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.

Love Day

"It's everything I wanted--to be a mom. But it's just so hard. Hard to do it alone. The mess the stickiness, the crying. Books about ducks wearing yellow rubber boots. It's all of it by myself. But the hardest part isn't any of that stuff. It's when the amazing things happen. It's when Beth first stood. I just wanted to look over and share that moment with someone who loves her just as much as I do, but no one's there."--Ms. Corcoran, Glee Season 3 Episode 4.

I watched this episode of Glee sometime last year. It wasn't a huge, significant part of the storyline, but for some reason it poked a hole into my heart and has stayed there since. I realized I have what this character so desperately wanted and I take it for granted too many times. I also realized that her words hold truth for so many people around me, it's heart wrenching. I think there is a part of all of us that desires this kind of relationship, whether it be with a spouse, a parent, a sibling, a friend. There is something significant about sharing experiences without ever needing to exchange words. Words can cheapen the most sacred moments because their weight aren't always ample enough to convey the density of living out real life. The people you can share these rare moments with are few and far between--but they make all the difference in the world.

As we celebrate Valentine's Day today, we become keenly aware of where on the spectrum of relationships we fall. Holidays can be like putting on a pair of eyeglasses, you think you are seeing everything fine until the day comes and suddenly so does clarity. For those of us who find we are marinating in the richest blessings of life, Valentine's Day is a beautiful reminder to cherish and savor. To love our people well and to feel extra loved. To embrace the idea that we are capable of doing, not slaves to doubting. We were made to love, so we will love passionately. We have been given much, so we can give more.

For some, Valentine's Day is a cruel reminder that there is no one to share those silent moments with. If there is a void in your heart where someone used to be or where someone never was, if you are grieving loss or agonizing over an argument or are feeling completely alone in a world full of chaos, this day might not bring with it all the Hallmark glamour it seems to call for.

I was at an open gym for Jace today and I watched him from afar as he went down the slide by himself. When he got to the bottom, he had a tiny smirk that soon faded away. It was nothing compared to the squeals of laughter and joy that leave his body when I'm right there at the bottom waiting to catch him. Sometimes, we just need to know there's someone at the other end of the slide to share the moment with us--whether full of joy or full of pain.

I hope you find that person/people today and celebrate what you have because it is rare, and special and unique.

If you can't find that person today, open John 15:13 where Jesus says, "Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends..."

He gave His life for you. You are seen. You are heard. Your silent moments are being shared.

He is at the bottom of your slide.

Today and everyday,

you are loved.

 

Living in "Extraordinary"

The word "ordinary" is a scary word to me. I have never wanted to be someone who just lived an ordinary life. Ordinary to me screams boring, mundane, mediocre. And yet, lately, I feel like my life has just been an extreme case of ordinary.

When I think back, I've had a lot of extraordinary moments. They came in a summer internship in Europe where I dangled my toes over the Seine River in Paris, walked the beaches of Barcelona, ate pizza in Italy, and called London and its people "home." Where I learned the meaning of poverty and appreciation for life in the mountains of Mexico with my best friends. It's when I met Owen, or better yet, that magical day I married him. It's when I went to India and got to teach college girls how to use a computer and do crafts with children who had no parents. It's the day Jace was born and everything suddenly paled in comparison to the most beautiful face I had ever seen. 

Here I am now, married with a 2 year old and another baby on the way. My college diploma has been traded in for piles of laundry and puzzles. While I am living the life I have always dreamed of, I find that I am camped back at ordinary.

People say things like "if there was no dark, there wouldn't be light," or "for good to exist, evil must exist." I think I've parked myself in the zone that says "I'm taking up the space of ordinary so that extraordinary people can shine." All around me I see people filled with gifts and talents and resources that make the world ooh and aww. I've allowed myself to believe my part is to live ordinary, so the extraordinary ones can do their thing.

While the years feel short, the days often feel long and if we truly let ourselves believe we peaked somewhere back there, that our glory days are actually behind us, then there wouldn't be much left to propel us forward. But every one of those peaks of the past weren't meant to be an endpoint, they were catalysts that kept things moving forward, shaping us into better versions of ourselves.

We all have the potential to be extraordinary. I'm learning that my extraordinary isn't relative to anyone else's, it's only relative to me. Extraordinary is not one-size fits all or none, extraordinary is unique.  The measuring stick we use to compare ourselves to other people needs to be broken. The only measurement that matters is the individual one--am I living within my full potential? I can choose to be an ordinary mom, wife, friend, and sister, which is what I have been doing. Or I can choose to be an extraordinary one, which in this season might look like an ordinary life but--doing things with a grateful heart, with an attitude of appreciation, with the awareness that I am blessed and so have been entrusted and equipped to bless others.  Every job we are given in every season of life is important and essential for that moment and every moment after it. Just as the past has shaped me into a better me, the present should be shaping me into a better future me.

We are all filled with a tangled web of love and adventure and creativity and passion. We can choose to lock it all up and live ordinary lives. Or, we can  pull it all out from the shadows we have casted, and we can unleash the beauty that lives in--

our own kind of extraordinary.

 

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.