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 []

this week’s babblings: volume one

I haven’t scrubbed my kitchen floor since the last time a visit from out of town family was scheduled. This either means I have family visit a lot or that my floor doesn’t get scrubbed very often. You decide. Thane is unimpressed with Daddy’s facial hair that grew from a well trimmed goatee before Talron came home to a full mountain man beard during paternity leave. The oldest used to just rub Daddy’s cheeks and implore/command “shave, shave?!” Once he gave up on []

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 []

when gigi came to visit

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 []

memories of tal

“Mama loves you” I whispered. And he lifted his head off my shoulder whipped it around, and planted a big one on me. Baby kisses are terribly sweet. And very slobbery. And his have totally stolen my heart. Feisty & Affectionate. Those two words describe so much of who this kid is. This amazing, perfect kid. He was pretty reserved with his smiles in the early days of being with us. I would have been too. Leaving everything you know is scary []