Sidenote: I hadn’t posted these pictures before because I was going  reshoot them on a day when there was more light, photoshop them better to fix the color balance, etc, etc. Then I decided that slapping myself back to reality was a better choice and here we are, inconsistent coloring and all.

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I’m one of those moms who goes all out decorating the nursery thereby guaranteeing my child will want to co-sleep. Or at least that’s what they tell me. But I adore this  room. I love it for what is and what it represents. I look around and I see a time capsule of the journey of waiting for him.

I see myself not wanting to touch it, afraid that it was too early, too risky, too scary to put that much visible hope into the universe that might throw it back in my face. I see myself curled up in it, crying, while waiting to hear if he was out of the hospital after yet again another stay there. I see myself sitting on the floor painting the drawers and wondering if he’d ever get to scuff them up with his toys, I so wanted those scuff marks. And if scuff marks made my a tired mom stumbling through a diaper change in the middle of the night count then I totally have them now.

This room started out as a green and maroon tribute to the eighties or nineties or whenever this color combo was all the rage. The built-in on the left really dictated much of the finished set-up since I couldn’t remove it due to the lack of carpet. It ended up being a fun ”challenge” (said in the strictest first-world problems sense.)

And now the “afters.”

The color of the walls changes throughout the day from a soft gray to a blue to a green. Kind of like the sea. It was supposed to be our dining room paint and when that didn’t work out I threw it on the walls in here as a stop-gap measure. Then when it was finally time to turn this into his room it ended up working out perfectly.

Taking down the upper cabinets really opened up the room, painting the lower cabinets modernized it, and the countertop redo are boards from Ikea (cheapest wood we could find that I sanded and poly’ed and Nate cut and then we attached them directly to the old countertop by this amazing product we found called… a hot glue gun. I love this side of the room. It’s so happy.

The room was built around my idea for this headboard behind the crib and these fabrics. The navy, the black and white ticking, and the headboard fabric I had in my stash. The other my Mama and I found on one shopping trip. I couldn’t believe how perfectly they came together. Mom made the quilt that same trip because she is a grandma with skills. The headboard was supposed to have a K or the shape of Africa on it. And then, well then Mama surprised me with this crocheted whale which is the cutest thing ever and it became the perfect headboard touchstone. It’s attached with velcro so it can be pulled off easily and played with if he wants. I’ll be taking the little banner behind it off once Tal’s old enough to spend time awake in his crib. So far he pretty much gets picked up instantly upon waking up and we rock him to sleep. Nate cut the headboard design out of a 1/4 piece of plywood. Cheap and perfect.

The table was from a garage sale, the whale blanket was also made my mom (this is a theme…) And the cutest whale stool ever is one she found at a thrift store in CO, stashed away in her luggage and then I repainted and added some padding and fabric, I made it removeable so I could wash it. Yeah right. That’s happened.

The chair was from craigslist, the outfit on the bottom is from Congo and the closet, well the closet is courtesy of Tal’s daddy who took it from literally nothing to this. I helped a little too. The turtle is from Auntie A who sent it all the way from China.

Congo hat was made by… you guessed it! Gigi/Grandma/My mama.

My favorite update picture of our little boy – nestled in his foster mummy’s hands.

The picture of us on referral day.. And the cuddliest white whale from Auntie L. I’d tell you who made the blanket but it’s just getting repetitive at this point.

Love, that’s what this room is covered in. Love. It’s also currently covered in dirty laundry and other messes but that’s why you take the pictures BEFORE the baby comes home right?

My dad’s name is Ronald. Ron. Ronnie if you knew him when he was little. I used to giggle with my sisters when we would go back to his little hometown in Montana. We would attend church with my grandfather and then afterwards there would be “bars and coffee” in the church basement. Lemon bars, rhubarb bars, yumminess in a pan. And the little old ladies would call us “Ronnie’s girls” and say things like “so good to see you Ronnie” and that was ridiculously funny to my little six-year year old self, that someone as big and strong and perfect as my dad could ever have been little enough to be called a thing like Ronnie.

My dad is the kindest person I know. He truly loves people. When I think of what Jesus must have been like on earth I think about my dad. Minus the beard. And the robe. Dad is a pants or shorts only kind of guy. He’s also a learner. It’s something that has always stood out to me about my dad, he never stops learning and growing and changing. He’s never content to stay where he is as a person – he wants to be a better version of himself and he never stops working on that. Someday he’s going to reach perfection and then I’m afraid he’s going to get terribly bored, but what can you do?

When we knew our oldest son was on his way I knew immediately I wanted to name him after my dad. I wanted him to have that physical sign of the heritage of love and kindness that my dad passed on to his children and grandchildren. So, at Christmas we gave my dad this picture of our little baby boy, with this written on it: “Dear Papa, Mommy and Daddy said they are giving me four names. They said the third one is after a man who is a true example of a Christ-follower and whose legacy I am blessed to have as my grandfather…”

We couldn’t have guessed then that about a year later we’d get another picture, taken in the same bouncer seat (minus the blanket), with another baby boy wearing the same outfit.

{{I wish I could ask their foster mummy if she did this on purpose of if it was one of those happy happenstances of life}}

And this little baby would also end up being named after his papa, my dad. Talron is a name we’ve always loved and wanted to give one of our children. It has a special connection to my husband as well, so in more unique way Talron is also named after HIS daddy. But that’s another story for another day.

Tal means dew or rain of heaven. Ron(ald) means mighty warrior or wise ruler or counselor.  I love those two meanings together. I love how perfectly it fits with his other names – his Congolese one being the name of a royal in Congo’s past and Phoenix being the picture of new beginning, of rising from the ashes, and also used in medieval times as a picture of Christ.

So today, Dad, this is my little tribute to you. The story of how both my boys came to be named after the best dad I could imagine having. I love you

As the nice lady at the grocery store told me all about post-adoption depression and how I should look into it I vowed to never again run to the grocery story without doing my hair and throwing on some makeup. So not worth the self-esteem hit. I know PAD is a real condition and no one should feel guilt for experiencing it but surely there is a difference between that and just looking like crap. Now if there’s a pill that helps with the latter I’m all ears.

My sister was here for almost two weeks. It was amazing. First time she’s met either of my boys. Then we were home by ourselves for a week and then went to Colorado for a week and a half. I probably won’t blog about any of it because I usually journal family visits privately, just easier that way. And because, well because I like to process feelings slowly. Like a cow chewing it’s cud. And that picturesquely too. Memories don’t get stored in nice linear sequences, instead they are a jumbled mismatched mess. I love it because it means that random feelings can jump into my present at any moment.  So that’s how I journal too, a mess of memories that resemble “eat all the leftovers in the fridge” night.

Thane refused to be quiet while I was rocking Talron to sleep this morning. So I put him in his room, instructed him to play with his toys, and shut the door. About ten minutes later I hear “I’m here, rescue me! I’m here, rescue me!” I feel that way too sometimes but do you hear me shouting it? No. (I call my husband instead.)

Thane’s talking has exploded again. It’s by far his strongest skill set (along with singing random snippets of pop songs but that’s another day), at eighteen months we counted 150 words  and now I have no idea because he can say pretty much anything. Like a little parrot. It’s hard to remember that he doesn’t always have the comprehension skills to go along with the vocab. We were going through the grocery store a month or so ago when he started raising his arm at people and shouting “polite! polite!” I couldn’t figure out what was going on until I caught myself praising him for interacting with people by saying “you’re so polite!” heh.

Having a little parrot is scary of course because parrots lack filters but sometimes it’s only adorable, like the morning I walked into the living room where they were with Daddy and he asked me “how you sleep?” To my credit I didn’t respond “Great! I love being kicked in the back and being climbed all over while I sleep. I especially love it when  your brother drapes himself across my neck, I find the lack of oxygen relaxing.” Co-sleeping is the sweetest thing that has ever irritated me. I love the snuggles, the morning snuggles especially. I wouldn’t change our half in their crib and half with us routine for anything. I think that’s been the most surprising thing about motherhood. How easy it is to adore these kids who are kind of driving you nuts. It’s like motherhood is kicking my butt but I’m loving it.

I had this dream the other night that I couldn’t get the car parked. This is not as far removed from reality as one might hope. But then my car with its zero turn radius morphed into my stroller with its magical turn radius and I parked it nicely,calling to the boys in their carseats that we had to wait here blocking some stranger’s driveway until daddy came to meet us. This made perfect sense in the dream of course, as did the fact that we suddenly ended up inside the house talking to the homeowners who reminded me alternatively of the couple in the movie UP and Miracle Max and his wife in Princess Bride.

And after they properly admired the babies I looked out their window and told them how much I loved the red convertible parked out there. Shiny, sleek, old. The wife smiled at her husband, and in the way that can only happen in dreams I saw the picnics the car took them to, the drives down the beach, the roadtrips together, and with a twinkle in her eye (she was the lady in UP at this point) said “it’s certainly been a pinwheel of our life.”

In the dream I got it. I saw time as the wind, always blowing around us, past us, moving with us. And then we hold a pinwheel up to it and suddenly time is captured, seen, grabbed unto.  It’s paused and beautified and treated as the here-now-and-then-never-again treasure it is.

As I looked at their car thinking these things it morphed into my childhood car – Brownie. Nothing special that car. But it took us to Dangerfield for camping trips, to Galveston to play in the waves, it sat in our driveway while Mom and Dad played games with us. I saw the work those moments took to create and I wanted them. I wanted those moments for my babies, with my babies. I wanted to be holding Nate’s hand at the end of it all and thinking of my own pinwheel memories.

Then I was back in my car, seeing Nate in the rearview mirror walking towards us down Bomoko street. Wearing the same shirt I had put Thane to sleep in naturally. And then he started crying and I stumbled out of bed to rock Talron back to sleep. Which, I suppose, is the only reason I remembered the dream at all.

{{The pinwheels I made for our Christmas tree repurposed after we finally took it down because life needs some whimsy.}}

I look at him and know: I am his real mother. And so is she. Both of us real, whole, complete, and needing each other. Because life didn’t weave a story where he has one, it wove a story where he would have both of us. One of us would give him life, a heritage, a history.  And the other would raise him. 

The whole idea of “meant to be” is a confusing one for me. Was I meant to be his mother? I’ve never wanted that to be true because that means he was meant to lose them and I refuse to believe that’s true. I refuse to believe that my “meant to be” hinged on the unfairness of life for others. So I’m okay with being his second best. The backup plan. The replacement. But what about for him? Does that mean his life will be spent in what wasn’t meant to be? Does that mean his life will always be second best? I refuse to believe that either.

So maybe there isn’t what is meant to be and what isn’t. Maybe there’s simply what is. And what we do with it. The life we create out of the life we are handed.

I thought I would be insecure about this question of realness. I thought I would worry about which one of us will hold the place in his heart marked “mother”. But I don’t. Because what I now know is far more important is there’s one in my heart for him marked “son”.

Hers was the heart he first heard beat. Listening to it as he grew beneath it. Its lifeblood flowing through him, nurturing him, creating him, one with him. And mine is the one he hears as he’s rocked to sleep, pounding beneath his little ear in a rhythmic dance of lifelove.  There is no competition here, there is no either/or, there is simply both. We are Mother.

 

My mom was here for a week and she spoiled me and the babies silly. I loved it. And her. My mom is an awesome person. She’s one of those people that make you feel good about who you are but make you want to be a better version of who you are too. Talron is clearly fan as well.

He’s pretty funny when it comes to laughing, because he doesn’t really. He chuckles in amusement but he doesn’t really laugh. Time will tell if that’s just who he is or if he’s still just getting relaxed enough around here to let his hair hang down. Speaking of hair. Both the little men got hair cuts. Talron’s was just a simple two-snip process where I cut off those two little curls on either side of his head. Sad to see his funny little curls go but it was time and now things can grow back more evenly. Thane’s hair on the other hand was quite exciting to cut. Gigi did the actual cutting and I yelped and worried and in general did not act like the calm mother that such an occasion should probably call for. Despite my misgivings I love how even it is now and he loves how much easier it is to comb with the dead ends banished and no longer causing tangles.

{{After haircut pic right there.}}

Another amazing thing about my mom is you can say something casual like “he doesn’t have a green hat” and then that afternoon he has one.  And a brown one and a gray one but who’s counting? This one is probably my favorite. It’s earned him the nickname “turtlebear.” (For my fellow MOCCs {{Mothers Of Congolese Cuties}} she also came up with a set pattern and sizes for making those DRC flag hats that people have asked about buying, they will be for sale in about a month and the money is going for a great cause – a program in the DRC that’s building chicken coops.)

{{Before haircut pic. I love Talron’s expression in this one. I think he’s questioning if his brother is indeed cool enough to pull off sunglasses indoors. For the record I think he is.}}

Mom and I also got a chance to delve into some deeper discussions on parenting and loving and everything that comes with that. I hope to share some of it here soon. After Mama left, I think all three of us were suffering from Gigi withdrawal because when  asked the kids to pose for a pic for her this is all the enthusiasm they could muster. Thane’s face pretty much says it all.

But at least their outfits were cute.

Later that day I found Thane curled up on the floor with his toy airplane. Which on one hand breaks my heart but on the other hand I feel proud of him for going to get it out of his closet and putting his sadness at saying goodbye into a tangible form.

 

So as not to end this post on a downer here’s another cute pic of my turtlebear and one of his brother who woke up this morning mumbling “happy birthday happy birthday” because apparently he dreams about his Gigi, yesterday being her birthday. He was so proud of himself for actually saying it to her on the phone. I was too.

I’m going to go ahead and say it: I didn’t grow grass for a tablescape,  didn’t put marshmallows inside pastry, didn’t handsew anything, and I certainly didn’t gold leaf any eggs. Tal’s disappointment was quite severe.

But we had a blast. An absolute blast. I think my favorite moment of the day came when Nate and I were in the garage, he was looking for  our pop-up shelter to give us a little shade and I was putting together the boys’ Easter basket, leaving two little boys at the top of the stairs trying to peek through the gate and yelling excitedly at us. It was one of those, how in the world did we go from zero to two kids in thirteen months moments. We waited so long to have kids that having one still catches me by surprise, having two is just absurdly funny.

Thane got right into the dying of eggs. Rejecting such pedestrian ideas such as leaving the egg in the water for any length of time he proceeded to drop them in, take them out, drop them in another, take them out, drop them in again. He even experimented with adding some moss and grass to some of the cups. (Expect to see this trend blowing up pinterest next year.) We pretty much laughed ourselves silly watching him.

When he finally decided to run around the yard for a while the poor eggs managed to stay in the bottom of the glasses long enough to get some color.

His brother experimented with tasting stuff and just generally being adorable. He was pretty found of the eggs and managed to throw them around a bit. Not as big of a hit was tasting grass for the first time.

The Easter Basket had some hilarious moments packed in it. Thane was so incredibly excited about the “eter baket” but was a bit bummed to realized what it actually was and wasn’t even that interested in the toys I had put in it. Not sure what he thought an Easter Basket was but clearly this wasn’t it. Also, unlike the pictures would suggest we weren’t in some weird time travel to the 70’s in these pictures, the white balance on my camera was just off.

{{Pictured: Thane’s illusions of Easter basket grandeur being crushed and also very cute outfits from Gigi – thanks Gigi!}}

Eventually though, he realized that the Easter basket had a chocolate bunny in it and his disappointment was semi-abated. Now he just had to enjoy it while dodging Tal’s little hands.

Not attending a religious service was hard for me. But Nate taught Thane to say “Happy Resurrection” so that was the greeting that met me when I woke up. And he managed to say it to Papa (my dad) on the phone so that made me happy. I love how both my sons have Ron as part of their names. He’s an amazing grandfather and the best example of a Christ-follower I know.

The truth is I wanted a Pinterest Worthy Easter. I wanted pastel decorations and drawing with white crayons on the eggs before dying them. I wanted little boys in vests and bow ties and page-boy hats. I wanted that and it didn’t happen. Because it wasn’t what our family needed this year. Someday maybe it will be, and I’m going to love the crap out of doing every Resurrection inspired craft I can find. But this year we had a new baby home, a baby that still is stressed by crowds and people. A baby that needed a low-key outdoor celebration of life.

And on this day when we celebrate the life, death, and resurrection of the Christ Child I have to stop and reflect about how I’m honoring the One I’ve promised to follow. There are parts of my life I feel satisfied with my efforts in and there are parts of my life that still need to change. But as I go about my life and raise my children one question always haunts me: how did I show love today? I think that’s the message of Easter/Resurrection. Just love. Pure love. And this year love didn’t come with all the trimmings that maybe it will someday. It was a lot like our family pic up there: not anything resembling picture perfect. But it was real and fun and beautiful. And that’s about as truly perfect as a day can come.