Transitioning to TaraDell Tells

I have been blogging about” The adventures of Eric and his brother Noah with plenty of Momma’s commentary. And sometimes Dad’s” since 2006.  The blog was initially started by my husband as a way to keep friends and family updated on Eric’s developmental milestones after he was born at 26 weeks and 2 day gestation. For those of you who don’t speak “weeks”, that is 3.5 months before his due date. I was only 6.5 months pregnant.

As Eric has gotten bigger, stronger, older, and become a big brother to Noah, the blog transitioned to document many of the everyday normal joys and adventures of parenting. Today Eric’s blog feels more like a celebration of entering an unfamiliar, scary, and uncertain world and then, coming out on the other side with more joy and laughter than you could imagine.


Please don’t puke at the gushiness of that statement! I am ripping my hair out, spinning in circles, and sometimes screaming (hardly every really) as much as the next normal parent. Parents to preemies, however have another tool in the tool box when it comes to not losing their minds to the day to day circus that is raising a family. You can remember what really hard is. You can remember that this is all small stuff so long as everyone is safe and healthy. Notice I didn’t say happy. Happy is something no parent can be 100% responsible for and boy, I really piss my boys off sometimes. Good. I am their mother.

My preemie is no longer a preemie, but we are still effected by our preemie story. I feel it everyday. It is this feeling that sparked yet another positive transition, launching TaraDell Tells. This transition involves me growing as a human, mother, writer, wife and sharing it with others who might relate and learn and grow along with me.


When you become a parent to a preemie everything you previously knew in your life falls away. Every ounce of your being is focused on that little baby. What happens after your baby comes home and is safe and healthy? Everything was filtered out and what returns are the things that are important. You also see old joys, challenges, and desires with new eyes. For example, I realized my work is not brain surgery, so Chill on it. Running is freedom, so smile while doing it. Obsessive compulsive disorder is nothing anyone should handle on their own, so share more and ask for help.




What little boys are made of

The age-old nursery rhyme says girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice and boys are made of snips, snails, and puppy dog tales.

Today, as Noah and I parted for the day and he sent me off with a kiss. For the first time Noah blew me a kiss.

Yes, he enjoys making dirt angels and thinks food in his hair is funny (literally will place food in his hair and proclaim “FUN -ny”) but there  is no denying he is sweeter than sugar and full of spice.

I am a biased Momma for sure but, my boys are exceptionally sweet and I have met some little girls at the playground who were not so “sugar & spice” and how dare the treat me little men like that!  Funny to think that all men were once precious little boys. The thought of it has found me being a little bit nicer in those moments where I am  just a little irritated by the seemingly skillful way men can look right at you while you are talking and not hear a word you have said, or their incredible ability to look right through what it is they just can not find.

My boys are not immune to these traits and Eric has demonstrated these gender skills quite well already. Ladies, we can hardly hold it against them because clearly these traits are necessary to survive our genetic trait for being so bossy. We ladies are born delagaters and directors and it starts on the playground.

Here is a video of my boys being sweet boys and doing that playful wrestling-thing that I commonly witness grown men still enjoy. You know, those friendly sucker-punches.

They are joy in action and every day I look at them think “they are as little as they will ever be so don’t let the moments escape you.”

Church in the mountains


As I got older I used Sunday as a ski day rather than a church with a steeple day. My mom would say to me “what about church” and I exclaimed to her that I was closer to God on that mountain. At the time I meant higher in the sky. But later I reflected on that statement and thought well, damn, I am a lot closer to God on the mountain. That transcended into being closer to God on the mat, on a run, just plain out in nature. That was my time to get in touch with my spiritual side and connect to something much greater than me.

There is so much in this world that can not be explained and by faith we just choose to except it. Somethings can be chalked up to nothing more than magic divinity. The story of Jesus is one, the seven wonders of the world another, and our bodies even another. As much as I search not everything has an explanation and it feels good to just believe in the magic. I hope I can teach this magic, that feeling that takes your breath away at the top of the mountain or gives you total freeness, to my children.