olympic dreams

There's nothing like the Olympics to make you feel so inspired yet, at the same time, so wildly unaccomplished. When there's a 16 year-old winning her 18th medal in the such and such competition, it makes you think...what have I done so far in my life? I'm 28 and, sadly, clearly too old to ever be an Olympian. I mean, let's be honest, I didn't have it in me at 16 either but at least I could have. Youth was on my side. Now I'm not sure what's on my side. 

But, you know who does have youth on their side? Charleigh and Logan. Not that I would ever push my children into sports.{Especially, if they take after me at all in the athletic department. Poor girls wouldn't stand a chance. But don't those Olympic commercials with the sacrificial/so proud parents just get you?!?} Plus, we're already a good 9 months behind other countries who choose an event and start training their little fetus in the womb. BUT if they somehow did happen to be athletic and they were good at something, what would that be? 

P-dubs and I obviously think our little pair would do awesome as a...pair. So we're thinking beach volleyball (NO bikinis, though ;) ) or synchronized diving or maybe gymnastics. I actually wasn't the absolute worst at volleyball. {Definitely wasn't good though, either.} And with uncles that are 7' 3" and 6' 9", we're thinking they might be tall. Totally an advantage, right? And I'm not sure they'll have the same edge as identical twins but being with each other from conception has got to help at least a little with being in sync during a synchronized dive. As a matter of fact, so far I haven't had many oh-my-word-they're-twins moments, but at one point today, when they were eating some puffs, they picked one up and brought it to their mouths EXACTLY the same at the EXACT same moment. Same facial expression. Same chewing. It creeped me out for a second. But that could bode really well for future synchronized diving gold medals.

Looks like a gymnastics move, no?

Excuse the blurry pictures. Future Olympians hardly ever hold still.

Me? A future Olympian?

Teammates that play together...win gold medals together.

 Except that they would have to dive from three stories up. At a rate of about 35mph. Into a not-nearly-deep-enough-looking pool. Be still, my mama heart. We'll stick with synchronized puff eating. And volleyball if they insist. Or maybe just crawling. Or foot chewing. Or sleeping.  {Just kidding. Goodness knows, they wouldn't even medal in the sleep Olympics. But, synchronized eating? We've got that on lockdown.}

Working on getting in sync...or 'N Sync? Ha.

Never mind. Just watched the girls' US gymnastic team win gold. Getting all pooly over here. Totally pushing the girls into a sport. 2028 Olympics better watch out. ; )

go usa! {or Logan learning to clap}

IMG 0223 from Devan Minor on Vimeo.

Look who learned to clap just in time to cheer on team USA at the Olympics?! Whose child is that? Because mine are certainly not old enough to be doing things like crawling and waving and clapping.

{The Olympics are also the perfect reason to don Fourth of July outfits again. We love red, white, and blue.}

oh goodness

For the past two months, this is what life has looked like around here:

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But not anymore. I was convinced for a little while that Charleigh might never crawl. She showed zero interest. Z.e.r.o. And, honestly, that was just fine with me. She would sit happily and play while her sister {literally} crawled circles around her. She watched her sister get into all sorts of things. Magazines. Boxes. The dog cage. Laundry. But she would not be moved. 

That all changed last night when, tempted by a sweet potato puff, sweet C crawled for the first time. {Baby after her mom's own heart.} I now have two crawling babies. Two. Going in two different directions. Two. And in case the pictures didn't quite show it, you should know that Lola is downright crazy and fearless. My only goal today was to buy a play yard. Order has been restored to the universe. Or at least to this tiny townhouse. 

we're back!

Ten days, 3 flights, 1 Penske truck, thousands of memories, 5 trips for Bobby Sue's ice cream, 1 wedding, 6 dump runs, 1 all nighter, and  we're home safe and sound. And utterly exhausted. But my mom is successfully packed up and currently on the road to Charlotte!

Dionne and I flew back early Thursday morning. With two babies. And my grandma. Who broke her hip 8 weeks ago. Oh my goodness, were we ever a sight. Talk about needing extra time to board the plane. Yikes. Apparently, the aunt who was supposed to be overseeing my gram's packing job was either not that thorough or hadn't flown in a long time. Gram made it through security with not only a knife-like letter opener but also a pair of large sewing scissors. Don't worry, though, she was able to keep both because the letter opener wasn't pointy or serrated {looked pretty pointy to me} and the scissors were less than four inches {barely}. I, on the other hand, had to give up the ice pack that goes with my Medela pump because it wasn't frozen. (I've flown three times without it frozen but whatever, Trevor.) 

Oh, and, I received my first ever pat-down because traces of something were detected on my bag. I don't know what that 'something' could be but I got a pat-down while my scissor-wielding grandma didn't even have to take off her shoes. {Which I'm very glad about because it's kind of a process to get them on and off in her current state.} It's ok though. It was kind of like a quick, awkward, public massage. Which I needed at that point. 

When we landed in Charlotte we ran into the doctor who delivered the sisters. Love her. She was on her way to Delaware for a family reunion and gave me a big hug. Which was the second awkward experience of the day because I was holding Gram's cane, my diaper bag, Gram's bag, and a baby. None of which are hug conducive. But it made my morning, for sure. 

And then we saw Raymond Felton. So it was a pretty interesting trip home. 

I'm so proud of my mom for packing up her life and leaving a place she's known for 25 years. I'm unbelievably excited that my girls will grow up with two amazing grandmothers that are close by. I can't wait for mom to get here. Although, I can wait for the whole unpacking the truck thing. 

packing up

Why are my children being contained in a circa 1991 play pen? While playing with a Fisher Price ring toy that's even older than that? Because we're in NEW HAMPSHIRE packing up my mom to move her down to Charlotte. And wouldn't you know she saved such things in case her grandkids came to visit some day? Craziness. I never thought my mom would leave NH. I guess the lure of two babies was just too much for her grandma heart. I don't blame her and we're unbelievably excited to have her and my grandma closer. But in order to get them there my sister and I need to help her pack up a house with 25 years and four kids worth of stuff. Which is really hard because 'you never know when you might want that first paper from kindergarten that Mrs. Wills put a smiley face on.' 

So far Dionne and I have packed up our childhood rooms. During which time these things may have been said {mostly by Dionne}. 

• 'I'm just getting rid of everything. Except maybe my Elvis stuff, Mary-Kate and Ashley stuff, and my 'N Sync dolls.' Dionne was a hardcore teeny bopper.
• Me: 'Oh my word. Throw that away.' Dionne: 'What?? No way. Cheer hair is expensive!' {I had no idea this girl owned cheer hair. Must have been when I was at college.}
• 'Nice crown.'
• 'Wait, You mean you don't want the cows from Indonesia?!'

a fourth of july name story

We love the Fourth of July around here. After two full days of the symphony, parades, a baseball game, cook outs, and a lot of fireworks we are t.i.r.e.d. 

The Fourth has always been a big deal in our family and we celebrate big time. I had a hamburger and a hot dog in one day, for goodness sakes. That's a great day. And if there's ever a day where I should talk about the importance of one of the girls' names, the Fourth is it. Charleigh Grace was named after a patriot, a veteran, a preacher. A man whose reach and influence I'll probably never fully know in this lifetime. He was my ride to school more days than I could count, my encourager, my spiritual example, my short-order breakfast cook. He was an artist, an evangelist, a carpenter, a pastor, a friend. But most importantly, to me, he was my Papa. 

Charles Mark Grover 

Although he went by Mark for most of his adult life (or Mahk as it sounded from all the New Englanders), a few close childhood friends would still call him Charlie and he often referred to my mom and Aunt Lou as 'Charlie's Angels.'  So in honor of a man who loved this country, served this country, and prayed unceasingly for this country, I wanted to take some time to remember him. 

My grandma and grandpa moved in to help my mom raise us four kids when my parents separated when we were little. I don't really remember a time he wasn't there. He would wake us up with a clap and  'Awake unto righteousness and sin not for there are some who have not the knowledge of the gospel and I say this to our shame' or a rousing chorus of some old Navy song. He rode bikes with us, took us camping, forced convinced us to sing at church, prayed with us, watched baseball with us, dragged us hither and yon to visit friends or minister to people he heard were down and out, joked with us, watched the news with us, loved on us. In the 15 years I lived with him I remember him raising his voice maybe 3 times. And the four of us could really be a handful. Especially, me {ahem, red-headed temper}. I mean, Dionne. She was always the toughest. 

I went to his Alma Mater for college. And even after I moved down to Charlotte to teach he remained a part of my daily life. Those first few years teaching I would call him almost every morning on the way to school. He would have a verse he just read that day or up-lifting words that somehow encouraged me in just the right way. He listened to my worries about my class and prayed for my kids.

 He led a truly exceptional and full life. He was a gymnast, served in the Navy, became a pastor, and used his artistic talent to reach people with chalk art. People from Hawaii to Haiti knew who he was. One of the times I'm most blessed by and truly cherish was the week I spent in Haiti with him my senior year of high school. During the 50's and 60's, Papa helped a native Haitian plant churches in Port-au-Prince and a few small towns close to there. {Truly a sight back then, I'm sure, when a just-over-five foot white New Englander teams up with a well-over-six-foot black Haitian during a time when the color of ones' skin led to judgement and exclusion even within the church.} I remember seeing the churches, orphanages, and schools that had blossomed from the toil of two regular men and the awe I felt at the influence God allowed them to have. 

You couldn't go anywhere in our corner of New Hampshire where 'the pastor' hadn't left his mark. He was truly loved by many. But, for all the greatness his ministry was, he still cooked breakfast for the four of us almost every morning after finding out whether we felt like french toast, waffles, or eggs. He still took us to swimming lessons or dance class when my mom wasn't able to. He still entertained us for hours with stories about Taylor and the Navy and his childhood. He took time for us because he knew we were his ministry as much as any church he had served. And for that, I will always be grateful. 

I'll never forget the call from my mom saying Papa had died. It was very unexpected. He was up getting ready for church, going over his sermon notes for the day. No one had the slightest clue that in a few hours he would step from time into eternity into the presence of the Savior he loved so dearly. I'm sure he heard the precious words: 'Well, done.'  My heart was broken but my soul was glad. People flew in from all over the country for his memorial service and, again, I was in awe of the sheer number of people he had touched in his life. 

I think of him every day and there are still days where I have to catch my breath at the thought that he is gone for now. I remember standing on Paul's porch before we were even engaged and talking to Papa on his last Fourth of July. {Calling Papa on the Fourth of July was equivalent to the importance of calling him on his birthday.} He was so proud to be an American, so concerned for the state of our country, so loyal to the United States. I remember we talked about a book that was coming out that he thought I should read and about something he had seen on Fox News and, of course, how the Red Sox were doing. 

I so wished he could have been here to meet the girls. He would have loved them like no other. He would have been over the moon about twins. {He probably wouldn't have been as thrilled about my naming a girl Charlie but, hey...} Still, I feel unbelievably thankful for the time that I had with him and blessed to have had a grandpa that was more like a father. A man that I knew so well and learned so much from. A man that molded so many childhood memories and laid the foundation for the faith I have today. A man that in one second could call to memory the verse needed for the moment and in the next make a joke that my mom was taking 'longer and longer to shore up the ol' ship.' A man who drank coffee milk and had to have the fan turned off during supper so his food wouldn't get too cold. A man who was far from perfect but rested in the perfection of his Savior. 

I'm sad that, in this life,  Charleigh will never know the man she is named after but I'm thankful for such a meaningful legacy to tell her about some day. I pray that her faith will be strong like her great-grandpa's, that she lives life to the fullest like he did, that she loves others selflessly and fully, and that she finds joy in the little things. I hope that someday she will feel so proud to carry his name. I pray that I will be able to live a life like my Papa in front of these girls. I pray that I will be a prayer warrior like him, a patriot, and, most importantly, a daughter of the King. 

I miss him so much it still hurts sometimes. I'll never have a Fourth of July where I don't think of him and will most certainly tear up every time I hear 'Anchors Aweigh.' 

 But I know I will see him again. Until then, as he loved to say, I have 'all this and heaven, too.' 

Charleigh Girl, you are named after one amazing man and the grace he wanted the world to know. I can't wait to tell you about him and see the plans that God has for your life!