I Believe

The excitement in Seattle is explosive right now. Cars on the streets are letting their 12th man flags flap in the wind. Everyone is dressing as if our state has a blue and green dress code. Strangers in grocery stores are high fiving. "Go Hawks" is our anthem. It's as if everyone decided to come together as one united front. Whoever coined the term "the Seattle Freeze," referring to people of Seattle being generally "unfriendly," should come to Seattle now and see how friendly we actually are, at least to each other.

I'll admit, I just became a Seahawks fan last season, so I don't hold a lot of longevity with my allegiance, but I got sucked in last season--for good. I went from not even understanding the game to being a little obsessed: reading every article I can find about the players and the game I just watched, listening to podcasts and even talk radio::gasp::. The day Owen was out of town and Jace was napping and I chose on my own to watch the game, I knew things would never be the same.

But, what happens when the season is over? When the Super Bowl is over and the Seahawks have the rest of the year off, what happens then? Is this the best we've got? Is there no more excitement left for this community, nothing to look forward to or celebrate? Is this the peak of our year and it's all downhill after this?

I was listening to an interview where Pastor Mark Driscoll talks to a few Seahawks' players. It's titled "Jesus is better than the Superbowl." In the interview, Chris Maragos says:

"To understand where we've reached, which is in the world's view quote-unquote 'the pinnacle,' you really see how empty that is. Having Jesus in my life, you really see how important that is because you see that He is everything."

This is coming from an actual player who is one game away from a championship ring. If he thinks there is emptiness after that, surely the thousands of fans won't have much from this to fill them up when it's all over.

So, while I've totally boarded this Seahawks train and am inhaling the sweet air of Seattle's excitement, I fear that we are making this the end game. Because in a couple weeks the Super Bowl will be over and we can go back to being a community that puts are faces back in our phones and minds our own business and wouldn't dare high five a stranger. Or, this could be a turning point for us. A spark that ignites a fire in a city filled with people who suddenly care about each other, who are cheering each other on, who are living as a united front and living it out loud.

We have a lot of potential here. The "12th man" has been credited for actually creating earthquakes because of our unified voice. What if this could all be used as a catalyst for something bigger and greater for the people of Seattle?

I believe.

Go Hawks!

Boys.

So we're having another boy. That makes 2 boys for anyone that's counting. From the beginning of this pregnancy when people would ask what I wanted my response was always: "Either way, I'll be happy! We reallllly want Jace to have a brother and really would love to have a girl, too!" I grew up with 2 older brothers and I loved it and Owen said growing up, he always wished he had a brother, so it just seemed right that our family would have 2 boys. It just seems right.

It's amazing to me how many opinions are out there when people find out we're having a second boy. The first time around were nothing but excited, hearty congratulations. The second time around, the "congratulations" seem a little forced and mumbled and sometimes, there isn't even a congratulations. There's a sympathetic response or a story about how boys are crazy or how we already have too many boys in our family or how hopefully my next one is a girl or how boys grow up and won't care about me anymore or how some brothers grow up hating each other because they have been competing their whole lives. Or how girl clothes are way cuter (ok, this one is true, but dressing boys cute is now considered an art form  to me and I'm pretty pleased with where the Hanchinamani/Marvel hand-me-downs have gotten us).

I mean, say what??!! These are the responses you are giving to a hormonal, young mother of soon to be 2 boys? In what world did we forget being polite and supportive and encouraging to young, anxiety-ridden moms who already have fears of being outnumbered by 2 children, regardless of the gender?  Is there some scientific button out there that I didn't know I could push to suddenly change the gender of my baby because the world thinks it's not a great idea? It's a done deal, from what I know. 2  Barton boys. It's what's we're having.

I don't take this job as a mama of 2 boys lightly. I've never been a boy, so raising one is a challenge. So far, it's proven to be a challenge I love. I love my boy. I love that he can throw the ball for what seems like hours and that tackling his dad 500 times in a row makes him laugh so hard he can't breathe. I love that he randomly gives out kisses and hugs and sings songs and loves trains and trucks and books. I'm not sure how to teach him to pee standing up, so I'll leave that one to Owen. It's a different world--the boy world. But, it's a good world.

These days it seems we are giving men mixed messages. We fight for our rights to be powerful women and so we say "I can hold open my own door. I can pay my own bill at dinner." Turn on a sitcom, the guy is usually some overweight idiot that is never right about anything and always ruins everything. "Who run the world?" asks Beyoncé, "Girls." And then we complain about how men these days suck and are lazy and there's no good ones out there. Ok, so try being a GIRL trying to raise boys in this world that we've created.

I so deeply want for my boys to be gentlemen. If the girl they take out doesn't want them holding open doors, then I want them to find a girl who will appreciate it. I want Owen and I to teach them to be good listeners, to know how to wash dishes and fold clothes and to scream at the TV when the Seahawks are playing and to know how to change the oil in my car. I want them to love God, to love us, to love each other and their big, huge extended family. I want them to be educated, to read a lot, to be teachable and able to teach. To be a good friend.To know how to shoot a jump shot and throw a football. I want them to defend those who can't defend themselves. To be passionate and compassionate. To be givers and doers. I want them to dance with me and to wrestle with their dad. I want them to grow up and call each other on the phone when they need advice. I want them to go camping with their cousins and to climb on roof's to help clean each other's gutters.  I want them to be each other's best men at their weddings.

These are just some of the things I want for my boys. Of course, they will make their own decisions in the long run, and maybe some of you who warned me of all the reasons why I shouldn't have 2 boys will be right.

But, maybe you'll be wrong. And maybe, someday, I'll look back and remember how it was a challenge raising 2 boys and at times chaotic. But that nothing in the world could ever make me more proud than the blessing and honor God chose me for in raising 2 wonderful, gentlemen who are leaving the world better than it was when they arrived.

 

 

 

 

That One Time We Went to The Nutcracker...

 

(All events are my recollection of what happened. Others in the family have their own memories about that day, but they can write it on their own blog;))

As the Christmas season unfolds, I'm realizing how much Jace is soaking in of all the excitement that comes with all things Christmas. It's making me really want to put some effort into his experiences and start some traditions with our family. The other night was the first time he sat through a whole entire movie and it was The Polar Express! I love that his first movie was a Christmas movie! I foresee making us all watch The Polar Express every year under a pile of blankets, until he's old and I'm dead.

This desire to create traditions reminds me of some of the things we did when I was younger. There are some great, warm memories but there are also some failed attempts at Christmas family fun. Like that one time we went to the Nutcracker...

The night started off with the 5 of us going out to a Thai restaurant for dinner. My brothers and I were already not amused at the idea of seeing a ballet and muttered under our breath the whole time about how we should've been going to a Sonics game instead. Possibly due to our wish of attending a sporting event, we dressed the part. As we walked into all the glamor that the Nutcracker is, with the beautiful building and everyone dressed to the nines, it was as if the turn table scratched, the party stopped and all heads swung in our direction. I was basically in sweats, Joe was in a Chicago Bulls coat and Emmi was in an LA Raiders parka. Not only were we the few 'non-white' people there, but it was as if we were dressed like street people at the Presidential Ball.

We had no choice but to carry on and so carry on we did. After climbing over elegantly dressed rich folks, we finally took our seats. Since Joe is the middle child he always ends up in the worst spot, so fate would have it that he would sit approximately one inch away from the fancily dressed, old woman next to him. She was obviously a seasoned Nutcracker goer and not a fan of us.

The show began and we were instantly confused. Mice having sword fights and men in super tight tights leaping around? My then very mature brothers not so affectionately started calling it "The Buttcracker" in honor of the skin tight outfits that showed off everything. They then read in the program that the lead ballet dude's real name was Stankov. So, it quickly turned into "Stanko Buttcracker." I'm sure the old lady was even more thrilled and loved us more than before.

As if the night wasn't already going fabulously, Joe started to feel a little sick. As he sat there watching the leaping and twirling, he started to look a little sweaty. Then a lot sweaty. He suddenly could barely hold up his body and was practically laying his head on the old woman's shoulder. In an attempt to ease his tummy, one of my parents (who will remain nameless, lest CPS gets a hold of this) decided to buy him a VERY expensive peppermint hot chocolate. As my brother seemed to get sicker and a little weirder, someone realized the peppermint was not just flavoring, it was actually Peppermint Schnapps. Unbeknownst  to the parent buyer the hot chocolate was spiked and my brother was definitely underage. We shuffled him out just in time to witness his glamorous Thai food puke fest in that fancy, gold-plated Nutcracker parking lot (okay, it wasn't gold-plated, but may as well have been). So there we were: brown, dressed like gangsters, and up-chucking on everyone's parade.

Needless to say, it was an attempt at making a tradition, that failed miserably. I'm pretty sure the Nutcracker security has all our faces on their most wanted list.

So, while I'm finding new ways to start fun family traditions with my new family, the Nutcracker hasn't been added to our list of things to try, nor probably ever will.

Because the Nutcracker has been tried, and it was too good the first time to ever try again.

When Christmas Loses its Magic

When I was growing up, Christmastime always had this magical element to it. There was just something whimsical in the air that made everyday exciting. The lights, the tree, helping mom put the ornaments on. The possibility of trading school days for snow days. The Christmas outfits and cookies for Santa. Knowing he wasn't real but still kind of hoping maybe he was. Family time, board games.Sleeping in sleeping bags out in the living room and watching Christmas movies with my brothers. There was always this cozy, secure, protective feeling the holidays brought. As if life wrapped me up in a giant-sized, holiday down comforter that I just cozied my way into and wanted to stay forever.

I don't remember how old I was, but I was still fairly young on that Christmas morning when my grandfather died. I didn't know him. He lived in India and at that point in my life I had met him twice and once was when I was too little to remember. So, my memories of him aren't many, if any. But, that Christmas morning was the very first time I saw my indestructible dad and uncle cry. It was the year Christmas kinda lost its magic and I thought it might never come back.

It took a few years before Christmas went back to the way it was, but ever since then, my heart gets a little heavy around the holidays because I know that it's not always all it's cracked up to be. This expectation of magic is hard to hold up when you're in the middle of the things of life. Pain doesn't pause when Black Friday starts. This year, I'm thinking of a friend who is celebrating his first Christmas without his dad, a wife without her husband. I'm thinking of a friend who just went through traumatic, physical pain and is learning to live and function through that. I'm thinking of friends who are watching their families fall apart and others who have shattered, broken hearts.

There is all this pressure to join in with the glamour of the 'holiday spirit' when reality might be you have to change the station when you hear "Joy to the World" because it's just so hard to find joy in your world right now--or the next carol-er at your door is gonna get punched in the nose.

And yet, the real Christmas story was not a glamorous one. A teenage mother gave birth in a barn and a king wanted to kill her baby--who happened to be the Savior of the world. The real beauty of this season is that it reminds us that grace stepped into a world of pain and suffering so we wouldn't have to endure it alone. We have a God who brings comfort and peace when Christmas lights and songs cannot.

The one who created the world didn't come with glamorous, flashing lights. He chose to come in a posture of humility and vulnerability. He created a place for all of us to fit.

So, whether this is a magical season or a difficult one---you fit beautifully in it, just as you are.

TWO.

2 years ago you were born on Thanksgiving Day. Your face is my daily reminder of all the beautiful things my heart is constantly whispering its thanks for. It was 2 years ago when we first got to look into each other's eyes as I cried my happy tears and you cried your first sounds. But, I feel like I've known you forever. You can't possibly just have 2 years tethered to my 28. You were a part of me long before and seeing your face just breathed life into the gaps of me that were waiting for your air.

I'm so proud of you, Jace. As I see you shed your baby face and grow into that little boy body my heart beams with pride and cracks just a little because I know my days of scooping you into my lap won't be forever.

But, I love who you are and who I see you becoming. This little boy who loves people. You pay attention to them--the things they like, the things they do, even the color of their eyes. And you remember those things for the next time you see them. Don't lose that. Someday, people will love and appreciate you for looking into their eyes and taking the time to care about who they  really are. You aren't a surfacey person, you are interested in depth. You are full of compassion. You say hi to everyone at the grocery store and give them your real smile, the one that paints across your whole face. You proved to be a great international traveler and loved all things India. You love sports and make boy grunts and wrestle with your dad, but you also sing "Jesus Loves Me", you remind us to pray, you love babies, and you kiss mommy's forehead when she doesn't feel well. You're the perfect blend of all things wonderful.

Buddy boy. As we take another trip around the sun, I can say this will be a big year for us. It's been quite a joy to have you all to ourselves. One little guy to give our heart and soul and attention to. One little guy for all our kisses and bed time stories. But, this year, you will become a big brother. And all these things that were only yours you will be sharing. I can't tell you how excited I am to think of you with your own friend for life.One of the first thoughts that came to me when I found out I was pregnant was your face. Tears filled my eyes as my heart burst knowing all the joy that was coming your way. Though it may be hard at first, this is going to be one of the best things to happen to you. Having 2 older brothers and cousins (who were more like sisters) I know.They are my only 'friends' that are in all my memories growing up and in all my visions of the future-- truly lifelong. I can't wait for you to experience that. All the inside jokes only you guys will get, all the weird, quirky things that will tie you together and make you laugh. All the things in life you will endure together and lean on each other through. It will be unlike anything you could have ever hoped for.

Til then, you get us all to yourself and I am cherishing these last few months of your only child days.

We're still dancing between the galaxies and playing hopscotch among the stars, but every day it's all getting a little brighter and our universe is looking more marvelous.

Happy number 2, baby boo. I love you more than you'll ever know.

On Earth As it is in Heaven

There are certain moments in life when heaven softly falls down and covers the earth you are standing on, like a blanket of snow. 

Those moments range from things like saying goodbye to a loved one for the last time, welcoming a new child onto the earth, standing in a torrential downpour in the mountains of Mexico, or even a stranger offering to help you change your tire. 

Regardless of the gravity of the situation, these moments can never leave you the same because suddenly, the same isn't quite good enough. When you've realized the ground your feet are kissing is actually Holy Ground, your world demands a sudden change. 

When I was in India, this very thing happened to me. We were in a little village called Bendigeri. The moment we stepped foot on that soil my lungs exchanged earthly air for heaven's. 

The children there overwhelmed me. With not many "things", according to my western standards, I learned so much from the love radiating from their hugs and smiles and laughter. From their kindness to strangers, like the little girl who offered me her bed if I wanted to stay to their hard work ethic in the scorching heat as they made bricks. I learned quickly that they didn't need a lot of "things" to enjoy the lives they were given. 

Since the moment we left, I haven't been able to shake them. Their faces light up the warmest memories in my heart. They gave me so much in my few hours with them that have changed my lifetime, I can't not give them something back. Here are a few of the many who left their mark:

This is Kavita. She is in the 5th grade and is 11 years old. Her mother died giving birth to her and her father remarried and left Kavita in her grandmother's home, while he moved on with his new family. Since then, her grandmother has been taking care of her, but is now unable to work due to her age and health. Kavita and her grandmother are currently struggling to make ends meet and afford basic needs such as hygiene products and school supplies.

This is Yeshawanth. He is in the 5th grade and is 11 years old.

He has one older sister and one younger sister. His father is blind so his mother is working in agriculture to support the family. She makes very little money and is struggling to provide basic needs for her family as well. 

This is Deepa. She is in the 4th grade and is 10 years old. She has an older sister in 7th grade and a younger brother who is 3 years old. Her father did electrical work and in 2001 he fell from an electrical pole and hurt his leg very badly. He has not been able to work ever since. Her mother is now responsible for taking care of the whole family and doesn't make very much money. They are also struggling to afford basic needs. 

This is Prashant. He is 16 years old and is mentally disabled. His father had a heart attack while he was driving and passed away. His mother is now alone, working as a daily labor worker and is earning very little money. She is having a hard time paying for the extra care and treatment he needs.

This is Nagamma. She is 24 years old. Her father hanged himself and since then, her mother had been taking care of her. Nagamma is now studying for her Bachelors of Education, but her mother has been diagnosed with Tuberculosis. She is now struggling to continue her education because her money and time are going towards taking care of her mother.

These are just a few of the many people in the village who are struggling to get by. On top of that, their church/school/only real "building" in the village was destroyed by a flood.

Jesus has been so kind to stir up this passion in me and then to give me the opportunity to plug up this hole in my heart and DO something about it. My MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) group has decided to take up Bendigeri as our International Service Project this year. We have contacts over in India to send money to that will buy the kids who are in need: school supplies, hygiene products, possibly a keyboard since the kids love learning worship music but don't have a keyboard, and possibly help to fix their community's church, depending on how much money is raised. 

With the holidays coming up, it's the best time to look at all we, our friends, family and children have been blessed with. It's a good time to give up coffee once a week and give that money to someone who might be in need or to encourage our kids to set aside allowance money to bless others. We can show them pictures and stories or take them to places where they can understand how blessed their lives are and how they can bless others. I know there are plenty of local places that take donations like clothes, food, time, or money. Choose one that tugs on your heart strings. But, let's start being intentional with what we've been blessed with and and intentional with our little generation as we instill in them the joy and privilege of giving--not just taking.





So, before you make your wish list and get lost in all the hustle and bustle of the holidays, let's remember how much more there is in what we give! Let's be a part of doing His will...on earth as it is heaven. 

If anyone is interested in donating to this little place in India that has stolen my heart, email me at lisahanchinamani03@yahoo.com or send me a Facebook message! They would appreciate any amount of money you can give.

Some of the kids in the village 

The church/school before it was damaged by the flood

Young boys helping make bricks

Conquering a Milestone

There are a few milestones in life that I have been terrified of ever since I was little. My driver's license test (I failed the first time and still can't parallel park, so should have stayed at failure status, but I fooled someone at the DMV, so joke's on them). My SAT's (been there done that, no one cares). Getting my wisdom teeth pulled (they are still there, I'm still scared, this is well overdue, might need an intervention). Giving birth (rightfully so). Being pregnant while having a toddler.

I'm currently living one of the very things I've been afraid of all my life.  And it. is. scary.

I am Miserable with a capital M. I throw up at any given hour of the day and if I'm not throwing up I'm wishing I am throwing up or wishing I am unconscious. I can't even describe to anyone who doesn't know this feeling, what it's all about. It's unlike anything in life. I mean imagine if someone threw you into the bottom of a boat or strapped you into the world's worst roller coaster and said "Goodbye. This is your new life for the next 3+ MONTHS. Oh and we're throwing a toddler in with you." But, it's 10 TIMES WORSE. It's unlike anything comparable to anything. And the heartburn! The heartburn that keeps you up all night long because it literally feels like your esophagus has caught on fire and it takes everything in you not to call the fire department to bring all their hoses and put this thing OUT OF MY MISERY.

The worst is when I hear other moms say how they never got sick. Pregnancy was so glowy and beautiful and lovely. In what world?! Sign me up! I want that pregnancy. I mean, I feel like I am actually Eve in the garden and I am receiving the full wrath of childbirth pains solely on me. It's good I don't believe in reincarnation or I'd have to believe I was a seriously awful person in some other life.

And my body. I just recently lost all my baby weight and then some. And now here we are. 3 months in and I already have a "bump" the size of a basketball. Every thing feels uncomfortable except for Owen's sweats. I just fit back into my skinny skinny jeans and now I'm back into MEN'S sweats?! I mean. Do I get to catch any breaks at all?

And then there's Jace. God Bless Jace. He's a good kid. But, when I was pregnant with him I just slept every chance I got. Now. I can't. Because of him. He's here now, out in the world, and so I must entertain him. Poor Jace's life consists of the iPad, and granola bars, and mommy laying on the couch pretending to watch him play but really taking 2 second naps every time he's not looking.

It's just. SO HARD to be ALIVE.



And then this.

We saw this. And we saw a flickering heartbeat. And it became real. Because one time I saw this.

And it became this.

And my world was never the same again.

A human is growing inside my body and every second cells are forming and creating and designing a baby that will change our lives and our world forever. This baby will make Jace a big brother and Owen and I parents of 2 and the thought makes my heart so wildly and insanely happy.

Well, that I can confidently say, makes conquering this terrifying milestone so worth it.

So, baby. Whatever you're doing in there to make me sick, I'll let it slide, because I'm counting on you to shine your light into the spaces of our hearts that we haven't even discovered yet.

And really, I'm just so honored that I get to be your mama. It makes everything else pale in comparison.

Even the puke.

(And no, the irony is not lost on me that my previous post was about not complaining and enjoying each moment of life.)