Releasing You To The World

I've been dreading this since a week after I found out I was pregnant with you (that first week I was still in denial/terrified that you were actually in there). Today we went to your preschool orientation and met all your wonderful teachers and new classmates.

Next week, you walk out of this safe, impenetrable fortress I have been creating for you since the day you were born. See, I've been building a space where you only come in contact with the people I choose for you.  People I have trusted because I have watched them handle me with care, and so know they would only do the same for you. People who love you, will protect you, will fight for you.

But, now it's time to start tearing down some of the highest bricks of our fortress and releasing you to experience little pieces of the world as you begin preschool. You will now come in contact with people I have never met-- people I had no choice in choosing for you. You will begin to build relationships on your own. You will find people who your personality and interests click with or people who you just enjoy being around. You will make decisions all on your own and I won't be there for you to ask my permission. You will also learn things from a teacher who is not me.

What I'm trying to say is, I'm letting you meet the world and experience it at an arms distance length away from me--and a little part of me is dying inside.

Jace, bud. These last 2 years and 9 months I've been doing the best I can to love you and teach you good things to equip you for life. Now, I have to give you some space to try to put it all together and apply it to the real world. I have to let you start becoming your own you-- away from me.

Whenever I look at you, I know I've done something great with my life--so as much as I wish I could hoard you to myself, the best and most vulnerable thing I can do for the world is share you with it. It scares me more than most anything I've ever done because the world is not always kind (I saw that boy stomping on your foot today. Took everything in me not to grab you and run for the hills). My love for you comes from the deepest depths of who I am and I want nothing more than for this world to be careful with this fragile part of my heart that I'm letting run wild and free.

In turn, I expect you to treat the other kids this way, too. Behind every one of your classmates is a mama with the same hopes for their baby as mine. So, you must take care of each other.

I know you're going to preschool to learn numbers and letters and color pictures and hear stories. But, school is also a training ground for life, so make it count. The world needs more people using the full potential of their gifts --so, don't waste a drop. Use them all. If you're pouring those gifts out on others--they will never run dry. I want you to use that heart of compassion toward your teachers and classmates. Even if there is someone who you don't understand--you owe them respect and care. Be generous. Share. If anyone is left out, bring them in. Be the bridge in a gap of friends. Be a peacemaker and an encourager. Be bold and brave. Meet the world with kindness and sincerity. 

And always, always remember. Your dad and I are here to lasso the moon for you. Forever and always, you can come to us for anything.

Ok, Jace bud. Deep breath.

Now, go and change the world.

Seek Justice, Love Mercy, Walk Humbly with Your God.

 

 

 

 

In a World of Hurt



(Image made by my awesome friend, Jenni Claar!)

It's been a heavy couple weeks in my soul.

From innocent children being brutally killed in Iraq, to the suicide of Robin Williams, and the mayhem in Ferguson, Missouri, it's impossible to not feel the heaviness that spans across distances, countries, and cultures and settles itself into our hearts. I find I become so  burdened for those in the midst of tragedy that I retreat inward and grieve for the injustice I see in our fragile humanity. It seems like we are living in a world of hurt and there's not much I can practically do aside from signing petitions and mumbling heavy prayers.

When I tuck my babies in to sleep, or watch a movie with my friends or worship at my church, there's a constant humming buzzing in the background--it's what we commonly refer to as guilt. Why should I be given the freedom and luxuries I've been given? Why was I so fortunate to be born in a place where I don't have to go to bed worried that my children may have to pay the consequences of my beliefs? Why do I get to decide what to watch on Netflix tonight while some parents are deciding which of their children gets to eat dinner tonight?

Since there is no real answer, I can let my guilt swallow me whole, chew me up and spit me out worthless and hopeless. Or, I can allow an overflow of gratitude for what I do have, spur me on to change.

The world may seem too big and bleak to change. But, if we shed our guilt (or indifference, or hopelessness, or ignorance, or detachment, etc.) and step into the natural rhythms of gratitude--we will see the world for what it's actually made of--individual, beating hearts. At the core of it all, it's not just a group in the Middle East or a town in Missouri, or a demographic of low income families--it is a broken humanity filled with actual, real people who happen to be everywhere. When we see hearts instead of labels, the world gets a little smaller.

I may never get to physically help a child in Iraq, or walk someone out of their depression, or help the people of Ferguson cope with all the realities of this tragedy. But, I have been given access to a broken, hurting world. We need not look far to find a soul desperate for someone to stand up for justice, to encourage them or to care. For those people, I am responsible.

I'm encouraged to say that I have seen people moving spaces of earth to fit in pieces of heaven. A good friend is helping launch a youth center dedicated to improving academics and bolstering self image in teens who are in need of this. A woman at my church has been reaching out to people in the motels on Highway 99.  A group of moms in our area have started collecting school supplies and shoes for families who can't afford these necessities.

Our gracious, loving God sees each personal need and has invited us to participate in taking care of His most precious creation--His people--all people. We can certainly grieve, but we must also act.

Though we may not be able to single handedly rescue the world--we can be a part of influencing change or offering hope to those whose lives have intersected our own.

And I'd say, in a world of hurt

--that's a pretty great place to start.

From One to Two

I can't even remember what was ever so hard about having one kid. Don't get me wrong--I know it was hard. I hated when people belittled having one kid because sometimes I wondered how I was surviving and they were making it sound like a stroll in the park. So, to all my one-kid friends, I still empathize with you. Going from zero to one is an intense, sacred life change with it's own set of adjustments and sacrifices. But, TWO?! Two is a whole new ball game. Like, a completely different, intense game. Like we were playing baseball at the playfields and now we're playing World Cup soccer (as my friends with 3+ kids laugh at me).

It's. Just. So. Crazy. I remember when Jace was born it was kinda like a vacation. Yes, I was tired and everything was so new and I had to check on him approximately every 3 minutes to make sure he was still breathing and I had no idea what I was doing or if I would escape with my sanity intact. Ok, so maybe not a vacation. But, I also had time to do things while he was sleeping, like: shower, cook, workout, watch TV or nap. I mean, I read the Hunger Games Trilogy during that time! That's three books! Ain't nobody got time for that now!

Now, I am tired. There is no napping for me because once the sun comes up there is the task of entertaining a toddler while feeding an infant and then feeding the toddler and then changing one or the other's diaper. It's an unending circus. By the time I get to feed myself there's no food and it's noon. And I smell. Because I am never not covered in baby vomit and showers are but a blurry, distant memory of my past. And the laundry. Don't get me started on this seemingly innocent form of torture that will never end.  And how does one go to TJ Maxx with 2 kids? It's impossible to fit a car seat and a toddler in their tiny carts. And even if I could, trying anything on with the 2 would just not be worth anything in life ::big sigh::.

But, having 2 is also easier in some ways. With Jace we had him in a co-sleeper next to our a bed for a few months, hearing every sound and every breath steal every second of sleep away from us. With Cole--after a few hours of him being home and making crazy barn yard animal noises, he was shipped off to his own crib--history had proven he would be fine one room away from us. With Jace, I didn't leave the house like ever. I was afraid he would poop at the grocery store or scream from hunger or fall out of the cart. Now, I just really don't care. Jace needs to get out of the house for his sanity, but mostly mine, so Cole is coming with. I also know what to expect from a newborn and I know that this too shall pass. I will one day sleep again, he will one day not cry for no apparent reason, nor need to be burped for an hour, he will one day be too mobile to keep in one place, or too self sufficient to need me to rock him to sleep. I now know what won't last forever and what I will miss. So, it's easier to sit back and enjoy where we are.

And then with 2, some things don't change. Like how sleep deprivation makes you crazy. When Jace was a couple weeks old, he was screaming in Owen's ear while Owen slept through it. As I punched and kicked Owen to get him up and hand me the baby he sat straight up and then this:

Owen: Yes.
Me: Yes, what?!
Owen: Yes. I am a wizard.

He then laid back down to sleep as I continued to kick him awake. He finally got up, handed me the baby, walked to the bathroom and came back. As I proceeded to tell him that he just told me he was a wizard he laughed and said, 'Ha. Why don't you just jump on the pile and go swing dancing!' ...and just like that, he was fast asleep again.

With Cole, I woke up to Owen pounding his chest loudly in the middle of the night. When I woke him up to ask what the heck he was doing he said he was burping Cole. Interesting, since Cole was asleep in the other room!

And I can't just throw Owen under the bus. A few weeks ago, when I put on my glasses at 3 am to feed Cole I couldn't see ANYTHING. It was dark, and everything was blurry. I thought I was just super tired and my eyes couldn't adjust. 30 minutes later I realized instead of putting on my prescription glasses I had put on my sunglasses! I was sitting in the dark squinting for thirty whole minutes before I realized I was wearing sunglasses. Inside. At 3 am. By myself. A house full of sleep deprived crazies we are.

And then other things also change with 2--good things. Like you watch the older one slip into this new role of big brother who loves to love and care and it amazes you that your baby is now a big boy who has somehow, in his short 2 years, grasped an understanding of generosity and compassion. You sit back and beam over the 2 of them and dream of their future together as brothers and best friends. Your heart fills with more love than it had when there was just one, which seems impossible and dangerous. You can't help but feel proud and honored that this life is yours because even though it's filled with more chaos than perfection, it's just amazing that 2 little boys are yours and every day they are both changing and becoming little, wonderful people that you get to share with the rest of the world.

It's a whole new ball game-- going from one to two. But, I've come to realize-- while baseball was new and amazing and scary and beautiful while it lasted -- I'm just loving World Cup soccer now.


                                      

 

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.