mediocre mommy

So, this happened last night.

Kindergarten here we come…

The last day or two I’ve seen so many great stories and photos of parents first meeting their children.

This photo is of my beautiful son and I, minutes after he was born. He was so content and I was overjoyed to have him in my arms.

Exactly two weeks prior to this photo, we were informed that his birth mom had chosen us, and we met her for the first time. While this picture was being taken she was sitting a few feet away in her hospital bed. Watching as a stranger rocked her newborn son and telling nurses to ask “his parents” if they had questions.

I’ve tried so many times to write about first meeting Jack, but I struggle to find words big enough, raw enough, heartfelt enough to do it justice.
No matter how much time passes, when I think of that day my heart swells and I am overwhelmed by feelings of love.

Yesterday, I registered that tiny baby for kindergarten. As I passed off the paperwork I was once again grateful to the wonderful woman that made me his mommy.

thelifeilive89:

I first found this saying in my sons home; on some of our very first visits in that little duplex across the street from that little park. I fell in love the moment I read it. That family truly didn’t have it all when they went through the pain of not being able to conceive, but choosing to stick beside each other day in and day out. They choose to live their lives as an amazing couple and never give up on one another. They choose to put one foot in front of another and walk each day hand in hand. They knew that no matter what life brought to them; they would always have it all; together. Their strength and courage is one of the many amazing things I live for each day and remind myself of just how lucky I am to be a part of this family. I could go on for hours; on how I truly feel about this entire family and their little ones; but I wont cause I know deep down they know I admire them for every strength and weakness they have as human beings. Thank you for always being yourself and never giving up on this give and take kinda world. <3

This was written by Jack’s birth mom…

Just when I think we couldn’t be any luckier to share our son with her, she goes and does something like this.

We love you to the moon and back, sweet girl. You helped give us our All and you will always be a part of this family.

Last weekend’s edition of Sunday Funday involved taking advantage of some nice weather and the beautiful place we call home. There are lots of things blooming in our neck of the woods and Sunday afternoon seemed like the perfect day for a little walk.

I’m thankful that we live where my kids can run and play and be kids.

I’ve been a little tense lately and it felt really good to walk with my family, not thinking about anything else I should be doing, and enjoy a little sunshine.

My kitchen helpers are a little nutty.

Jack has been asking me, and I’ve been promising, to take him skiing all season. The time has gotten away from us and, when I realized it was supposed to be almost 80 degrees in town over the weekend, I figured it was time to go before I broke my promise.

He fell 82,000 times and had no interest in learning to stop or turn…so he spent the day flying down the mountain and smiling like a maniac.

I still can’t believe that my sweet boy is old enough to do things like this, but I’m excited for all the adventures to come.

In 1913 a house was built, and the front of the house had a little porch. Years went by, the house was expanded and the little front porch was turned into an itsy bitsy room off the kitchen.

Shortly after we were married we bought the quirky farmhouse. The tiny room serving as a cozy breakfast nook with perfect morning sun. Until one morning, a plus sign on a stick had me overjoyed, slightly nauseous, and daydreaming about a little nursery.

But in the blink of an eye, the baby was gone and for the next two and a half years my heart, and the room, were vacant.

And then, in the midst of struggle and unimaginable yearning, a phone call changed everything. A woman made a brave choice and we would finally be parents.

The room, once again, was entered with delight and hope. Windows were cleaned, walls were painted and a crib and changing table were wedged in the rooms tiny corners.

A baby came and filled the room with happiness. A year flew by and another baby came home. The babies grew and the room, the entire house, was bursting with color and noise and abundant joy.

We no longer live in the quirky little farmhouse and have put it up for sale. I’m happy our lives have sent us in a new direction, but each time I show the house, I can’t help but feel pangs in my heart. Those walls are painted with our history. Our tears and our laughter still live in its nooks and crannies.

Yesterday I was putting clothes away in the kid’s rooms and I paused to look around. Not glance as I hustled through things, like I tend to do, but really look. I saw blankets with frayed edges from hundreds of nights wrapped around tiny bodies. I saw perfect little handprints on the windows from two children always dying to know what’s going on in the world around them. I realized that we have already started to paint these walls with our stories. That, in our short time here, our laughter has found the nooks and crannies to permanently reside in.

As cliche as it sounds, it was a nice reminder that home is where the heart is. Home isn’t defined by an address. It is defined by the love and the life that seep into its walls.

I will miss the quirky little farmhouse…But I’ve taken the best parts of it with me.