Yesterday, Kate was a little fussy so I asked Jack if he would come and "talk nicely to Kate." He climbed up on the bed and got this cute little look on his face and started whispering in her ear, "We'll go camping . . . we'll go boating . . . we'll go on the four-wheeler." He has definitely learned the golden rule - that's all he thinks about and that was his definition of talking nicely! We love our Jack. (This picture is just a representation and not from yesterday.)Thursday, September 20, 2007
Jack's such a good brother...
Yesterday, Kate was a little fussy so I asked Jack if he would come and "talk nicely to Kate." He climbed up on the bed and got this cute little look on his face and started whispering in her ear, "We'll go camping . . . we'll go boating . . . we'll go on the four-wheeler." He has definitely learned the golden rule - that's all he thinks about and that was his definition of talking nicely! We love our Jack. (This picture is just a representation and not from yesterday.)
Lacey Made Student Council!
Lacey came home a couple of days ago and was so excited to tell me that she made the student council for her school. She had asked me a couple of days before if I thought she should try out for the student council. I said, "What have you got to lose?" She was a little nervous because she didn't know what it entailed but she went ahead and applied anyway. Harmon took her on a special date to Jamba Juice because we were proud of her for taking the chance. She has her first Student Council meeting this Friday after school and is looking forward to it. The thing she is most excited about is that she gets to go to BYU in October all day for a special leadership conference. GO LACEY!Monday, September 17, 2007
Crazy Sunday Morning
Sunday, as we were trying to get ready for 9:30 church, I couldn' help but snap a few pictures.
This is a classic Jack scowl (I actually love it!).
Halle teaching Jack to do a crazy face.
I was taking a picture of Halle and Kate but Jack loves his picture taken and had to be front and center.
This is a classic Jack scowl (I actually love it!).
Halle teaching Jack to do a crazy face.
I was taking a picture of Halle and Kate but Jack loves his picture taken and had to be front and center. Sunday, September 16, 2007
Building Cathedrals
I was sent this story the other day and loved it . . .
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 the crossing 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 would walk 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 stand there 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 ready to 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.
I'm invisible.
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will alk 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.
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 banana 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 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.
-Author Unknown
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 the crossing 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 would walk 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 stand there 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 ready to 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.
I'm invisible.
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will alk 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.
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 banana 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 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.
-Author Unknown
Monday, September 10, 2007
Harmon's a Pro!
After Harmon picked me up from the airport yesterday, I asked him how he managed. His response was, "I'm a pro!". I have to say, he is a pro. The kids were alive, clean, fed and happy and the house was clean. It just doesn't get better than that! I am so grateful to have such a good, supportive husband. I don't know what I would do without him. He may not be a pro golfer - but he is a pro in my book. Thanks, Harm.
Creative Escape went really well. Kate did awesome, as was expected. She was definitely a celebrity there and got lots of attention. The ladies there called her "Scrap Worthy." She got her picture taken by many strangers. Shelby said that she could always find where I was because there was always a swarm around us. The scrapbook fanatics are definitely unique. We had a good time and are getting back into the swing of things.
Creative Escape went really well. Kate did awesome, as was expected. She was definitely a celebrity there and got lots of attention. The ladies there called her "Scrap Worthy." She got her picture taken by many strangers. Shelby said that she could always find where I was because there was always a swarm around us. The scrapbook fanatics are definitely unique. We had a good time and are getting back into the swing of things.
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
I am off to Creative Escape...
This afternoon I am leaving for Bazzill's annual event, Creative Escape, in Arizona. I have mixed feelings about leaving. It's crazy farming out my kids and leaving Harmon a schedule with everything. However, it is always fun once I get there. Harmon is very supportive of me and great with the kids while I am gone. Kate (The Bazzill Babe) is coming with me - hopefully she will do as well as he last show. I get back on Sunday afternoon - so no posts until then.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
A Visit From Nana and Papa
My parents flew in yesterday for the blessing of Sam and Charlie on Sunday. They dropped by this morning to see us. My kids are always so happy to spend time with them. We are lucky that they come to visit so often.
Papa and Jack - the tongue was the result of me asking Jack not to play with his tongue. My dad looks so good since his surgery. I'm so glad he is healthy.
Nana and Halle - kindred spirits.
Lacey couldn't miss out on a photo opp.
Papa and Jack - the tongue was the result of me asking Jack not to play with his tongue. My dad looks so good since his surgery. I'm so glad he is healthy.
Nana and Halle - kindred spirits.
Lacey couldn't miss out on a photo opp.
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