To All You Moms . . . (Warning: long post below!)

Tomorrow being mother's day, I wanted to post a couple stories that I love. I read them occasionally to remind myself that I like being a mom. They are kinda long, so here goes:


The Invisible Woman

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 thecrossing 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 wouldwalk 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 standthere 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 readyto 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 toput 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 betaken 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 noone 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 toask, '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 eyesthat 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 havingdinner, 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 sittingthere, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hardnot 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 smellpeanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought this for you.' It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure whyshe'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 discoverwhat 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. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. * The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes ofGod 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 theman, '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 almostas 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 diseasethat is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my ownself-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 ofthe 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 ourlifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to thatdegree. When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell thefriend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My mom gets up at4 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'redoing 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.





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To My Daughter:

We are sitting at lunch when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family".

"We're taking a survey," she says, half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral. "I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations. . . ."

But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in her childbirth classes.

I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but that becoming a mother will leaver her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking "What if that had been MY child"? That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a souffle or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.

I feel I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going to an important meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of her discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.

I want my daughter to know that everyday decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonalds will become a major dilema That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom. However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her children accomplish theirs.

I want her to know that a Cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks. I wish she could understnad how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice, and drunk driving. I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhiliration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real, it actually hurts.

My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say.

Then I reach across the table, squeeze my daughter's hand and offer a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all of the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings.

This blessed gift from God. . . .that of being a Mother.

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I want to tell my mom happy mother's day. I am just beginning to understand all the years of hard work and sacrifice that you did. I appreciate and admire you so much - you are the greatest women I know. Thanks for being a good example and for all you have taught me (and continue to). I love you mom, happy mother's day!

Happy mother's day to all my friends who are great moms! You are all good examples to me. It helps so much to know so many of you are going through the same things I am - thanks for all your love and support. ( and thanks for your blogs - I love reading them all!)