Long Post...Momhood (kinda)

The past few weeks have been a bit tough with Chandler, well actually the past few years. Let's face it, he's one tough kid. I've been told that he's my clone. Apparently I was a high maintenance child. The way I see it, I was a child in a high maintenance family, but I digress. Lately I've been feeling that this motherhood thing isn't all it's cracked up to be, is it just a cruel joke? Why does this child fight me on every issue! If I say "Chandler, put your black sweatshirt on" he wants to put on the brown one, I definitely have to ask about 12 times for him to do ANYTHING, and by the time he's doing it, there has been yelling and stomping, not to mention HIS behavior. I'm just tired. I still can't believe that my Mother had 7 CHILDREN, one car, one bathroom, no cell phone and no money!!

There are the moments that I wish this little dude was 4 again and we were cuddling up after pre-school, watching Cailu, or Little Bear, or Franklin. I love that kid so much. He's funny, cute, very loving and he has genuine feelings for people, even though he can't always show it.

Anyway, today I got an email from my friend Karyn, and I'm pretty sure I've seen it before, but it stuck with me. Then after I read Trish's blog, well, I just felt plain guilty. Any way I thought I would share this with all the Moms out there.

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 sum a cum laude - but now they
had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going;
she's going; she is 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.

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.

Great Job, MOM!