To The Good Dads

This week I've been seeing a trend in social media regarding Father's Day and I have to say I'm proud of this seemingly new realization in our society...Dad's are awesome, fully competent, loving parents!

It feels as if, in the past, our culture had reduced the role of 'father,' down to being someone who solely functioned as a breadwinner and disciplinarian, not so much as a capable, involved, nurturing parent.

But, there seems to have been a shift in our perceptions and expectations and 'father' is now being recognized as not just a provider of money but a provider of care and love and protection.

From the seat I'm sitting in, I have watched Owen do it all. He's changed thousands of diapers, logged in countless hours of middle of the night cuddles whether it be over newborn fussiness, a scared toddler, a sick little guy, you name it...he's sacrificed his sleep for his boys. He does bath times and bed times, has read the same stories 5,000 times, reads the Bible, says prayers, kisses owies, builds forts, plays ball, tackles, tickles, all of it. He does it all. My boys are the luckiest.

And I see it in my friend's husbands and the guys in my family. Whether they have their own kids or are being part of the village raising our kids, I see the role they are playing. Doing all the things. Using their gifts and talents to empower their kids and/or mine. Engaging in the role of care-taker-- one who takes care.

I am grateful to be surrounded by men who are present, life-giving dads because these are the dad's whose influence changes families, which changes communities, which changes nations. We are sitting in the midst of world changers when we see a dad having a tea party with his daughter or teaching his son how to fish.

So, to the man who I get to do this life with, if I haven't told you enough, I don't know how I would survive without you. If I could choose all over again, I would choose you every single time. The way you love our babies is my favorite thing about you--full of grace, wisdom, passion, compassion, joy, humor, adventure, all of it. You've been all in since day one and I thank you.

And to all the men who are giving your children and families everything you've got--you are noticed and appreciated. The power that resides in the simple things you do will push boundaries and move mountains for generations to come.

Today, and everyday,

we celebrate you.

 

The Day You Were Born: Cole Isaac Barton

My sweet, precious Cole baby. You have arrived, and your timing was impeccable! On May 11th, 2014, which also happened to be Mother's Day and the twins' birthday this year, I woke up feeling slightly terrible and wondering if this might be the day.

It was the perfect day. The sun was shining as your dad, brother and I headed off to church. The service was so amazing. I cried the whole time in thankfulness for all God has done and wants to do in our lives and I had this peace about you. I was finally ready to be a mama of 2 as all the nervous, scared butterflies fluttered away that morning. Mother's Day would be the perfect day to become a mom again.

We picked your brother up from Sunday school and I got my first handmade Mother's Day project ever! It had a poem and a tracing of his hand that he was SO proud of. Yes! I thought. I'm so ready for more of this, I'm so ready to meet my baby.

We decided after church to take advantage of such a beautiful day and take the ferry to Kingston with Joe uncle, Katie Aunty and the twins.  As we were walking onto the ferry I looked at your dad and said 'I don't know if going across the ferry is the best idea right now.' He was all for turning around and walking off but I kept thinking how lame it would be to miss out on a fun, sunny day if my 'feeling' was off and you didn't come. So we went. We ventured further into the water, which meant further away from dry land where the hospital resided as I wondered 'what if this ferry breaks down and I have my baby on it in the middle of the water. '

But we made it! We made it to Kingston (as did the rest of the world) and we stood in line for what seemed an eternity to order crepes. My contractions started coming on pretty strong, but I thought I might just be dehydrated. As I winced a little more with each one, Katie aunty made me time them...they were coming about 2-3 minutes apart. After a fun picnic on the grass followed by your dad, uncle, brother and cousins playing some football, I looked at your dad and said 'We need to go. Like now. We need to get on the next ferry.' I think you wanted in on some of that football action so were trying to make your escape.

Everyone on the ferry who saw me asked with concern when I was due, 'NOW! Right now. I'm going to the hospital when this ferry gets us back.' One guy told me not to worry, 'my wife's a paramedic! And I have a pocket knife!' Never in my life have I wanted to be on dry land so badly.

Joe uncle called grandma, who was supposed to be working at the hospital (in labor and delivery--where we were headed) that night, and told her we were on a ferry and my contractions were 3 minutes apart. Your grandma about had a heart attack and told us to get back over to Edmonds, NOW!

My plan was to go home, put Jace down for a nap, take a nap myself and decide in an hour if I was really in labor. But, as we docked I knew there would be no final nap. You were coming. So we dropped Jace off with your Barton grandparents, grabbed our bags and headed straight for the hospital where your grandma was waiting for me. She traded in her nurse badge for her mama/grandma badge that night. I love her for that. She is the most amazing nurse, mom and grandma and we're so lucky she's ours--she played all her roles flawlessly.

The whole day was quite an adventure filled with stolen moments and happy reminders of how much I love this life.

And then you arrived. All 7 pounds 9 ounces of you made the most beautiful day so incredibly perfect. Your brother arrived on Thanksgiving Day, a day where thankfulness kept the air so warm and sweet. I love that you arrived on Mother's Day, what better way to celebrate motherhood than to welcome a baby into the world? It was a day that was a beautiful reminder of the honor and joy it is to be a mom. And it was on that day my mother's heart was multiplied, it was that day that I knew that I knew I was born for this--to be the mom of Jace and Cole Barton. My greatest gifts. 

Since the moment I saw you I fell in love, just like everyone promised I would. You are everything I didn't know we were missing. And your dad was beaming over every inch that made up your little, tiny self. Just as proud as that day he met Jace.

 

 

The next day when Jace came to meet you, I cried the happiest tears I've ever cried. I was so worried about his reaction but he pranced right in, SO proud of his brother. He couldn't stop telling anyone who would listen 'that's my little brother! That's my little brother!' Smile stretching from ear to ear. It was the best reaction I could've ever dreamed up for the beginning of your brotherhood. And the excitement hasn't stopped. Everyday since you arrived he has shown extreme love and excitement over you. He absolutely adores you and wants to do everything with you and for you. Like telling me you need a binky if you're crying, insisting on pushing your stroller, and getting caught a couple times with the nose bulb 'just trying to get baby Cole's boogers out!'

It's been a few weeks since that day we first laid eyes on you. We're a bit tired in the Barton house, but so far you are a calm, sweet little guy who is just absolutely adored by everyone who meets you.

We are smitten. I dream of the days we get to learn what kind of personality you have, the things that bring you joy and the things that irritate you. The days ahead full of belly laughs between you and Jace. There's so much I'm dreaming about.

But, for now, I'm enjoying tiny, little you with your long eye lashes and cute little mouth. This baby boy who right now, is finding everything he needs in his mama.

Wow. What an honor it is to be yours.

Love you, my sweet Cole boy!

Brother

Jace, buddy.

We are weeks, possibly days away from you claiming your new title as big brother.

Every time I look at you my heart beams with pride at who you are. We still call you our baby but you have full on conversations with us now, you make us laugh and make us think-- you are so independent that "baby" doesn't really fit you anymore.

The thought crushes me a little remembering just 2.5 years ago we were swaddling you and rocking you and figuring out how in the world to do this parent thing.

Thank you for letting us do our practicing on you, for being our guinea pig. For letting us make mistakes and try things out and for showing us how easy it is to fall completely in love in the most pure, unselfish way we could ever know. For coming in and shaking things up, changing our world, forcing us to grow up while simultaneously clinging to our youth and reliving the preciousness of childhood with you.

I'm so excited that you will have a new buddy. An at home friend who will go with you wherever you go and look up to you and learn from you. Who you can play games with and laugh with and share all kinds of life with. Who you will build this foundation with as a child that will follow you into adulthood. There's so much to be thrilled about. Siblings are simply the best.

But, I'm just a little nervous for that period before you actually realize all this. That transition of you realizing that your mommy and daddy are someone else's mommy and daddy now, too. That our time and attention will now be divided. My prayer is that you don't ever confuse that with our love. Our love will only multiply from here on out for you and your brother--we may mess up at times, but the love will remain. It will never run dry, it is an endless well that you can drink from no matter how old you are or where in the world you are or in what stage of life you are in-- it will always be yours for the taking.

Thank you for the last 2.5 years. They're in the record books as the best yet.  Thank you for teaching me so much about me. My weaknesses, my flaws, my strengths, and my dreams. You have filled my life to overflowing and the joy you bring me can't be contained in words. I love you so very much it hurts. You have given me the greatest gift in making me a mama.

As we close this chapter of your only child days let's move forward together. Let's go discover all the beautiful things that are awaiting us--wrapped up in this one tiny, new life that only you will forever get to call,

"my little brother."

 

 

Real Life

As we are preparing to add a new human to the mix of our daily lives it is becoming apparent to me what my weaknesses are. I am not good at envisioning. Don't ask me to pick out the perfect paint colors or what piece of furniture is going to go where. I cannot tell you. Literally. My brain stops functioning and sends me into high alert mode: "FIND SOMEONE WHO KNOWS!" Same goes for organizing, purging closets, making space... I don't even trust myself with a measuring tape.

A high school teacher of mine saw an art project I did once and said "Wow! You're such a smart girl, but your art is terrible!" Don't feel bad for me. It was and is absolutely true. When I used to draw people, my brother would ask 'why are their arms coming out of their heads?' And I had no clue what he was talking about. Um hello?! This is what REAL people look like in REAL LIFE!! Duh.

My friends and family are gifted beyond the capacity of normal people in these areas that I'm not, and the only logical explanation to me is that God knew how bad I would suck at these things so in turn gave me people who are above and beyond. They all know how to share with and beautify the world in practical, tangible ways. I so desperately want to, too.

If I focus on how useless my crafty skills are I get trapped in this cage of fear that my children will live these awful childhoods because their mom did nothing creative worth remembering.

But, then I remember my own childhood. My mom made me wear red tights with my blue, black, and white plaid, Catholic school uniform. Red does not go with that particular color scheme. My room was the color of Pepto Bismol. My birthday parties were filled with friends and family, but never themes--at least none I remember. I played outside all summer long. My days were filled with baseball with the boys on the block, hide and seek, riding bikes to the little store to buy candy. My childhood wasn't filled with Pinterest worthy moments or fashion or crafts, but they were FILLED. Mostly with love and adventure.

I remember how the smell of my moms makeup made me feel safe. How she would pray for all of us kids, how I would lay my head in her lap and how I used to watch her put her jewelry on and couldn't wait to be just like her. I remember how my dad would braid my hair and never missed a single game of any of the sports I played. How my brothers and me would sleep in the living room in sleeping bags on Friday nights as I tried to stay awake for all of TGIF. Or how we made forts with couch cushions and would run from the hallway and bounce off them. How any day spent with my cousins was a great one. I remember family barbecues and the feeling of grass between my toes while running through sprinklers on hot summer days. I didn't need Pinterest. I just needed real life. I would suck the marrow completely dry out of each day only to find it completely replenished again and again by a very normal childhood.

I want this for my kids. For them to remember the smell of the beach, the cool stickiness of watermelon dripping off their fingers.  To remember that their days were filled with love and adventure with friends and family. To know a mom who was passionate about them. Who loved Jesus and children and people from different parts of the world. Who placed high importance on loyalty and friendships. Who loved reading and writing and learning about people's stories. Who was a safe and steady place when their world was filled with chaos and always gave them the best advice. Who sang at the top of her lungs in the car, made pancakes for lunch on Fridays and played with their hair as they fell asleep.

Real life.

It's about giving this world the things that you are passionate about, that light a fire in you, that you know was knit inside of you in order to explode outside of you.

Be generous and set your gifts ablaze, paint the world in new, vibrant colors that are authentic to only you and share them in real life.

Because not all great things--

can be shared on Pinterest.

India Village Update!

Back in May 2013, my family visited a little village in India called Bendigeri, it was actually the place my dad grew up as child. The children there stole my heart and changed it. They helped me see how truly beautiful this world is because of the people who fill it. I left wanting to make a difference in their lives since they had made such a drastic difference in mine.

November and December of 2013 I reached out to friends, family, my MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) group, church, and co workers sharing my experience and hoping we could rally together to send over $1,500 to this little village filled with children who had nothing and whose only building used for school and church had just recently been destroyed by a flood. Because of the wonderful people in my life, we raised $4,151.95. This wasn't through any organization, these children aren't accustomed to receiving so much, this was purely out of the generous hearts and donations of the people in my life.

With this money, 39 children were blessed with an array of new items including: Clothes, backpacks, watches, books, pens/pencils, geometric school supplies, lunchboxes, water bottles, toothpaste, toothbrushes, soap, and sweets. On behalf of the village, sports equipment for the kids were purchased including bats and balls to play cricket. They had previously only used sticks as their bats. For the school/church, a keyboard was purchased so they could continue to learn to play music and have something to sing along to. Additionally, there was some money left over to help with the rebuild of the school/church as well.

The children were overwhelmed by your generosity. Some cried, others were speechless, all were filled with gratitude. For some, it was the first time they felt special and loved. We received letters from the children who could write. Here are a few things they had to say:

I am Anil Gaikwad, age 9, 4th grade. I am from a very poor family. God is so good to provide these things through you all--He is love. I am grateful to you for loving us when we feel unlovable.

My name is Akash, 14 years old, 7th grade. My parents are laborers. If they work for that day we have food on the table, if not we wait for the next day for my parents to get hired and bring home money so we can get food. We survive day by day not knowing what the future holds. Thank you for the school supplies, new clothes, backpack, etc. I know these things were all packaged with love and generosity. My heartfelt love to the USA.

I am Jayashree Hulikari, age 9, 3rd grade. I am a daughter of labor workers. Thank you to each and everyone of you for providing my school supplies, backpack, geometric gadgets, and new clothes. You are making a huge difference in my life with your love, kindness, and generosity. Thank you to everyone in MOPS and the USA who contributed. I love you all.

My heart is swelling with gratitude for everyone who supported this dream, whether through money, prayers, or words of encouragement and affirmation. When I first blogged about this, sharing my heart and my hopes for raising $1,500, I felt vulnerable, scared, and like I had just set myself and these children up for failure. But, I learned through this process that if the Lord wants to accomplish something, He will. We can allow our insecurities to keep us in the shadows as silent observers, or we can trust that still small voice that allows us the privilege to be a part of the beautiful, sacred work He is already doing.

Those of you who were a part of this were a part of His plans. I am so very grateful for you and I know 39 children in a tiny village on the other side of the world who are grateful for you, too. 

You have left your mark on them--

a gesture they'll remember for the rest of their lives.

Children holding the bricks that will be used for the rebuild of the school/church

Some of the children in their brand new, clean clothes!

Some of the items the children were given

Another picture of them getting ready for the rebuild

 

These are just a few of the kids in their new clothes with their new backpacks

"Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’ " (Matthew 25:37, 38, 40 ESV)

Growing Pains

I hate change. Even when it's good change and I know great things will come from it, I still drag my feet in the mud and resist anything that is different from my normal.

I'm the girl who did the ugly cry the whole day (and night, and next day) of my brother's wedding because while I was happy for him, things would never be the same. I panic before vacations, even if all my friends or family are going, I get anxiety over leaving my little corner of the world. Even though I dreamed of having babies my whole life, I was mostly terrified and cried silently at my desk at work all day the day I found out I was pregnant with Jace.

Even though I know on the other side of growing pains, amazingness awaits, I still fear it. I hate the unknowns of the unknown.

And yet, change is inevitable and essential for growth. I love that my brother got married and I got a new sister and they ended up having 3 sweet babies. I loved experiencing different parts of the world with my favorite people. I love Jace. He's my whole world. If change never happened, I would have never been introduced to these amazing new parts of my life.

So, here we are, venturing into third trimester territory. I don't know if it's denial or just the busyness of having a toddler, but I am zero percent ready for #2. I don't even know what he needs, his nursery is in shambles, can someone tell me his name?! And since he has started doing acrobats under my ribs all day, I am becoming keenly aware that even he is changing. Just 7 months ago there was no visible evidence of his life inside my body aside from 2 pink lines on a stick. Now, he's the first thing you see when you see me. I feel him constantly: his stretches, his hiccups, his kicks-- things that just 7 months ago didn't exist.

It's all changing. And I'm scared. I'm scared this baby won't pick up Jace's awesome 12 hour a night sleep habit and will leave us sleep deprived for the next 18 years. I'm scared of being outnumbered by 2 on a daily basis. I'm scared that I'll never figure out how to leave the house with a toddler and a baby in a car seat. I'm scared I'll never shower again.

And, there's a part of me that's a little sad that Jace will no longer be our 'baby'. That he won't get all of our attention. That he might feel replaced or left out. That a new baby will mean less mommy time for him. That people will come over to ooh and aww over the new little guy and Jace will be overlooked. I'm scared that all this love I have for him won't be conveyed because my time and my attention will be divided. It leaves me breathless sometimes, thinking of Jace ever being sad about any of this. This change--this unknown--is a little earth shaking.

But then I have moments where I realize, I can't wait to meet this little guy, compare his eyes and smile to his brother's, breathe in his newborn scent and baby's breath. I can't wait to see Jace step into the new role of big brother. To watch him take on responsibility and leadership and add a new dimension to his character. To see the pride in his eyes and to watch the beginnings of a special, lifelong bond between brothers. To see Owen with his 2 boys and soak in the juxtaposition of my mountain man holding a tiny baby again. To see him beam over this new life and take extra care and softness and love in tending to an infant--our infant--which will inevitably make me fall even more in love with him.  To experience the contents of my heart multiply. To open myself up to more vulnerability and possibility and to discover parts of me that will remain dormant until seeing this one, new, precious face and finding out all the ways his soul tangles with mine.

So, while change has been my lifelong frenemy, I'm trying to reject the war that lives between either/or and reside in the peace that exists with both/and. I can be both terribly afraid and indescribably ecstatic to step into a new normal. Because with change comes an array of emotions and an unbounded potential for growth.

And as the patterns of my life have shown, on the other side of growing pains there's something beautiful that was always there--

it was just waiting for its chance to be discovered.

 

 

A Cruel and Unusual Presidents' Day Weekend

I work a measly 10 hours a week, 5 on Monday, 5 on Wednesday. I don't work because my family needs my income, I work because my family needs my sanity.

Those 10 hours are precious to me. I get to sit at my desk and listen to music that isn't of the Sesame Street variety, I get to watch piles of paper dwindle away...a measurable visual that I have accomplished something that day. I get to have adult conversations and a lunch break that only requires I feed myself.

So, when Sunday night came along and my cousin reminded me that Monday was a holiday 'yay!', my stomach dropped. With Owen in the midst of busy season, holidays don't exist for him nor do weekends, which means they really don't exist for me (power to single parents everywhere, I just don't understand how it's possible). I texted my boss asking her if I could please work on Monday. I was not above begging.

I mean, I don't need to celebrate the presidents. What about the presidents are we celebrating exactly? And how? I do not know. Therefore, I should be obligated to go to work. Please. For the love. An unexpected 6 days off just seems so cruel and unusual.

Monday morning arrived, as did Jace in my room. I turned on the iPad for him and hid under the covers because I just couldn't do it. The shower that feels like I'm at a rave because he is turning the lights on and off...on and off. And the fan. On and off. Launching toilet paper rolls into the shower, squealing 'HI MOMMY!!'

The mess. The mess that looks like I never cleaned up. I did, I swear! That spilled milk and dried cereal is new spilled milk and dried cereal! I cleaned up the old stuff, this is a fresh mess, but you wouldn't know because it's worse than before! The Legos were once put away, the laundry was once done, the dishes were stacked neatly, the floor was swept--it was actually clean. But, no one would ever know because it was all undone within 10 minutes of its existence. My efforts have been thwarted. There is nothing measurable about the work I do here because it usually ends up worse than when the day first began.

Doing the dishes takes extra long now because Jace loves to close the dishwasher after each dish that goes in. So, every time I bend down to put in a new dish, I have to reopen the dishwasher and pull out the rack. For every. Single. Item.

And there's the countless hours of trying to keep a toddler entertained All. Day. Long. For 6 days in a row? Cruel and unusual. There's only so many times I can shoot hoops, do puzzles, sing the ABC's, build a tower, read Curious George.

My hero, Melissa, had to come save me yesterday afternoon as I peeled myself off of the fetal position on the couch and hightailed it to the grocery store sans toddler. I walked around, stopping to admire and stare at all the beauty that resides in the aisles of Safeway--I may as well have been at the Louvre in Paris.

I blame the Presidents and believe I deserve an apology. How dare they demand we take a whole day off to celebrate them?

I get to go to work tomorrow. All will soon be well with my soul.