the bump

 

 So...since a few people have asked, I thought I'd clear up any wonderings anyone might have about C's bump.  {Or her "bug bite" as our friend's two-year-old calls it. Must have been a reeeeally big bug.} A lot of people are sweet and pretend they don't notice it. {P-dubs and I were at lunch with one of his co-workers last week and Paul mentioned something about her bump and he said, 'Oh, I didn't even notice...' Puh-lease. You're sweet, not blind. That thing is hard NOT to notice.} 

The technical term for this bump is infantile haemangioma (hemangioma). Most people just call it a strawberry mark. It's an overgrowth of blood vessels and will eventually fade away. It's most common in Caucasians--particularly females and twins. No one is quite sure the cause of strawberry marks but our pediatrician has assured us that it's nothing to worry about and that it doesn't bother her a bit. 

Some people are quite taken back by it...I guess since it grew slowly, I don't really notice it. I notice that girl's wicked long eye lashes and silly, expressive face first. For now, it's a pretty convenient way for people who don't know the girls that well to tell them apart. It's the only way our little nephew knows which baby is which. For all the complications that could have come with a twin pregnancy, I'll take this. She's our little unicorn. {Not a little rhinoceros as P-dubs once called her until I kindly pointed out that it didn't have quite the same connotation as a unicorn. Kind of like when he called me a manatee. He means well. But we'll stick with unicorn.}

one month

Flashback: 1 month (before I got my new camera lens). These are only 3 months late. I feel ok about it. And I'm sure I'll get more timely.

 

Lola

5 pounds 12 ounces

19 and 3/8 inches

 

Sweet C

7 pounds 5 ounces

21 inches

Were they really ever this little?!?

perfection

Esther is one of my favorite books of the Bible. {We actually considered naming one of the girls Esther but went with the entirely more logical choice to name them both with boy names. Which isn't confusing at all to anyone. Ever.  Especially when we spelled 'Charlie' Charleigh.  Apparently, this can be pronounced a number of ways including the most common 'Shar-lay' pronunciation. When the doctor's office calls to remind us about appointments, they don't even attempt it. It's always for 'Logan' and 'a member of your family.' But they mean something, gosh darn it. Which I have also been meaning to write about.} 


I just love Esther. For so many reasons--it's amazing to me that the book never actually mentions God but throughout the course of the story His character is revealed in so many ways. I've been doing a Beth Moore study about Esther. {I have a love/not-so-much-love relationship with Beth Moore. Sometimes her studies are exactly what I need and sometimes I think her comparisons of Biblical feasts to her setting out her fine China are a little silly. I doubt those two compare at all but I appreciate her effort to try to relate for us commoners.} Anyways. I haven't been reading this study everyday because I'm also reading about the power of prayer for my husband and going through Oswald Chambers' My Utmost for His Highest again. {Love me some Oswald.} So needless to say I don't get to ALL of these everyday and it's taking me a long time to get through it. The latest chapter I read was the part where Esther risked her life by approaching King Xerxes without being summoned. What struck me as I was reading Beth Moore's commentary on this was that Esther (most likely) was as scared as anyone of us would be in that situation. Did she feel perfectly ready to do that? Doubtful. And if she had waited until she felt perfectly ready her people would have suffered some horrible things. And Beth asked the question: " Do we believe that the only way to do something acceptably is to do it perfectly?" I fall into that trap A TON. If I can't do it exactly perfectly (in my mind) then why bother? But God doesn't call us to be perfect. We can't be and He knows that. I wasn't a perfect teacher and I won't be a perfect mother. {Case in point: These girls are clearly not identical and they seemed so different from the second they were born but while we were in the hospital in my oh-so-groggy state I accidentally fed the same baby twice until I suddenly realized I had the wrong baby. Which was hilarious and sad all at the same time.}


 I need to let go of my perfectionism because it's really more debilitating than empowering. If people waited until things felt 'perfect' to get married or have babies, I think the human race would have died out long ago. I need to rework my idea of the ideal. I can do my best job without expecting perfection from myself and others in my life. And I can live my best life without the expectation of perfection. Definitely a work in progress. 

My new perfection? Two happy, sleepy babies safe and sound in a house that has dishes in the sink and carpets in terrible need of a good vacuuming. Howie should really start earning his keep around here and help a mama out. 

our littlest valentines

And then they fell over...

valentines day

Last year I wrote about the importance of the day after Valentines Day. And I still think it's more important to show love the 364 other days of the year because you want to than on one day because you're supposed to. Still, I'm an elementary teacher at heart and I love any and all holidays. This was by far the best one I've ever had. No fancy dinner like last year or gobs of candy from students. But I got a heart-shaped Bo-berry biscuit and coffee delivered to me in bed by the most handsome Valentine I could imagine. And, considering this particular Valentine is most decidedly not a morning person, this says a lot. Must be love. Sigh. (And, bonus, he has also given me the two sweetest little Valentines I ever did see...)

We love love around here.

in honor of my valentine

...A little trip down memory lane. I wrote this for our wedding website about two years ago: the story of how we met. So epic. 

P-dubs was the first person I met on my very first night in Charlotte.  After a stressful and very hot two day trip down from NH (think breaking down outside of DC, two mattresses and three people in a station wagon…), I arrived at the house in Huntersville to find that the water had not been turned on yet. In an attempt to wash away some memory of the trip, my sister Dionne and I headed over to the other Taylor girls’ Mallard Creek apartment to take advantage of their newly cultivated Southern hospitality (ahem…shower). Upon walking into the apartment, I noticed Paul amongst the crowd of Taylor girls there to celebrate Erica’s birthday with some Coldstone cake.  I was a little too captivated with the thought of a warm, cleansing shower to form any thoughts beyond that--but my sister would later say he reminded her of Oprah’s designer, Nate Berkus. (Don’t worry, I had to Google him , too.) After our showers, as we sat there with wet hair and no make up (but feeling a lot better), I DID notice he was wearing khaki shorts and boat shoes. Hmmm…boat shoes…people in NH don’t wear those unless they're actually on a boat. And I must say, that was the best ice cream cake I’ve ever had.

Fast forward a couple months later after fall get-togethers, football games, volley ball tournaments in the park, and a drastic hair cut on my part (another story COMPLETELY)…Paul and I began to hang out more often.  Then we saw each other almost every day. Then we were dating but “not really dating.” And somehow at the end of that summer it was official…don’t ask me how or when.  And certainly, don’t ask him.  My roommates might know… but then again I lost a bet with them about this exact topic and ended up running a half marathon. 

Fast forward two years later after nephews born, sisters married, beloved grandparents lost, wonderful new friends made, old friendships strengthened, trips to hither and yon, boy hair cut grown out (praise the Lord), an inordinate amount of sporting events, and umpteen stories about my class (that he so patiently listens to)….and we are convinced that God’s best for us is for us to be together. Forever (or at least 60 or so years).  Boat shoes and all. 

The Beautiful Mess

Still love him. And his boat shoes. I'll take at least 70 more years. Thank you very much. 

moms of multiples

Today I ventured out of my house sans my two babes to a terrifying place called the Moms of Multiples Consignment Sale. First of all, it's funny to think of my girls as multiples. I mean, I realize there are two of them which makes them 'multiple.' But they are so different sometimes I forget they're twins. Maybe if they were identical I would feel differently. Anyways. These people don't kid around about their sales. Lined up for the new/expectant moms shopping hour, I literally felt like I was about to enter the Hunger Games (see conversation below...maybe I should stop reading those books...)

Or at least a Black Friday shopping experience on steroids. {And I hate Black Friday. It makes me sick to my stomach. I think everyone should boycott it next year. When people are brawling over $2 waffle makers, I think society needs to check itself.} These women don't come with bags. They come with laundry baskets. As I walked into the expo center for the regular shopping hours, I could see other moms sizing each other up. Checking out the competition. I am not nearly competitive enough to be an issue for these moms but I still made it out of there with two bouncy seats, two swings, two baby Bjornes, an exersaucer, a jumparoo, two doorway jumpers, carseat mirrors, a bumbo, a bottle drying rack, and enough clothes to last until they're 1. I think that's pretty good.  I'd like to consider myself the Katniss of the consignment sale. And now I'm exhausted.