tal baby: some words

Our little Tal has been with us for five months. It still surprises me he’s here. As in makes my heart go pitter patter and swell with love and stuff. Five months of wonder and love and getting to know our squishy little man. A friend told me that his pictures seem to morph from little baby to old man then back, and I agree. He has one of those old and young faces and I never know when  I squeeze the []

parenting: it’s not about results, it’s about love

There’s a myth perpetrated by the parenting books that I kind of hate. And it’s this. We do x to get y. We love to teach our kids to love. We pass on our values so that they will follow in them. Everything has a reason, a desired result that will make it all worth it, will lend credence and importance and value to what I do as a mom. The Christian parenting books add their own little sacred spin to this. []

the nursery

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. … 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 []

the three rons in my life (a father’s day tribute)

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 []

motherhood is kicking my butt and other ramblings

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 []

pinwheels of life

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 []

a question of realness: confessions of a second mom on my second mother’s day

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 []