(2 years 1 week 3 days)

My Mother's Day

This morning I was greeted with Reese bringing in a gift that she and Riley helped wrap and 2 cards from the girls that Scott brought in. The card that the girls gave me was SO SO sweet, especially since it was a frame/card in one… Scott had even managed to get on my computer and print out photos! I didn’t know he even knew where to look! Reese kept saying "Mommy, we gave you a surprise, it's pictures of us!" I was thinking it was a frame of some sort, but little did I know!!!

Then he gave me a funny card, that actually was so sweet it made me cry…. THEN I was blown away by the gift from them. One of those digital frames that you stick an SD card in the side and it runs through all the photos, you can add music and even video! The thing comes with a REMOTE! I was getting ready to yell at him for spending that much money, but then he told me that I wouldn’t believe the deal he got, and when I saw his Dad, even his DAD said “That was a good deal…” I didn’t ask how much, but I’m figuring it wasn’t too terribly much since Scott knows I hate to spend money on myself. I again started to tear up because the girls helped pick the photos that he currently had on the memory provided to show me how it works. I’m proudly going to display it on our mantel, I knew that plug up there would come in handy, instead of me always trying to hide it!

Breakfast consisted of a run to Sheetz for coffee and then over to Krispy Kreame for FRESH donuts… Reese and Riley were gems, and loved watching the donuts being made. It was a good start to my day!

As a treat Scott’s dad treated all of us, Linda, Shaun, Scott, Reese, Riley & myself, to lunch at The Barn Restaurant in Smithville, Ohio. Scott has been going there since he was a kid, and Scott’s dad has everything down to a science, so much so he knows EXACTLY what time to get there as we only had to wait 10 minutes and by the time we left, the wait was up to 2 hours. YIKES!

Even though it was a rainy day it was absolutely PERFECT. It was probably one of the best days I’ve had in a LONG while… completed with a 2 ½ hour nap and take out Chinese… that I even have enough for tomorrow’s lunch…

I hope everyone had a good day… and HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY!

And to finish off this post, I wanted to share something that I love reading EVERY.SINGLE Mother’s Day, and so glad that it was forwarded to me after how badly I felt on Thursday…. Just a nice reminder that I can make mistakes too..:

This is for the mothers who have sat up all night with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid saying, 'It's okay honey, Mommy's here.'

Who have sat in rocking chairs for hours on end soothing crying babies who can't be comforted.

This is for all the mothers who show up at work with spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses and diapers in their purses.

For all the mothers who run carpools and make cookies and sew Halloween costumes. And all the mothers who DON'T.

This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies they'll never see. And the mothers who took those babies and gave them homes.

This is for the mothers whose priceless art collections are hanging on their refrigerator doors.

And for all the mothers who froze their buns on metal bleachers at football or soccer games instead of watching from the warmth of their cars. And that when their kids asked, 'Did you see me, Mom?' they could say, 'Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for the world,' and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids in the grocery store and swat them in despair when they stomp their feet and scream for ice cream before dinner.

And for all the mothers who count to ten instead, but realize how child abuse happens.

This is for all the mothers who sat down with their children and explained all about making babies. And for all the (grand)mothers who wanted to, but just couldn't find the words.

This is for all the mothers who go hungry, so their children can eat. For all the mothers who read 'Goodnight, Moon' twice a night for a year. And then read it again, 'Just one more time.'

This is for all the mothers who taught their children to tie their shoelaces before they started school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro instead.

This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to cook and their daughters to sink a jump shot.

This is for every mother whose head turns automatically when a little voice calls 'Mom?' in a crowd, even though they know their own offspring are at home or even away at college or have their own families.

This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to school with stomach aches, assuring them they'd be just FINE once they got there, only to get calls from the school nurse an hour later asking them to please pick them up. 'Right away!'

This is for mothers whose children have gone astray, who can't find the words to reach them.

For all the mothers who bite their lips until they bleed when their 14 year olds dye their hair green.

This is for all the mothers who taught their children to be peaceful, and now pray they come home safely from a war.

What makes a good mother anyway?

Is it patience?

Compassion?

Broad hips?

The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a button on a shirt, all at the same time?

Or is it in her heart?

Is it the ache she feels when she watches her son or daughter disappear down the street, walking to school alone for the very first
time?

The jolt that takes her from sleep to dread, from bed to crib, at 2 A.M. to put her hand on the back of a sleeping baby?

The panic, years later, that comes again at 2 A.M. when she just wants to hear their key in the door and know they are safe again in
her home?

Or the need to flee from wherever she is and hug her child when she hears news of a fire, a car accident, a child dying?

The emotions of motherhood are universal and so our thoughts are for young mothers stumbling through diaper changes and sleep
deprivation…

And for mature mothers learning to let go.

For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers;

single mothers and married mothers;

mothers with money, mothers without.

This is for you all.

For all of us… Hang in there.

In the end we can only do the best we can. Tell our children every day that we love them.

And pray and never stop being a mother…

And another beautiful poinient story:

Invisible Mother…..  

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.   The invisible  Mom.   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.   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.