Sam's Day

January 28, 1998 - I remember it like yesterday. After 72 hours of being induced, my doctor singing Row, Row, Row Your Boat as he broke my water, and I cried; Sam came into this world via emergency c-section at 11:28p, on 01-28-98.

I can't believe my oldest is now 11. Such a strange feeling to realize he is growing older, while I don't feel any older, except in my bones.

Sam has gone through an awful lot in his short life. Many things I wish he never had to experience, but I suppose we all wish that for ourselves, as well as our loved ones. He is a good boy, with an extremely sweet heart.

I hope he has a wonderful birthday, and a memorable one.

My parents have invited us over for dinner tonight. When my mom asked what type of cake he wanted, he replied with, "Oh! Now that is an interesting idea. I want that cake that you put the powder stuff on." He is referring to what we call a wacky cake (no eggs). It is his favorite, just like his Uncle N8.

Happy birthday Sam! I love you!!!

The Joys of Cars or did I mean Woes?

Since arriving in North Carolina...I have not had a working vehicle, sigh. My brother Pete, and Julie, his wife, have shared a vehicle with me when I need/ask. (I hate asking).

This morning, we woke to 12' with a wind chill factor that made the temperature feel like 4'. Sort of bitterly cold.

Pete went out to start Julie's car for her at 6:45a, the car wouldn't start. After several failed attempts, Julie took the only other vehicle that is working.

Sam has a doctor's appointment - so I can get him more medication. I forgot to give him medication to go to school...at 7:15a text to Deborah, "Call me when you wake up..." (she is married to my brother, Andy)

She graciously took me over to give him medication. My mom and Dad are picking Ty and me up to go get Sam out of school, and they are taking us to the dr. appointment....

I so love not having a vehicle........I am feeling so sarcastic at the moment.

I also need to make 4 bundt pans of pull apart bread for family dinner tonight at my brother Gordon's new home. Yummmm.

You can't be talking about my child

As I was saying my good-byes to Sam and Jake at the top of the driveway, the bus driver said, "I need to talk to you," as he motioned me onto the bus. He spoke quietly, "I need to talk to you about Jake's behavior on the bus. He has been having a hard time staying in his seat, runs up and down the aisle. Not in the morning, but every afternoon. Maybe you could talk to him this afternoon? If I am in an accident and have to slam on my brakes....". I quickly looked at Jake, who was ducking down behind his seat, "I will be talking to you this afternoon, Jacob!"

Temporary Trials

In the south there are many churches with wonderful sayings on their marquee's. One of my favorite things to do while driving is to read them. On Friday, I had the opportunity to visit with my sister, Rachel, who lives in Asheville. As we passed a small church, their marquee caught my attention. If Rachel had not been able to write it down quickly, I would have turned the truck around, and gone back.

"There are eternal reasons for temporary trials"

I know I have always known this, but seeing it on the marquee, made me realize, yet again, the eternal perspective of my life. Heavenly Father loves each and everyone of us. I struggle everyday with my own trials, yet my Father in Heaven has not given me more than I can handle, He has not miscalculated my abilities. I have.

Just gave me food for thought.

Never a Dull Moment

Saturday, Ty was still not feeling well, I had him on slow feed of Pedialyte, had a fever. He tossed and turned all night long. Sunday morning he rolled off my bed (2 ft. fall). I was consoling him, thinking he had hit the back of his head - he continued to scream. Figured out rather quickly that he hit his forehead and now had a 2 in. goose egg. We stayed home from church.

He was feeling much better by the evening. I took him to choir practice with me at 6:30. Later in the evening, I was helping Julie grade some papers, when Spencer (14 year old nephew) commented, "Aunt Melanie, is Ty supposed to be connected to his tubing? Isn't that the button that is supposed to be in him?" Quick assessment - button was completely out, no water at all in the balloon. Ty was quiet as a mouse and enjoying his few moments of freedom from the tube.

Later, standing up with Ty from the rocking chair, I made sure he was attached, still, he was. I went to put him in bed, the button was again, out of him, balloon completely empty. Obvious malfunction - big time. Still not panicking, I found the brand new replacement button amongst all the medical supplies, and with Peter's help holding him still, I proceeded to replace the button. For the first time ever, the button did not go into his stomach as it was supposed to. Not panicking, yet, I tried again. It still did not go in his stomach where it was supposed to be. I said a quick, quiet prayer, and was able to get it where it was supposed to be.

Heavenly Father loves us. I am so grateful I did not have to take Ty to the emergency room. (This is one of my greatest fears, being new to the area, again).

On a lighter note....we had the missionaries in our home last night, to join us for dinner. As we were preparing to gather everyone at the table, Jake pulled me down so he could whisper in my ear, "Mom, which one of them is President Uchtdorf?" We have been praying for the missionaries and for the First Presidency in our family prayers, I guess they are one and the same for Jake.

It is OK to be invisible

I just received this in an email - so worthy of sharing with all my SUPER MOM friends and friends someday to be moms. Love you all!!

Invisible Moms

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 thephone, 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 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 hair 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 cathedralsof Europe.. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Carol , 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 buildingwas 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 d isease 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 daughter to tell the friend she'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 thetable." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want her to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to her 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.