For All the Mom's

My mom forwarded this to me in an e-mail. Alot of times I don't even read forwards, but I'm glad I read this one.


I'm invisible....... It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the DisneyChannel?' I'm a car to order, 'Pick me up right around 5:30, please.' I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -- but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going ... she's going ... she's gone! One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England . Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.' It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: 'To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.' In the days ahead I would read -- no, devour -- the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals-- we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything. A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because God sees.' I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.' At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree. When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand-bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'You're gonna love it there.' As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Trunk or Treat

Today was the Halloween Trunk or Treat at the school. Because of bad weather it ended up being indoors - Table or Treat - but we had a great time regardless. I was so glad to get a picture of Max's little smile.

The Scent of Autumn

I could smell it on her when she picked me up from the airport, and so I knew she was doing it again. It's the same every year, her passion, her obsession, her art. My mom was canning again.

Every October her garden full of tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers and other items is harvested and she begins the marathon. She makes salsa, chile sauce, pickels, relish, spaghetti sauce, pears and peaches, pepper jelly, and grape juice. She happily invites anyone who takes an interest in the process to become a participant - even offering to come to Missouri to teach me. My sister in law Crystal has learned the skill, I have not - although I have spent 28 years watching, so I've got an idea of what goes on. I prefer to simply benefit from her labors.

As a teenager I loved and hated my mothers need to preserve. I loved the chile sauce on my eggs, salsa and chips on Sunday afternoon, and mustard pickles with ham. I loved the warm smell in the house when I walked in out of the rain, I hated the smell on my clothes as I walked back out. When mom is canning, every corner of the house is filled with the smell, and it sticks for a while. I remember going to high school and knowing that everyone within three square feet of me could smell me - onions, garlic, peppers. I must admit I was embarrassed. Who would ever think that one day I would miss that smell, and so many others. Sometimes during this time of year I walk into my house and something within me expects to smell the sauce, or her cinnamon rolls. It's just a simple part of fall, and I am dissapointed when it is not there. I could try to duplicate it, but it's not just the sauce that I miss, it's my mom. It's knowing that she is going to be home, in the kitchen, and available for several hours of talk because she won't be moving from the stove. My mom made this food to fill our bellies, but really she was filling our hearts - creating something that all of us know is part of the season.

At this moment I smell like onions, peppers, and garlic again, so do both of my children. Quincy, Max, and I are visiting, and Mom is doing spaghetti sauce. I wonder if someday Quincy will smell tomatoes simmering and think of grandma, candy corn, and cousins. I hope she does. This afternoon I will be proud when I go to the grocery store and realize that the clerk is smelling me, because the smell is part of home, and home is precious.

What Did I Do, What Would You Do

I was so excited. Tonight I had arranged for Israel to take care of the kids (it's not called babysitting when you're the dad, right?) while I went to a play that the local theatre group was doing - No Sex Please, We're British. It's been a long time since I got to go do something fun just for myself and by myself, so I was looking forward to a couple hours of entertainment. Well, I got to the Arts Center and found out that the play had been sold out. Now I had a decision to make. Israel had agreed to be in charge for at least two hours, so technically I could use that time to do whatever I wanted. I could go to the library and actually look around and find a book and read it without chasing a toddler through the building. I could go to the school and watch something on TV and just chill out. I could walk down the street one block to the pizza place and get a Ronza and read the book I had in my purse The Canterbury Tales. Or, I could go home, let Israel off the hook, and put the kids to bed. What do you think I did? What would you have done? Take my poll, and I will reveal my choice next week!

Lucky To Be So Loved

These kids love their Grandma and Grandpa and aunts and uncles, they can't wait to see everybody this weekend! They do expect to have several gifts and treats waiting, as usual, when they arrive ;)

My Little Ballerina

Quincy started a dance class yesterday, and she LOVED it. It was the cutest thing - a herd of toddlers dancing around to lively music, they were all taking their dancing so seriously. She wants to live in her ballerina outfit.

My absolute favourite picture of Max - what a sweetie pie.