A single mom to three boys working hard to live my truest life. I hope as I share the beauty, the gratitude, the grief, the hard…you find inspiration + hope to show up to your life as honestly as possible.
All in Mama Bear
To raise boys into men feels sacred & important. Maybe I overthink everything (I do), but maybe it’s because I feel the way society has (quite poorly) raised men so far is due to not thinking enough.
Im not a man-hater. I don’t think alllll men suck. Im aware there are plenty of women who kinda suck too.
I can tend to overwhelm my kids with heavier emotions & realities. It’s something I have to pay really close attention to, intentionally mother in the tension of honesty + age-appropriate conversations.
He comes with me everywhere. To photoshoots, work at home, socially distanced drinks with a girlfriend, therapy, errand runs, he even came to my pedi with Brianna.
When Sage + Ira were babies, they also joined me on many adventures & to work. I wore them on my body constantly, yes because I love baby wearing but also because it was the only way they wouldn’t scream. And still they’d cry often.
I’ve never been one to spend money on unnecessary things. When Uber Eats and Grub Hub and the grocery delivery apps started popping up in recent years, they tempted me but I really knew I shouldn’t be spending a few extra dollars to have someone deliver me food when I could easily go get it.
Sure, it’s a lot to take two toddlers to grocery shop, I thought, but moms have been doing hard things forever.
Then 2020 hit us and COVID-19 rocked all of our worlds.
My journey to a VBAC starts with the AC part…After Cesarean. (as they all do)
We got back to our coparenting schedule this week and let’s just say our mornings have been wonderful! We start slow, with a cup of coffee, some cereal and chocolate milk, snuggles, worship music.
HOWEVER. Somewhere too soon throughout the day, Sage & Ira start reminding me this transition is hard on them
We didn’t take these for “progress pics” we took these to celebrate my postpartum body.
It has accepted, hosted, nurtured, and delivered another human 😭
This is to the 7+ doctors in 4 different Maternal Fetal Med clinics that told me I should induce at 39 wks, “or better yet” just schedule a repeat cesarean:
My son Kahlil Quintin joined our family Thursday, July 23, 2020 at 11:41 pm :)
I am working on my labor + delivery story and cannot wait to share it!
Here are some images from right after his birth + meeting his big brothers.
Every time we see brown bodies abused or murdered, it hits me on a visceral level. That could’ve been Hakeem, Kevin, Mike, LaMrkus, Andre, or Josh. It could have been Christina, Brandie, Jazmon, or Jess. The list of lives it could have been goes on as the list of lives it should have never been goes on.
Today marks your 4th turn around the sun,
And son, I love you.
Your tender heart will tear hatred apart,
I’m working to raise you intentionally.
That good ole monthly flow should have started Monday, November 11. I was sure it would, I kept telling myself it would, because why wouldn’t it?
I struggled to conceive when I was adamantly trying — and married, have you — and had lost two in the first trimester. The last one we said goodbye to was after two thriving ultra sounds, a heart beating to prove its life. Then on May 11, 2018 I lost that baby so fast and so painfully, I couldn’t imagine trying to put myself through this again.
When we added our two daughters via foster care, I quickly sent Adrianne an email asking her if we could purchase two more little wooden people to add to our family! She sent them to us as a gift, and I about cried.
I also ordered another big canvas like the one pictured above our couch, from our photoshoot together as a family of six! It is this picture here and it hangs at the top of our stairs reflecting our family now that it has grown, for at least now.
Typically, when December 25th comes to a close, December 31st appears suddenly and far too quickly. Much like a junebug on a windshield.
I usually take that week to mull over the year, swoon over sweetness and sit in any sour. I like to remember and cherish and give a voice to all the parts of the year I can recall. I'm not really into setting big goals or themes or words for the coming year, because the truth is I forget about them quickly. If I want to do something, I will do it, and it doesn't need to be at the start of a new year.
2017 was an intense year in its entirety.
It held more hospital stays, more possible diagnoses, more school for Loren, our second son turning one (two one year olds!), more working from home for me, more eagerness to become foster parents...I wrote and self-published an entire book, I grew my photography business into our sole income (yikes this is still so scary), we put together a life-style documentary with Jeremiah Wilson, and all the other in between life things that were lived.
I remember etching our family plans into a napkin at our two-year anniversarydinner.
We were eating at Rio in Sisters, Oregon and I couldn’t wait to get back to the little cabin we had rented to watch Harry Potter and dream about babies. Weird combo? Probably.
First we would conceive and carry a miracle baby in my actual womb. Then after a bit of time had passed, after we got “the easy one” birthed, we would enter into the adoption world.
I will never forget the week leading to Sage's second birthday. It will forever mark a time in our life where the absolute grace of God was on our family.
When his second birthday finally arrived, I couldn't have been more grateful to call myself his mama. The gratitude of being his has always run deep, but after our previous week, it was ten fold.
I stared at him sleeping soundly far past his usual waking hour, and saw his features resembling more of a kid than a baby.
You guys. This is such a wild ride, this whole four babes under two years.
There are many times I am wishing a drone was following me around, recoding our ridiculous reality.
I wish you could see us load and unload the van — ha! We have to go through the trunk and over the back seat for Sage and Ira, and it makes me giggle 60% of the time (the other 40% I am being kicked in the face).
On Christmas Eve Eve, we thought it would be a really great idea to go on a 3 mile walk for a terrible coffee. What else would you do with four 23+ pound children, one stroller, and in 31 degree windy weather? We are so smart and active you guys. We are so Oregonian. So we walked and we regretted and everyone slept for the first half but everyone then cried for the second half.
If I'm honest though, right now I sort of feel like someone might feel after having a pile of bricks dumped on them, after just being thrown approximately 1500 babies to care for.
It's 8 pm on a Monday evening when they join our family.
Nothing came with them but the clothes on their bodies, 4 toys, some diapers, and an old Mickey Mouse bag.
Our community rallied with car seats and pack n plays and formula while I did a quick run to Safeway for whole milk and bananas. Safeway gift cards were emailed, some Paypal gifts, extra Amazon Christmas gifts, and a giant Target run full of warm jackets and matching outfits.
I want my son growing up proud of his blackness.
I hope he claims it, celebrates it, finds confidence in it.
People already ask me, "What is he?" From talking with my friends of color, I know this question won't stop when he's old enough to respond for himself, and will continue through his life.
I usually say, "Biracial," unless I'm feeling really snarky, then I smile and say, "A toddler."
Saying my son is biracial is true, yes, but often times I wonder if it is doing him a disservice in the long run: our world is very black and white. It just is. For now he is a super cute and extremely adorable toddler. But soon enough he will be a 15 year old black teen, looking like an 18-20 year old black man.
