that I love this new found belly. I'm so curious about the little life that exists therein. What will s/he be like? Like mom; passionate to a fault about too many things, overly forgiving, compassionate, a bit flakey and slightly OCD? Or more like dad; excitable, distant with newcomers and those who've not earned trust, dependable, deeply and fervently loving, loyal and immoderately worried? Or some terribly dysfunctional and yet probable mixture of both.

Becoming a parent is everything people say it is - and so much more. You can prepare yourself for the tasks; diapers, clothing, burping, doctors visits, discipline. But there is no way to ready your heart for the love. It's not that it's more than what you've known, because you've probably known a lot of great and wonderful love, it's just... ineffable. I can't imagine the wreck I'll be once baby is born. Your heart walking around outside your body indeed.

Mark and my plan to travel remain a solid fixture in our minds. There is so much pressure and demand from society to do anything but follow our hearts. Go to college, get yourself a career, buy a house. When they find out we are under 25 with technically part time work and rent a little mother-in-law in the countryside with a baby on the way? The looks are scathing, or at the very least, scornful. The haught of superiority sets in on their manicured faces in an attempt to shame us and make them feel better about their lives. And what's disappointing, is that those looks come so often from people that are meant to be allies, meant to be friends.

No, we did not live our lives according to what you think is appropriate or successful. But I've never read about anyone who did the things you're asking of me. I've only ever read wonderful and terrific stories and adventures about those people who went against the grain. Those who followed their dreams for better or for worse! And yah, sometimes it's for worse. But that is our decision to make, our mistakes to take us to new places. When my life is over, I want to look over it lovingly. Each tear, each triumph, each awkward and difficult moment, each horror, and each wonder. I want to look at it and know that I was happy and joyful and lived! I want to look back at my life and know that I wouldn't have done anything differently, not because I didn't make mistakes! but because I did. And they made my life the adventure it was!

I hear the scoffing and it hurts, but I see how much I love my life? And I know I'm doing the right things. Because even when I am tired, frustrated with my body, and itching to get out of this country? I am happy. Snuggling on the couch with my husband while we watch a slew of vastly different television shows, makes all the difference. Gardening in the sunshine and then crawling into the hammock with Marko so we can nap, makes all the difference. Fresh squeezed lemonade, makes all the difference. Scarlet by Brooke Fraser and Revelation Song by Kari Jobe bleeding out of my headphones in the middle of my living room, makes all the difference. Little kicks to the inside of my stomach, makes all the difference. I love my life. I love these choices. I love, I love, I love! Stop trying to tell me I should be doing anything differently because if you were half as happy as I am even on a day where I am teary and upset? You would recognize my joy and let it be.

I'm craving something sweet...

Half Way There

I am officially closer to my due date than conception date. On the roadmap that is pregnancy, I look ahead of me and feel slightly overwhelmed that I'm only half done. It's that halfway point in a marathon where you realize that as far as you've come? You have that much left. Yikes...

Don't get me wrong, I am ecstatic that I feel baby moving around and doing some serious yoga inside my stomach. I can't wait to meet the little one who has utterly and completely flipped my whole world upside down! I'm excited to snuggle, cuddle, smother, and love on the child growing inside me. And the miracle of life is not lost on me, it's fucking magical. My baby grew and inch this week - it's a pro. Sometimes I pretend it's a Super Nova inside my womb, fantastic Hubble photographs and all.

But, here's the thing: I'm going crazy. Between all the crying and low self esteem, I'm surprised I can even leave my bed - much less my house. I feel like a balloon. I'm wearing pants that are double the size I was before I was pregnant and the only consolation I receive from that is that they don't quite fit yet. But they will, because I'm only half done. My breast are literally in my face and seem to be always trying to fall out of whatever bra I've decided to cage them in for the day. I get good solid kicks to the bladder whenever I attempt my beloved yoga or walks, let's not even talk about running. And the damn doctors insist I get on a scale every month after I've already driven all the way to Bellevue, usually with a full bladder. I'm a bloated puppet.

I think the hardest thing is the self esteem. It's not just the roller coaster hormones, I've already had my ability to parent called into question and baby isn't even here. I have had to really rethink some of the friendships in my life and whether they are healthy or not - this is not the time I would have chosen to make that decision. But I have someone entering my life who will not just look up to me, but be entirely influenced by me and those I surround myself by. Some people, aren't making the cut. And weirdly, it has nothing to do with whether they have their shit together or not, and everything to do with how they treat others. Specifically me, but other people as well. I refuse for my child to think it's okay to treat people like doormats or that being treated like one qualifies as friendship.

It sucks that now is the time I'm realizing who I can actually count on. I'm overemotional and I really need good people in my life to depend on, but better now than later. Mark has been an absolute pillar for me, I have no idea how he puts up with all the "I'm fat" tears and my constant frustration with being in the USA. I don't understand how he still finds me attractive or scoops me up to take me to bed to cuddle. I can't comprehend how he manages to curtail his constant worries to deal with my newfound ability to stress out over just about every topic there is. He's my superhero and even Batman can't hold a candle.

I've been blessed with new people cropping up in my life and old friends stepping up - sometimes in ways they don't even realize. Human kindness knows no limits except those we place on it, and for some reason we are quick to put a harness and reigns over it's love as if we are concerned it might escape us. What we forget is that it can only grow in it's freedom.

I am plotting my hegira. I will abscond with my husband and child, leaving this "American Dream" in the dirt where it belongs. I will love my husband with a kind of love not found in statistics. I will raise my little one without the equal opportunity expectations this country places on so many shoulders, so that they might decide for themselves what path to put themselves on. We will create a new dream.

Being pregnant sucks, but trials are what make us who we are. I would be lying if I told you it was great and I believe in truth, as unpopular as it may be. Pregnancy is long, difficult, and it wears you down. You get one awe filled moment for every two miserable days and it's worth it. It's difficult and demanding, but what would it be without that? Sunshine, rainbows, and kittens? Then what would I appreciate? Nothing. I can pretend like that would be better, but it wouldn't. I don't love it, but I will. I will love it because of what I get out of it. Because of everything I have learned, because of all the things I will learn. The marathon is only half way finished, and then the real race begins.

Cheers

Hunger

I am afraid of my generation. Sitting in a dark theater watching a wonderful novel spring to life on screen, only to be deeply disgusted and disappointed as the crowd around me bursts into applause as a character dies. This concept exists, dear mob, exactly because of this. This disgusting approval of "reality" television and lust for entertainment. We put value on pleasure instead of goodness. With our nonexistent relationships and our overt sexuality. Our need for addictions diagnosis, and medication. Our misappropriation of trust, love, passion and our vacant inclinations of wonder, awe, hope, joy. My revulsion to this day and age only culminates as each day passes. I am at a loss.

Some days I believe technology to blame and wish to rid myself of all of it. Oh! how I would love nothing more than a small cabin somewhere far into the woods where no one could find it. Laundry in a tub and bathwater heated by a fire. Hunting and gardening and no more thought to the rest of the world, except perhaps whether or not everyone has killed each other off yet. But then, I realize the joy and beauty of technology and how it is merely its misuse that injures my senses so.

I am growing life inside of me. A tiny human with eyes and ears and a mind to make sense of all those things which will inundate the little one as soon as it arrives. Is that what that child has to look forward to? Because I yearn for something more having grown up surrounded by all of this. And it is not what I want for my baby. This life, this place, these things? Are toxic. This world we wrap ourselves up in, our "first world problems," this is all repugnant. This cannot be why we exist.

My heart has known some of the most beautiful things, and still, there is so much heartbreak and affliction. I need more. This is not the life I was meant for, I was intentioned for so much more than this simplistic and all consuming self-appreciation. I can see the rest and it is gloriously and joyfully better! I seek that. I reach for that, and that alone. My life is an open book that will be written not merely by what makes me happy, but by what goodness I seek and help other to seek as well. Whatever goodness it may be. To lighten the heart without letting it cease beating is a near impossible task.

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.