This Week In Pictures for Grandma and Grandpa

Mom and Dad, I know some of these pictures are small, but you can click on them to see them larger.

Max is as cute as ever. I came home from the grocery store one day to find that his father had proped him up on the couch by the door to make it look like he had been waiting for me for hours.

Quincy's at a stage right now where she pretty much doesn't eat any food for several days, and then she stocks up and eats like a horse for a day or two. Here we are trying to get her to eat her stroganoff - she ended up going for stuffing.

While we were in St.Louis over Thanksgiving break we took Quincy to Faust Park. This is an 80 year old indoor carousel - we loved it!

We also took her to a children's museum called The Magic House - she had a great time. Here she is catching "fish", working in a construction site, and playing at the water station.

Quincy has started "helping" me cook quite a bit - she likes to stir things like cupcakes, brownies, and here she is working on chocolate rice krispy treats

A few days ago I was busy reading someone's blog

and kept ignoring the little voice that was saying "mom, can you get me out of here?" After several minutes I finally turned around to see Quinn swinging in Max's swing - it's a good that that I though it was hilarious, or she would have been in BIG trouble. You just can't send a kid to the time-out chair when you're cracking-up, it confuses them.

Quincy got a new "kitchen" for her birthday. She really enjoys playing with it when someone else is playing with her - but she doesn't enjoy playing on her own yet. She's gotten into some stage right now that whenever she sees the camera she turns the other way, so this is the best shot I have where it's not just the back of her head!

Israel and I gave Quincy her first bank about 15 months ago. Everyday we empty our pockets and she gets all the pennies, nickels and dimes. Her bank was getting pretty full, so we emptied it and took it to the bank to get counted. We could not believe it - she had $39.75! Tonight she took some of it to Wal-Mart and bought a "Leap Pad" learning toy.

A Needed Validation

Yesterday Israel and Quincy were going to the video store to find something to rent, so I asked them to stop by the grocery store and pick up a few things I needed for dinner and Sunday dessert. Israel said Ok, so I made my list and handed it too him. His eyes bulged, his face paled, and he swallowed hard. You would have thought that I'd asked him to get some tampons, or nursing pads. "You want me to get ALL this?" Here's exactly what was on the list:



Heavy Whipping Cream (like 3 cups worth)

2 loaves of white bread

corn syrup (probably near maple syrup)

brown sugar

bannanas

wheat bread

bag of salad

1 loaf french bread (white bag by the bakery)



I confirmed that I wanted ALL of those things, and even showed him the kind of carton to look for whipping cream in. This man has never done any grocery shopping in his life. Well, they made it to the store, and I only got three phone calls asking for information:

"The only bread in a white bag by the bakery is called 'Italian', is that what you want?"
"Light or dark corn syrup?"
"Light or dark brown sugar?"

He arrived home exaperated with a long story that centered around Quincy escaping from the cart while he was trying to pay, and him waiting for the receipt while she attempted to commit suicide in the parking lot.

He clearly did not appreciate my laughing at him, so I explained that he was getting a tiny taste of what I deal with on a daily basis.

Originally I was going to make the theme of this story something about how my husband is obviously spoiled, and I need to have him do more grocery shopping, but the more I have thought about it the more I'm just glad that the experience was hard for him. Somehow the fact that he struggled with my daily tasks is very validating to me. Some nights I know he can't understand why I am frustrated or ornery, after all, I just played with the kids all day and made a trip to the grocery store :) Now perhaps things will be a tiny bit clearer.

I've got to get to work planning his next shopping trip now. Maybe it's time for him to try cooking a dinner....

I Am Thankful....

For so many things.













A husband who is kind, and loves me more than I deserve. Who has a good heart and does what is right. Who is working so hard to make a good life for our family. We have our struggles, but he is forgiving, and we make things work.



For a daughter who is one of the brightest lights in my life. Who is healthy and strong and happy and smart. Who makes me laugh. Who, for the moment, is allowing me to be her best friend. Who is reminding me to find happiness in the little things that life brings - like today when we had our first few flakes of snow falling and she made me run outside just to feel them and to plan the first snowman of the season.
















For a son who is such a sweetheart. Who is as handsome as his father. Who is starting to have a few 8 hour nights. Who I can't wait to get to know better.

For a mother who is one of my best friends. Who laughs at flibbertigibbets as hard as I do. Who has passed down a talent for cooking. Who empathizes with morning sickness. Who has been by my side at the birth of my two children. Who sends us packages and does little things to let us know that she's thinking of us. Who is a romantic, and takes Quincy to the graveyard and has her lay down and look up into the sky and at the falling leaves. Who found us a caterpillar and put it in a bottle so that we could see it transform into a beautiful monarch butterfly. Who loves us.















For a father who I have complete faith and trust in. Who has taught me integrity, and the rewards of hard work. Who's sense of humor never fails him - even in the middle of a heart attack. Who's just a nice guy. Who can answer any question - not because he's a know-it-all, but just because he does know a lot. Who looks out for my mom, and tries not to worry her. Who I know loves me, and is there to help if I need it.

For sisters who are among my closest friends. Who adore my children almost as much as I do. Who watch movies with me and talk on the phone. One who's so good at planning things to do when I come to visit. One who's so good at just talking, or snuggling on the couch with a child.


For brothers who all have good hearts. Who give me buddy passes so I can come home frequently. Who play with Quincy, and paint her fingernails, and make her feel like a star.

For a grandmother who talks to me everyday, and passes on her lice (life-advice). Who unknowingly helps me see things from a better perspective and reminds me of what is most important. Who gets mad at me for disciplining my child, and thinks I'm horrible because I have a time-out chair :) Who has always said that her grandchildren are perfect, especially me!


For friends old and new, who have added color to my life. Laughed and cried with me. Worked and played with me.
For so many luxuries. For feeling safe where I live. For having more than enough food and clothing for my children. For the chance to pursue an education. For a warm home, clean water, and a soft bed. For freedom, to live my life according to the dictates of my own conscience.
For a belief that this life has a purpose. To know that life is precious, and my children are gifts. To know that the bonds I forge in this life will go with me to the next.
I am thankful to be so blessed.

Item #4 - My Real Name Is Anastatia and These Are My Sisters Drezella and Cinderella

Sick Mommy Blues

Ok Rose, another realistic one for you. My last post was a complain-a-log about having sick kids. This one is a complain-a-log about being sick myself. Somehow I think it so unrealistic that Quincy's little tiny girl sicknesses can get passed on to a big lady like myself and actually bring her down - but as always it has happened. Quincy's feeling better and I'm feeling crappy, along with Max. It's hard being happy and taking care of everything when you just want to curl up and sleep away your cold.
It's funny how your view on being a mother can change by the day, hour, and minute. This morning I was pretty ornery. As Israel went of to his work-study job I made some comment like "Aren't you lucky you get to escape for a few hours." He had no idea what I meant by that, I suppose it appears to him that I have a pretty great job. If only we could spend a day in each others shoes, I'm sure we'd appreciate each other alot more. I look at him getting to spend most of the day in peace and quiet, knowing that when he comes home there will be food on the table and clean clothes to wear, and I envy that life. Then I compare it to myself - cleaning up the same toys day after day, reading the same story books night after night, trying to cook meals while a baby is screaming - somehow Max is ALWAYS hungry at the precise time that I want to eat or cook. Then there's the grocery shopping - another thing that I did not understand until I had two kids was how difficult it is to shop with more than one. With one in the basket and one in the seat where are you supposed to put the actual groceries. Oh how nice it would seem to hole myself up in the library and just learn - does anyone else feel this way? Don't you just sometimes think that these boys have the life? I know they get stressed and worried, but they always know at least there is an end to their troubles. A mothers job is never done. But I realize that this is only my perception, and then think of the thinks that I would miss out on if I didn't have my kids and my life. Once again today Quincy said to me "Mom, you're my best friend." When Max saw me he gave me that enormous grin of his and his little arms and legs went wild. They don't seem to notice that I'm a grouch. Thank goodness for their sweet little hearts.

And that will be the last of my whiney posts.

Sick Kid Blues

A friend of my recently proposed that "these new mom blogs are unrealistic in portaying themselves to be happy all the time." So this one is for you Rosie. My kids have been sick for the past 4 days. Quincy came down with a fever, runny nose and congestion on Thursday afternoon. Max joined in on Friday. So, for the past 4 days I have been wiping nose after nose, enduring endless whining and fussing, handing out goopey medicine cup after goopey medicine cup, and feeling overall sorry for myself.

I had been looking forward to this weekend. Finals would be over, we had a birthday party to go to, a Thanksgiving dinner to attend, church, and maybe even friends over for Sunday dinner. In a town where not alot happens - this was sure to be one of the best weekends ever. I guess it was not to be.

I knew I had hit a new low when I packed everyone up and went to Wal-Mart just for fun! I have heard of this happening before, but I never thought that I would be so desperate. We just had to get out of the house, and since we didn't want to contaminate anyone we love, we went to a place where we could spread germs to everyone else. So, if you're in Kirksville, sterilize the cart next time you shop - it may be the one that Quincy was in.

I remember, back in my childless days, a conversation that I had with my best friend Amy - she already had kids at the time. We were talking about where we would like to live when we grow up (still has not happened), and I suggested the Pacific Northwest because I like the wet weather. She said she would never do that because the kids would be sick all the time. At that time I thought to myself what's the big deal? So you spend a day chilling out relaxing at home until they get better - how bad can it be? I just want Amy to know that now, so many years later, I finally understand the big deal.



Some good news (sorry Rose) Quincy is now completely potty trained! She has been "day-trained" for nearly a year now - but now she's wearing big girls pants all night too!

Item #3 - Beware The Tooting Common Rats

I served an LDS mission in England. That statement alone is enough to fulfill the requirement of the tag - it's something that some of you don't know, but I must share more. I lived for several months in a district of London called Tooting. I know, its funny, at least when I use my adolescent boy humor. Well, in England, they have large open parks that are called commons - like a common area for the neighborhood to enjoy. So, we had Tooting Common. A problem in Tooting was rodents. I think they were everywhere. I would lay in my bed at night and listen to them scurrying around in the walls and ceiling. At the particular time that I was in Tooting they had a big problem with big rats. So signs began to appear in Tooting Common "Beware the Tooting Common Rats!" Now this is kind of scary and not funny at all, especially when Tooting Common was just down the street from your abode. But think about it - what if you were just a tourist or visitor and didn't know you were in Tooting and didn't know that the park was called a common - what would you make of a sign that read "Beware the Tooting Common Rats?"

Another One for All Mothers

This is a passage from a book that my grandmother gave me, Tending Roses, by Lisa Wingate. It just helped remind me of what's most important in life, and that in spite of all the day to day challenges of raising a young family, these really will be the best days of my life, days to be cherished.

When I was a young woman, I seldom owned anything of which to be proud. When I was old enough to work in a shop in St. Louis and live on my own, most of my wage was sent home to provide for my younger brothers and sisters, for my parents had not even their health by this time. When I was married, I came to my husband's farm with all that I owned packed in a single crate. Everything I saw, or tasted, or touched around me belonged to my husband. I felt like the air in that big house, needed and used, but not seen.

God sent an answer to me in worship that spring, when an old woman told me she wanted the gardens cleaned around her house and if I would do the work, I might have flower bulbs and starts of roses as my pay. My husband pretended to think the idea rather foolish, as I was needed on the farm, but he was patient with me as I worked through the early spring, cleaning gardens and moving starts to a newly tilled bed by our farmhouse. He was older than I, and I think he understood that I needed something of my own.

Those roses were the finest things I had been given in my life, and I tended them carefully all spring. As the days lengthened, the roses grew well and blossomed in the summer heat, as did I. Coming in and out of the house, I would look at them-something that belonged to me, growing in soil that belonged to him.

Even passing folk admired my roses, for my work made the blooms large and full. Once, a poor hired lady came with a bouquet of roses and wildflowers clasped in her hands. She told me that her children had sneaked into my garden and picked them for her, and that they would be punished. I bade her not to scold the children, for I was proud to give them this gift. She smiled, and thanked me, and told me that, with so many children, she had no time for tending roses.

I did not understand her words until my own children were born. When the first was a babe, I took her outside and let her play in an empty wash barrel so I could have time for tending my roses. I was often cross with her cries while I was at my work. As she grew, and as my second child was born, I understood what the hired lady had told me-that motherhood leaves no time for selfish pleasures. Only time for tending others.

My roses grew wild and died as I busied myself with feeding and diapering, nursery rhymes and sickbeds. I missed those bright blooms that had been mine and felt it unfair that I must leave my hard work there to die. But I did not think of it overmuch. My mind and heart were occupied with the sorrows and joys of motherhood.

The day came, it seemed in no time, when my children were grown and gone, and I again found time to tend the roses. I could labor over them from dawn until dusk with no children to feed, no husband needing meals, and few passersby on the old road. My flowers have come thick and full and beautiful again. From time to time, I see neighbor children come to pick them when I am silent in my house. I close my eyes and listen to their laughter, and think that the best times of my life, the times that passed by me the most quickly, were the times when the roses grew wild.

Item #2, My Most Embarassing Moment

When I was 15 I started doing triathlons. I had done some running and biking before, and a friend talked me into swimming and doing the whole 9 yards. There were three of us training together at the time, me and two Kims. One of the Kims (we'll call her #1) dislocated her shoulder when we took a trip to Lake Powell and couldn't do it anymore, so it was down to me and Kim #2. You must understand that I am a totally non-competitive person, whenever I would do these things I did them just for fun - if I'm running along and I think someone is trying to pass me I slow down just to make it easier for them (I do the same thing in the car), not that I'm speedy anyway....So, somehow, just for this event I start feeling a little competitive. I think it's because Kim #1 wanted to beat Kim #2 (they're both REALLY competitive) and since she was out with her injury she funnelled her competitiveness into me. I started doing extra training on the side that Kim #2 didn't know about - it was all planned by #1 and her husband - we has secret meetings to work up plans. Things were looking pretty good - I definitely could take her in the swim and the bike, and that would put me far enough ahead in the run, my weakest event and her strongest, that she wouldn't be able to catch up. A couple days before the event I had been to see my chiropractor for an adjustment. We got talking about the triathlon and he got a gleam in his eye and said "I've got something for you, I'll be right back." He's really into herbs and natural stuff. He came back with a little brown bottle that looked like something illegal. He explained to me that it was pure bee pollen and that I should drink it right after the swim for a little extra boost. Sounded fair enough.
The big morning came, and I was feeling good about things. The swim went better than planned - thank goodness for adrenaline. I had been taught that a quick transition is key, so as soon as I got my helmet and bike shorts on I hopped on my bike. I had the pollen in my hand and intented to injest it as soon as I was set on my bike. I gave a few big strokes to get moving, and set to getting my feet in the clips. I had my pollen in my left hand and my right hand was stearing. I looked at my feet for a few seconds to get clipped in. I looked up about .01 seconds before I crashed right into the back of a parked Ford Explorer. I was a little dazed as I pulled myself out from under it. I had some good scratches and cuts, but I prentended like I didn't notice them - like you do when you do something embarrasing like that. I would examine them later. I examined the car then - I had totally broken out the tail light. My bike was in not too good of shape to - the forks and tires where pretty bent up. In a stupor I started walking back towards the tranisition area, trying to find my parents to help me figure out what to do. Right then the race director saw me, walking my bike in the wrong direction. "What are you doing" he kind of yelled. "Uh, I just crashed...into that parked car......" I said. "Well, get back on and get going!" he said. What????? "What about the car I broke?" I asked. "Wel'll take care of that later, get going." At that point I realized I still had the pollen in my hand. I blame it for the whole thing - if it wasn't in my hand I could have hit the brake, or at least swerved. Bitterly I drank it down - it better really help for all the trouble it's caused. My bike was twisted up enough that for the entire 15 miles it was if I was riding with the brake on. I think most people probably finished the whole race before I was half-way through the biking leg. On a brighter note, I made better time than expected on the run. At least I got to say I finished, needles to say I didn't beat Kim #2 , I didn't beat anyone- I was dead last, obviously. Later Kim#2 asked what happened - you can imagine my embarrasment at saying that I had crashed into a PARKED car!

I've Been Tagged

This is my friend Terrilyn.

She recently joined a contest among the local girls, trying to get a free makeover. I don't know why she thinks she needs that - look at that smile, and those eyelashes! Anyway, she didn't win. I've always thought Terrilyn was pretty cute - I'd be happy if I looked like her.

Today Terrilyn blog-tagged me. These are the rules (copied directly from her blog)

1. The player lists 6 facts/habits about themselves - try to find 6 you haven't already posted about.

2. At the end of the post, the player tags 6 people and posts their names, and then goes to their blog and leaves them a comment, letting them know they have been tagged and asking them to read your blog for the rules.

I'm not even going to try to get all six things into one post - the kids are finally asleep (well, Max just woke up....) , and I'm tired, but here's a start.

#1 - I picked both of our kids' names. I actually came up with Quincy when I was thinking of boy names - do you think that will embarass her when she get older? It was before we knew the gender of our baby, and I was thinking of names for a boy so I was going through the names of the Presidents of the United States and came to John Quincy Adams. Then I thought, wow, Quincy would be a cool name for a girl, and the rest is history. Max was a little harder. My friend Natalie has a little boy named Max, and I think it's the cutest thing - and then there's Max from Where The Wild Things Are. Israel was not keen on the idea, mostly because he knows an old man named Max who has some embarassing medical conditions. Anyway, we had to call the baby something while it was in me, so Quincy and I just started calling him Max, thinking that it was temporary. A couple months before the baby was due Israel spent a month at Maxwell Air Force Base, doing his officer training. After that month he came home and said that he didn't want to confuse Quincy by calling the baby one thing now, and another thing later - so he agreed to Maxwell (he won't admit it, but I think it's in tribute to the AF base). Anyway, I'm just looking for a wolf suit for this kid so he can start making mischief of one kind and another.

I'll post another thing about me tommorow.

I guess I should be fair to Terrilyn and let you see a picture of her on the off chance that she's not living too much in '82 or living the life of an Idaho redneck. Here she is wish her cute little Tabi.

Quincy

I never cease to be surprised and amazed by this girl. I can't believe how much a 2 & 9/10 year old picks up and learns all the time. She sure makes me laugh

.

Sometimes when I'm frustrated with her, like every morning when she turns a 3 minute job of getting dressed into a 25 minute extravaganza, I clap my hands together really loud and say "Quincy" to get her to pay attention. Well, a couple days ago we were in the kitchen. I was busy doing something, and she wanted my attention, so what do you know - she claps her little hands as loud as she can and says "mom!". It got my attention, I had to laugh.


Saturday night she was in nursery with a bunch of the other students kids while I went to an event for the moms. I walked into the room to get her, and as usual she was in the middle of some group of kids, looking like a ring-leader and having a great time. She certainly doesn't get her social skills from her mother or father - we would probably both have been in a corner playing by ourselves because we're too shy. On our way home I asked her if she had a fun time. She puckered her lips and used her "feel sorry for me voice" as she responded that "Mikaela told me that I am not her best friend." Then "Emma told me that I am not her best friend." I don't even know where this girl learned about best friends, but the way she talks about it always brings a smile. A lot of nights while I lay by her at bedtimes she says "Mom, you're my best friend" as she rubs my mole.


For some reason she is obsessed with moles. I've got a little one on my chin (her preferred mole) and one on my wrist, and her little fingers can find it even in the deepest sleep - she just rubs the spot, its her little "comfort mole." She does it to my mom too. Its is very endearing to have a child so attached to your mole, but all that rubbing can get pretty irritating.


What a kid. It seems that she learns so much every day, and Israel and I are too as we interact with her. I can't imagine our family without her.

I'm on a Bandwagon!

I'm not a person who usually reads the "hot" books that everyone is reading. I'm not sure why, but just the fact that everyone else is doing it usually turns me off to the idea. Although my husband owns the Harry Potter series, I haven't made it through one yet. I think I'm changing though. When the last Harry Potter book came out, I realized how much fun people were having being "in on the latest thing." Everyone was all hyped up and excited - it was kind of like a Holiday for them. Those of us who were not into Harry Potter kind of missed out on all the excitement. So I learned a lesson, being involved in "the latest thing" can be fun. I

t seems that one of the latest things is the Twilight series by Stephenie Meyer. After several trusted friends, my mom, and both my sisters told me how wonderful the books are, I started reading. And now it's official: I'm in love with Edward. I like Bella too, but I can't seem to figure out what the big deal about her is - why do all the boys in Forks seem to fall for her? She seems rather plain and boring (some of you may be thinking that I am that way, and it is true, I'm not pointing fingers just stating facts) so what's the big deal? Right now I'm half way through the third book, Eclipse - I can't wait to see what happens, and I'm excited to be in on the hype when more books come out!

Letting Go Of Creases

I'm a little bit weird about some things, laundry has been one of them. There are just certain things I like, things I'm particular about. Liquid detergent used to be one of them. I just preferred the idea of my clothes having smooth, soft liquid on them rather than sandy regular detergent. I have been able to transition to the sandy regular (due to the fact that it's cheaper), but I still can't bring myself to use the really cheap Sam's club version, so I go with Gain - it's a little less grainy, and I like the smell. I'm also particular about everyone's underwear - when it goes back in the drawers, the newly laundered stuff has to go on the bottom - so that every pair gets worn an equal amount of times. I also used to be particular about creases in Israel's sleeves. Before we moved to Kirksville, Israel worked in a warehouse and just wore old tee shirts and jeans every day but the weekends, but when he started medical school he began wearing nicer clothes. That's when I started being weird about ironing. I ironed all of his collared shirts, and all his "good" t-shirts, by that I basically mean ones that we had to pay for, not just cheap freebies. So pretty much every shirt he has worn to school has been ironed. I could keep up with this fine when I only had Quincy - I would pop in Sweet Home Alabama while she took a nap and get it all done in one afternoon. Then Max came along, and that's where the trouble started. I don't always get both of them to sleep at the same time, so I started getting behind on ironing. It's a good thing that Israel has a TON of shirts, so he didn't really noticed that none of them were making their way back to the closet, he did notice the mountain of ironing that was building up on the guest bed. It was giant, I'm talking probably twenty-five shirts and several pairs of slacks. Lucky for me, when the kids and I went to Utah for a couple weeks, Israel had a little extra time so he took care of that pile. When I got back he mentioned something about the fact that when he washed the clothes, he just hung them up right from the dryer, and they didn't have to be ironed. That's when I realized that the only reason I had really been ironing his shirts was because I wanted to see the creases on the sleeves - the shirts were not actually wrinkly and apparently Israel didn't care. Why do I even care about creases, I do not know, so it's now official. I am not ironing anymore. I'm letting go of this little obsession, and I will no longer have to feel guilty every time I walk past the guest bed!

Flibbertigibbet

Tonight my mom and I were watching a movie with the subtitles, and we saw this word. We could not stop laughing. We looked it up and it means:

flibbertigibbet \FLIB-ur-tee-jib-it\, noun:A silly, flighty, or scatterbrained person, especially a pert young woman with such qualities.

Here's a challenge, if you think you know what movie we were watching post it as a comment. Anyone who guesses correctly will get some sort of prize!

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 ;)