I’m so glad you’ve stopped by my little blog for a bit.  Pull up a chair (tablet or phone these days), grab some tea, and let me tell ya about myself.  I’m Rose. I am wife to one hunky fireman and mother to three of the most amazing creatures God ever created.  I am a born and raised Texan, food fanatic, inexperienced outdoorsperson, haphazard gardener, and disaster crafter.  My life is an adventure as I embark to keep a spark in my marriage, wrangle two sweet but ornery little boys, and one fierce but precious baby girl.

On my blog, I share tidbits from my adventures in motherhood: the cherished moments, shared meals, and joyful disorder.  I hope you can find a little dose of happy, funny, or yummy to add to your journey of life.

Click here to read my first post explaining the blog name, S’more Mom.  Since then, the baby girl has started school and I have returned to the classroom.  Please feel free to comment or ask questions! Follow me and my posts will come right to your inbox. You can also find me on Facebook, Twitter, and Pinterest.

Regards from our home,

Rose

Bless our hearts…the people in my adventures & moments…

Man, my husband

What can I say?  He holds open the door.  The green eyes don’t hurt either.

He’s a man’s man. He hunts, fishes, fights fire, doesn’t cry, argues, wrestles with the boys…. a “can handle anything” guy. Sometimes I think he would much prefer to end some discussions by throwing me over his shoulder and heading for the cave. Man is the most persistent person I know. He also has this really thoughtful, listen to you, loyal, honest, and super soft side.

Man is the first person I went  school with that I could completely be myself with. He’s seen me at my best and at my worst and he loves me the same. I’m so blessed he is the person I have built my life with, and I really can’t imagine my life without him.  He is the most brilliantly awesome dad I have ever witnessed. He truly loves our children, and makes huge sacrifices to put our family first.

There was not a character in literature or history that could compare, so in my posts, I simply call him Man. If Jesus is my rock, well then Man is that one hundred and fifty year oak tree that has weathered all storms and whose roots are so deep it will not waver for years to come. If you know him, trust me, it fits.

My mama

She never met a stranger and loves to tell a good story.  Mama is that voice in my head.  Telling me to respect myself, respect others, and mind my manners.  She is that blurred memory from childhood, faded picture in my album, and soft smile after a long day.  She, in part, inspired me to be a stay at home mom and make the most of my time with my little ones.   She taught me all about killing flies with honey over vinegar, to cross my legs, smile at people, that a little mystery never hurt anyone, and what it means to be good and do good.  How could I possibly write about motherhood without her being part of it?

My girls

I wouldn’t say I’ve ever had a giant circle of do-or-die-with-you-till-the-bitter-end-friends, but I’ve been lucky enough to have a few.  These ladies are the kind of gals that will pick you up when you fall down (and if they can’t, they lie down and listen for awhile).  They are the instigators, supporters, schemers, and motivators pushing me along.  The one most referenced is J, whom I met in college and has stuck with me ever since.

In a Texas story, there’s always a long version…

I maintain the argument that I’m not spoiled, just well-loved.  I am by no means a diva, but I wouldn’t want to compare hardships with many.  I’m not happy all day every day, but I am glad.  Every day.  I would pick up and move to the beach tomorrow. I love it there – the sound, the smell…the sand.  More often than not, people underestimate me, and I am perfectly okay with that.

I believe in wearing pearls, cloth napkins at the dinner table, writing thank you notes, rose bushes in the yard, and drinking iced tea.  I should have more patience, but I can blame that on being a product of the microwave generation.  I like spring evenings, Robert Frost, Monet, and George Strait.  Chocolate should be it’s own food group and macaroni and cheese qualifies as a vegetable.

Other posts that help explain where I’m coming from…six months in & Mother-dom.