Sunday, March 22, 2009

join us for the quints birthday

Please join us for the quints 3rd Birthday Sunday March 29th from 10:00-1:00 at Bremerton Skateland admission and skate rental are free. Hope to see you there.

Here is something another mom of multiples posted on her site I found it fitting.

To all my dear friends who are also Invisible!
The Invisible Mom

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 ,20no 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 a 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, and 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 th e 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

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< br> > 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. 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!