Goodies for Grandparents:

These are a bit outdated but I wanted to post them before putting up new ones. (Maybe a bit dull for those who don't worship my kids, as with most of my posts...)

Outside the Barber shop
Short Stuff

I think I'm in love.

Inside the Barber shop-
Note: It's an inside joke that Matt wears beer hats. The guys at work think it's hilarious for him to wear them cause he doesn't drink, so of course when we find a cool one that's cheap we buy it. I know, very classy.

Jes saw Carlie and Rosemary approaching so he ran to the street to walk them in.

Weirdo.

Old videos:

Notice our beautiful yard, hopelessly cluttered with Man toys (clay pigeon thrower, etc), and boy toys (plastic crap). We're real southerners now...

This is Great! (I didn't write it!)

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 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 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 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 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 people.

Great Job, MOM!

Loved This...

The Concert
When the house lights dimmed and the concert was about to begin, the mother returned to her seat and discovered that her child was missing. Suddenly, the curtains parted and spotlights focused on the impressive Steinway on stage. To her horror, the mother saw her little boy sitting at the keyboard, innocently picking out, "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." At that moment the great piano master made his entrance, quickly moved to the piano, and whispered in the boy's ear, "Don't quit . . . keep playing." Then, leaning over, Paderewski reached down with his left hand and began filling in a bass part. Soon his right arm reached around to the other side of the child, and he added a running obbligato. Together, the old master and the young novice transformed what could have been a frightening situation into a wonderfully creative experience. The audience was so mesmerized that they couldn't recall what else the great master played. Only the classic, " Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."
Perhaps that's the way it is with God. What we can accomplish on our own is hardly noteworthy. We try our best, but the results aren't always graceful, flowing music. However, with the hand of the Master, our life's work can truly be beautiful. The next time you set out to accomplish great feats, listen carefully. You may hear the voice of the Master whispering in your ear, "Don't quit . . . Keep playing." May you feel His arms around you and know that His hands are there, helping you turn your feeble attempts into true masterpieces. Remember, God doesn't seem to call the equipped. Rather, He equips the "called." Life is more accurately measured by the lives you touch than by the things you acquire, so touch someone by passing this little message along, and remember, "Don't quit . . . keep playing."

She Lives!

Wow. So life's just been too crazy to write a single word, for like the last couple months. What can ya do... Actually, you can post simple bulletins and a tiny anecdote or two, to relieve the dreaded, neglected-blog-guilt. So let's get on with it.

It's official, we're trying to get knocked up. Yes, AGAIN. Problem is, we want another kid, and unfortunately pregnancy is the only option for us at the moment that's both feasible and legal. Too bad for my hips.

Bulletin: Gabe's doing fine. No, he's doing GREAT! Had a bit of a scare with some health concerns, but he got tubes put in his ears, gross motor skills returned, and he's once again happy as a PMS'er who just took over Willy Wonka's factory.

Now this is too good -(or bad?)- to procrastinate. Tonight before bed the boys started W(bleep- no last names) Family Wrestle Mania, which lasted at least 40 minutes. Somehow I got pulled into the fray and before it was over, as if viewing myself through an out of body experience, I heard the following words angrily leave my mouth: "I found the spot where Jesse wiped his nose on the bed... Guess how." (Picture me wiping my chin.) It was too disgusting to convey through writing. I think I'm pretty tough; I can take blow after blow- knee to the eye, elbow to the temple, etc. But when mucus gets involved, I draw the line. During dinner tonight Matt picked a booger and reached across the table to show me. It's just too much for one night. And it goes to show, even the pros have their limits.

Beach Boys

Fun in the sun!

"Gotta-pee-gotta-pee-gotta-pee!"

Cutie-pie Emile

Love that belly- profile shot.

Disappearing legs

Burying Dad

De-burying Dad