Yet Another Reminder

I've been pretty ornery lately with my children. Actually, I'd say more than "pretty ornery". I've been "very ornery." The kind where when I hear the first child wake up each morning I feel a little disappointed that the "wake-up" time has come so soon. I feel as though I roll my eyes almost every time a child says my name. I have resorted to paying out nickels, dimes and quarters for 5 minutes of silence. It seems everything I have ever tried to teach my children about the tone of our voices, or the level of our voice, or our body language has been forgotten because of my poor example.

Late afternoon is the worst time. I think about two guy friends of ours nearly every afternoon. Both of whom have told me on separate occasions "A glass of wine each afternoon would do you good." It is late afternoons on the long-everybody-is-home-all-day-every-day days that I can't help but wonder if they are right. I feel as though any day now, my children will drive me to drink. (I exaggerate slightly. I do not drink alcohol, and likely never will.)

Last Monday morning, Megan (who incidentally was supposed to be practicing the harp) brought a photo album to me to show me a specific photo of her when she was just shy of 2 years old. As photo albums always seem to do, it sucked me right in to looking at every single picture. One photo grabbed my attention immediately. I haven't been able to keep it out of my mind all week.

By photographic standards it was nothing. In fact it was a quick shot taken back in the days of a roll of 24 film that no matter how good or bad the photo, it ended up in an album. It was of Megan sitting in a little plastic pool on our back patio in July 2000, the summer before she was 2. Mike's feet can be seen on the side of the pool. Immediately I remembered that day. It was a lazy Saturday afternoon, Mike and I were sitting watching Megan play in the pool.

I couldn't stop staring at the photo. In that moment I was filled with a sudden sense of nostalgia and longing for simpler times. I imagined the quiet and peace in which the three of us were enjoying the warm afternoon. As I looked at Megan's smiley toddler face, I seemed to remember the ease of housework, the lack of toothpaste all over sinks, or pee all over toilet floors and seats. And I remembered the days of considerably less laundry that took half the time to finish.

Drew shook me from my memory lane trip with a snatch of the photo album to tell me about a particular toy he could see in the background that he wants now. (Drew seems to have been born with a severe case of entitlement.)

The moment was over. Yet the picture stayed in my mind. It stayed in my mind the following day when I counted the seconds of peace and quiet in-between arguments, questions, or constant chatter between my now five children. (4 seconds was the record).

That photo stayed with me in a melancholy type of way. It didn't help the severe case of orneriness I was already suffering from.

Thursday afternoon, Ellie asked to get out the plastic pool. Of course Joshua and Drew joined in the fun. Within five minutes, Ellie had lost interest and disappeared. It was Drew and Joshua alone. Ironically, I was inside the door reading an old General Conference article about mothers that can be found HERE. The following sentence tugged at my wearied soul,

"May I say to mothers collectively, in the name of the Lord, you are magnificent. You are doing terrifically well. The very fact that you have been given such a responsibility is everlasting evidence of the trust your Father in Heaven has in you."

With that encouragement, I decided to go outside and enjoy the moment with my two boys. I tried my hardest to think of my long-term mothering mantra that I seem to have been forgetting lately, "Enjoy the little things in life. One day you'll look back and realize they were the big things."

As I sat and watched Joshua and Drew play I couldn't help but laugh out loud as I listened to Drew's uncontrollable giggle as Joshua was "sailing the ship." I laughed at Joshua swinging a cowboy rope while saving Drew from falling "in the ocean". I interrupted my revelry to get some home video footage, and some still camera shots.

(Darn that I couldn't get one of both of them looking at the camera at the same time! But I didn't want to interrupt their playing long enough for a decent photo.)

I don't print out very many photos anymore. But I think I'm going to print out this one along with the one of Megan 12 years ago.

They are contrasts in the stage of my mothering from my days of being with only Megan, the first-born, and enjoying Joshua and Drew, the last-two. I don't want to be too worn out and too ornery to appreciate all these little things that Joshua and Drew will soon be past.

No joke: As I type this, Drew came up to me with a bandaid across his nostrils because his "nose hurts lots." I smiled and laughed out loud as I hugged him, believing the only reason I didn't roll my eyes and be irritated at him wasting a bandaid (or 3 or 4 of them as it takes a few tries to position one on the nose) was because of the type of blog post I was writing! I immediately thought of Megan, who of course would never do anything of the sort now. In fact, just last week as I watched her play the organ at the LDS Conference Center at Temple Square (more on that later), I wondered where exactly the last almost 14 years have gone.

Perhaps the days of one child, less laundry, cleaner toilet seats, fewer fingerprints, and less chatter have passed, but I know even with the absolute chaos of today things are still simple. I am determined to live in the moment more. I need to stop thinking about the days when my house will stay cleaner longer or remembering the days when it did. 

I am hoping that when the school bell rings on September 4th, it will help. I'm sure then I will return to my usual slightly ornery self instead of this current very ornery self.

Until then...

A Dream Accomplished

I can't remember how long ago Megan declared her desire to see the musical Wicked. Knowing that the purchase of a theater ticket was probably not something Mike and I would "just purchase" for her, she set about to earn the money herself. 

For almost a year Megan went to my parents' house to clean. Each time my mother paid Megan in cash. After taking out her tithing money (a financial donation to our church), Megan would put the cash in an envelope hidden on her desk. (Hidden because everything is hidden on that desk, not because she was hiding it from someone...)

Almost weekly, Megan arranged with my mother to be picked up from school and go spend an hour or two cleaning. The money going straight into the envelope each time. She didn't use that cleaning money for anything.

Nothing would remove that "Wicked Money" from the envelope. There were times Mike and I found ourselves in an immeidate need of cash (meaning CASH not money) and asked Megan we could borrow from it for one day. You'd think we were asking her to rip it up! She would look at us with a shocked look on her face and say, "It's my Wicked Money. I'm not touching it." 

Mike and I proudly watched her efforts. There were times it was discouraging to see how far away she was from ever having enough. But she kept going. Last fall, Megan attended a Young Women (teenage girl organization in our church) evening. They were to make a little table display of things they were working on, had accomplished, etc. As part of Megan's display, she took her "Wicked envelope" to represent something she was working towards. During the evening another teenage girl asked what the envelope was for. After Megan explained it to her the girl responded, "That sucks you have to work for it. My mom is just buying one for me."

When Megan came home that evening and told us about that unfortunate little dialogue, Mike and I were really not surprised when Megan ended telling us about it with, "I think it will mean more to me to work hard for it myself."

And so we continued to watch her efforts. 

On a spring afternoon in May, I was at a Power of Moms Retreat. I was in the middle of responsibilities and giving some directions when I received a phone call from Megan. Megan was squealing loudly and could hardly speak. Yet somehow she squealed out the words, "Nana got Wicked tickets." I couldn't help but cry. In that very moment, Megan was experiencing the "fruit of her labor." As Megan calmed down she said, "I only have $100, but when I asked Nana how much the tickets were she told me, 'Whatever you have saved.' Isn't that awesome? Mom! I'm going to Wicked."

Megan had us make a special trip to the bank to trade her cash in for a crisp $100 bill to hand over to Nana.  Of course Luke and Ellie had to take turns touching it. (We don't have $100 bills around here very much!)

Last Thursday was the big night. I'll tell you though, last Thursday was a LOOOONNNNGGG day. It was worse than sending any child to bed on Christmas Eve or the night before their birthdays. Megan gave a continual update of the time. The day dragged on and on for her. It didn't help that it was Luke's first quarantined day with whooping cough, so it pretty much dragged for all of us.

Finally the hour arrived and her ride showed up in style...

(Isn't my parents' new convertible Mustang fabulous?)

(Quarantined Luke went along for the ride with my dad who was serving as chauffeur for the evening.)

Megan's excitement lasted all night. She left with a huge smile on her face, returned with a huge smile on her face, woke up the next morning smiling, and smiled all that day as she wore her Wicked shirt while listening to the Wicked CD. (Both courtesy of dear Nana.)

The photos aren't the greatest, but they'll have to do.

Besides, who really needs a photo to remember this experience?

It was not an evening she'll forget anytime soon.

After arriving home she declared, "I am sooo glad I earned the money myself. I think it made it even better."

Mike and I refrained from saying, "That's what we thought." It was rewarding all around. Rewarding for Megan and her hard work, dedication and focus to fulfill a goal and rewarding for Mike and me to realize how much more positive an experience it was for her to let her work so hard for something herself.

And surely it was rewarding for my mother, who made the whole thing possible.
What a memory!

Our Whipper Boy

This post is not going to take on any "story-telling" elements. Although if it did, it would include things like what a stellar mother I am and how quick I am to seek medical attention when symptoms appear. Included in my stellarism would be how I would never ever tell a child to quit coughing so dramatically and just cough normally.

Instead I will stick to the facts. First of all, I will absolutely not discount the fact that I was well and truly prompted to take Luke to a doctor on Wednesday morning. Despite Luke having been coughing for a day shy of two weeks, I figured it was nothing serious as no other family member had come down with a cough. Honestly, I was beginning to think it was some kind of animal allergy. I can count on one hand the times Luke has ever been sick.

I'll keep it brief.

24 hours after Luke sat for 20 seconds with a long Q-tip looking thing all the way up his right nostril, I received a phone call that he had tested positive for whooping cough (pertussis).

With whooping cough, comes phone calls and reporting to the health department, all family members put on antibiotics and all sorts of questions about exposure, incubation periods, and quarantining. Because I could remember the exact day his coughing started, they could track it quite easily to when he was probably exposed to it. Although where in the world he contracted it is anyone's guess.

Poor Luke. Of all the kids to get it, it had to be him. The hardest child to keep entertained inside. He has watched more television in the past few days than the whole last 6 months combined. I am not joking.

Poor me. We are typically a very healthy family and I'm lucky if I even have children's Tylenol in my cupboard when needed. So the administration of medicines every day to children not used to having to take medicine has tested my patience. One child has to literally be held down. Another child threw up their dose in the garbage after taking 7 minutes to swallow it. Another child complains. Another child takes it as long as there is a large glass of water next to them. Another child takes it with little to no incident. Mike takes his after gentle reminding.

For the record, Luke is fully up-to-date on all of his immunizations and so are all of my other children. For that matter, so is the neighbor boy who also tested positive for it after I "was prompted" to call his parents and tell them about Luke's diagnosis. The coincidence of them both having it when they are 5 years apart and never play together is beyond any of us. Guess that Primary activity a few weeks ago gave out more than just popsicles.


Oh, and we finally convinced Luke it is not "whipping cough" it is "whooping cough." 
But "whipping" has kind of stuck. Luke is now affectionately being called, "Whipper Boy."
He isn't amused.

Cheering From Across the Pond

One of my favorite Olympic memories is from the 1984 Olympics. I was on vacation with my friend and her family at the Witterings. While her parents were off enjoying the seaside with friends and family one evening, my friend Karen and I were in the little holiday villa with her big brother, Brian.

England won a gold medal in something (who knows what--perhaps I should google it!) and Brian made Karen and I stand and sing the national anthem during the award ceremony. I must note, it was not out of any patriotic tribute or respect that he made us sing along. It was totally in a big brother teasing type way. He laid on the couch laughing at us the whole time.

And that is the story I tell Mike (or anyone else for that matter) that has to tolerate my singing along when a national anthem is played that I know during an Olympic ceremony. It's sad really though, it makes Mike far less cheering for Team USA than he should be as a fellow American, because he is sparing himself the pain during the awards ceremony.

Nonetheless.
We love the Olympics. And the fact it is in London this time around is doubly exciting. I can't wait to lay in bed watching swimming, gymnastics, running, and diving. And as I do every year, I'll root for my two favorite national anthems to be sung.

A Few Clarifications

I'm going to clarify a few things and answer a few questions....

**   Referring to the "being invisible" post I wrote last week, I must clarify my view of the excerpt. I never feel invisible as a mother on a day to day basis. Unfortunately (fortunately sometimes--depends on how you look at it), the second I enter a room everyone is usually scrambling for my attention. I can barely even shower or use the bathroom with no interruptions, let alone feel as though I was invisible in my own home. I'm not. What I gleaned from the article and what touched me the most, was the long-term efforts of a mother being invisible. As much as we help our children be aware of all we do for them on a regular basis, and help them understand the whys behind our discipline and teaching, there is so much of what we do that is "invisible." The cathedral analogy is what spoke to me. You know? All the behind the scenes part that no one really sees or knows about unless they were part of the building process. Slowly, methodically, and often painfully building a cathedral one 2 x 4, one molding, one stroke of paint at a time, hoping and praying that the end result really will be something of value and something to behold. 

I don't for one minute feel invisible as a mother, although I wish at times I were. And I still admit my secret  superpower wish would be to be invisible to hear your conversations. I know, a little creepy. But that's me. Not creepy though, just nosy.

**   As for our truck falling in a hole, I'm sorry I never clarified the damage to the truck. Really it was fairly minimal. We were able to drive it away, even though we had to turn the steering wheel 30 degrees to the left to go straight, and hold it straight to turn a corner. There was also a crooked bumper, and an un-openable tailgate, but nothing that can't be fixed. Oh--and for the record. Mike and I were laughing at the situation within minutes of it happening. It wasn't one of those things that "we'll have to wait and laugh about it one day." We could laugh pretty quickly. I mean, how could you not when you've had to call someone to say, "Can you help us out? We've fallen in a hole."

**  Oh, and the age old dilemma of "working mothers" and "stay at home mothers". I took offense recently when somebody said of me "Tiffany stays home all day. She has all the time in the world to do xyz." Perhaps it was my still-repairing-feelings that found this quote so appropriate.

Mother's are mothers. I'm tired of the "working" versus "stay at home" references that try to outdo each other as to who is busier, more important, better balanced, gets more breaks, or more worn out. It all comes down to choices with our time and choices with our money. That's all I'm going to say about that. As Mike says, "Don't you have other ways to spend your energy?" (Meaning instead of being fired up about stuff.)

And with "all my time in the world" staying home, I obviously don't have the time or take the time to teach my son good manners. But then again, obviously neither do my brother or sister-in-law.

(Drew and Cousin Annie)

Oh well! Surely there's more to life than good manners...

PS-Actually I wasn't home during this eating and photography session. So I take no responsibility for bad manners, and undressed children. Remember, I told you I had irresponsibly left Megan home with 6 children when Mike and I happened into a hole? Obviously I'm not excelling in teaching Megan everything.

Falling in a Hole

As my brother and sister-in-law put it on Saturday mid-day, "You must have had quite the party after we left last night, you look kind of rough." I refuse to tell you what time of day it was when they said this to us while I was still in my bedclothes having just removed myself from my bed only 3-5 minutes earlier.

(We did have a fun 40th birthday on Friday for Mike, yet for some reason I didn't snap a SINGLE picture on his birthday. Believe me though, we won't forget the weekend he turned 40 anytime soon.)

In mine and Mike's defense, NEVER in our lives have we stayed in bed that long. Although Mike dozed, I read (and finished) a hilarious, easy-read book I was in the middle of. All the while we munched on chocolate-covered almonds that one of the children had brought up to us at some point in the morning.

It was quite a glorious morning, if you don't count the numerous begs to "come fix breakfast" or the whiny questioning, "When are you guys going to get out of bed? Fortunately James and Kristin were due to drop off their little girls at a certain time, so it made for a more timely departure from the bed than if no one had have been stopping by.

Actually, I say "fortunately", but there was one point in the day Mike and I looked at each other and thought, "We should have stayed in bed longer."

Let me explain.

Mike and I eventually showered and dressed and somewhat irresponsibly left Megan home alone with six children (including a 5 month old baby-I hope James and Kristin aren't reading this) while we ran a quick errand to my parents' house to pick something up. It was a large drill press, and so we chose the truck as our mode of transportation.

The trip to my parents' house was quite uneventful, other than me having to scrounge for some food because the chocolate covered almonds hadn't quite filled me up and it was past lunchtime by now. I also grabbed a large plastic cup of ice water. Incidentally, it was at this point I remembered I'd left the remaining chocolate covered almonds in a bowl by my bed and knew they had probably all been consumed now by a certain 3 year old child.

On the way home, Mike and I decided to take a slight detour to drive through a neighborhood where some of Mike's guys had recently laid some sod for a neighboring city. Due to Mike's visit to Girl's Camp and having a birthday in the few days prior, a visit to this particular job site had been delayed until now.

Mike and I were minding our own business driving up a residential street. Mike had slowed down to look at the nearby landscape, and slowed because of a car coming down the other way. We were driving about 10 mph, when all of a sudden we felt a slight bump, then a big jolt from side to side, and then a horrible sound, and all of a sudden we were kind of crooked in the front seat of the truck. In the meantime, I gasped that my ice water flew all over the car, and I'm pretty sure I asked Mike, "What happened?" (I may or may not have added one or two other words to that short question.)

I could make the story a lot longer, but I won't.

I'll sum it up.

Before you ask. When we drove east on this particular part of the street it was 100% dry and smooth.

A nearby water pipe because of a bad connection had caused major water saturation right into a place where a trench in the road had been filled with (too little) road-base the day before. Our bad luck, combined with driving slowly, and being in a heavy truck hit it just right to fall into the "sink hole."

The neighbors living across the street were some of the kindest people EVER. The man watched it all happen and couldn't believe it. The woman and adult daughter have had a nightmare week dealing with all the problems as the nearby lot has been being developed for utilities. This was the final straw for them. They were more mad than we were at the responsible parties.

My mother had to be summoned to go home and be with Megan and the aforementioned six children as our quick errand was no longer being quick.

My dad, never one to miss out on an adventure, dropped off my mother at our house, picked up my cell-phone and Luke and came to see the adventure for themselves.

I must interject here, that my dad now completely understands my children's inability to SHUT UP. While my dad and Luke drove the 5-8 minute drive to get to us my dad had to listen and attempt to answer all 692 questions Luke asked. It is my understanding my dad finally replied, (I'm sure somewhat exasperatedly), "Luke! I have told you everything I know. We'll have to wait until we get there."

Thankfully my husband carries around "water keys" in the back of his truck. (Don't you?) and was able to turn off the nearby water source to prevent more leaking. It had to be done, as the policeman for some reason kept choosing to walk on that particular stretch of grass and sunk further in each time. His shoes will definitely need to be cleaned and polished before he begins his next shift.

Two separate entities came to the scene of "the accident" in addition to the local police department. Full responsibility for our sunken truck was declared by one of those entities.

The tow truck driver was good at knowing his stuff, and after backing in at a couple of different angles opted to back up the street to lift the truck up out of the hole. ("Pulling it out" wasn't an option!) My dad was handy to have around as I looked across the street and saw him directing the tow truck driver.

(When the tow truck first approached with a broken-down truck already on it, my prayers became even more fervent that our truck would be drive-able upon removal from the hole.)

Here is a photo of the hole we made, NOT the hole we drove though. Please be reminded, there was no hole when we first drove up the street. Please further note, I told the policeman it needed to be barricaded off. I'm not too sure he appreciated my telling him what to do, but he politely replied they would.
(I learn from the best. My dad directed the tow truck driver. I "directed" the police officer. It must be in the blood.)

Friday was Mike's 40th birthday. Which as I mentioned, unfortunately I didn't snap a SINGLE photo of the day! I know, I know, what a disappointment. But we had a semi-emergency in the late afternoon on Friday that put a little damper on the day for us, and then the next day we joined in the bad luck ourselves. I'm fairly certain that despite not having a single photo of  Mike's 40th birthday, it is a weekend we will always remember.

It's funny, on Facebook a friend commented, "Tiffany, I have to say, you have one of the most eventful lives of anyone I know...." It completely took me off guard, because for the most part I consider our lives to be fairly mundane and regular, even bordering on the boring side. But then I started thinking about hauling goats to school, children with polka dot hair cuts, nails in the bottom of a foot, and trucks falling in holes and I realize, maybe our life isn't so boring after all.

A Superpower or Reality

The other night I was playing a game with Megan, Ellie and Mike. I was asked the question, "If you could have any superpower, what would it be and why?" I think it shocked them how quickly I was able to answer the question.

Without having to give it a moments thought, I said,

"I'd want to be invisible, so I could go into other people's houses and listen to their conversations." 


Megan had a horrified look on her face. Ellie seemed too young to care and Mike? Well Mike knows me well and has heard many a time the phrase, "I wish I could be a fly on their wall" come out of my mouth. 

I'm not ashamed to admit my nosiness. I've said it before--I inherited my genuine interest in other people from my dear Granny.

All kidding and joking aside.

Summer is just about half over--at least as far as summer vacation from school goes. As much as I love the break in routine from homework, packing lunches, early mornings to catch the bus and early bedtimes, I am not loving the seemingly long days of five children at home. Do you know how much fighting, snacking, arguing, messes, meals, dishes and cups on my counter, five kids home all day everyday cause?

A.L.O.T.

As a result, I am weary. I am worn-out. I am ornery. I am short-tempered. I am tired.

Because in between the refereeing of arguments and the meal/snack preparations and clean-up I'm still trying to fit in all the "good things" I'm supposed to be doing as a mother. I'm trying to guide my children in their musical practicing, their academic responsibilities, and their housekeeping assignments. All the while, I'm trying to make sure we fit in family prayers and scripture study, personal hygiene, social interactions, oh, and of course I've got to give friendly reminders making sure goats, chicken and rabbits get fresh water during these hot temperatures.

Perhaps it is all those overwhelmed thoughts and feelings that made a recent article by my friend Allyson touch me deeply. Her article (that you can read HERE) referenced a beautiful excerpt from the book, "The Invisible Woman" by Nicole Johnson. (Side note: I'm looking forward to receiving the book in the mail any day now. Doesn't reading the following make you want to devour the whole book in one setting, while sitting on your back patio while eating a good piece of chocolate?)

I'm finding it ironic that my superpower wish is to be invisible. In a way, I already am.
~enjoy...


It started to happen gradually …

One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, “Who is that with you, young fella?”

“Nobody,” he shrugged.

Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, “Oh my goodness, nobody?”

I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family – like “Turn the TV down, please” – and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, “Would someone turn the TV down?” Nothing.

Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We’d been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, “I’m ready to go when you are.” He just kept right on talking.

That’s when I started to put all the pieces together. I don’t think he can see me. I don’t think anyone can see me.

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 Disney Channel?” I’m a car to order, “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:

• 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.