Grandma's Advice

"Put on a pair of cotton gloves before putting on your pantyhose. It will prevent your fingernails from snagging them, and you won't have to worry about poking your finger through them."

--From my Grandma Adelyne, my mother's mother.

"If you need to sew a button back on a blouse but don't have any matching thread, take a length of thread from an inside seam and use that."

--From Frances Stevens, my aunt's mother-in-law (not technically my grandma, but close enough!)

Keeping the Play Dough Pretty

I love fresh pack of play dough. The softness, the scent, the richness of the color, the squishiness as you mold it....in fact, I would venture to say that a fresh tub of play dough is one of my little "mom luxuries."

But do you know what I hate about play dough? After pulling out several different colors for the kids to play with, somehow all of them end up smashed together. The truly bizarre thing is that no matter what colors are mixed, the result is always a weird yellowish-brown color! Very unattractive, and hardly a good motivation to pull it out and play with it!

It is for this reason that I have invented a new way to keep the play dough pretty, and your kids will still be thrilled with the variety!

When buying (or making) play dough, try making several colors in the same "family." For example, in our bucket right now my children have red, blue, light purple, deep purple, and white. Even after playing with each color, smashing little bits of one into the other, and sloppy clean up, the result is a nice lavender--which is still pretty enough to play with another day!

Below are two more color family combinations for your squishing pleasure:

Yellow, red, orange and white (smashed together makes peach)

Blue, green, yellow, and white (makes jade)

As a bonus, you can always make the dough "magic." The kids can't get enough of this one, and it's super easy to do. Take white play dough that you make or buy, and poke a little dent in it with your finger. In the dent, place about 5 drops of liquid food coloring, then ease the dough over the dent and roll around--gently--until it's smooth. Give the children the dough, and as they begin to knead it, it will "magically" become a different color! Truly thrilling if you're in preschool!


...here's to pretty play dough!

Promptings

There is a quote that I read many years ago. I'm not sure how it goes word-for-word, but it is something like "God knows our needs, but it is usually through another person that he fulfills them."

My children have a preschool teacher that we all just love. She is kind, and warm, and sincerely cares about each child in her care. She is especially sweet and patient with my oldest, who because of some developmental delays, is usually the most difficult child in her class. As Christmas time started to roll around I began to think of what I could give to this special teacher to show her how much all of us appreciate her. Another child brought her a little holiday-scented box of air freshener and it's matching candle, and she mentioned to the girl and her mother how much she loved things to scent her home. So I thought about buying a Yankee candle for her, but it just didn't seem right. I thought about the "default" soap and lotion set from Bath and Body Works, but that didn't seem right either. I thought about buying something for the classroom--maybe art supplies--but I wanted to get something that she alone could enjoy. So for a while I didn't think of anything, and figured I'd come up with something at least, by the last day of school.

The afternoon before the last day of school I was at Wal-Mart purchasing things, and right then I decided I'd get her a gift card. I took it up to the register and told them how much to put on it. I was fairly generous, but I really wanted her to know how much we valued her. We got home and I had the kids decorate a card for her, but then I started to doubt myself.

What if she thought I was trying to show off?

What if it looked like I was trying to make all the other gifts look bad?

What if she was offended because she thought that I thought she was poor?

What if she hated Wal-Mart?

What if she thought I was trying to buy favors for my children, like wanting them to be "fish feeding helper" when it really was someone else's turn?


The "what-if's" were whirling around my head, an it was only because I was out of time that I went ahead with giving her the gift card. We went to preschool, and my oldest excitedly ran to give her the card. She praised their art work and gave them a huge hug, and then (a little teary-eyed) gave me a hug. I chalked up her happiness to the ABSOLUTELY STUNNING art on her card, and because class was about to start I slipped out the door.

Today, when I dropped off the kids she pulled me aside and said she wanted to talk about the gift we gave her. She said that she had been having a rough time lately. her boyfriend had left her, taking with him her car, camera, and other things. Her hours had been cut drastically because the Air Force wasn't seeing a profit from running the preschool, which of course affected her paycheck. She told me that the night before class she had been praying and told God that she loved all her children and the heartfelt gifts they gave, but asked Him to please--please--let someone give her a gift card for Christmas...from Wal-Mart.

She told me that we were a direct, specific answer to her prayers, and that because of our gift she was able to buy groceries for the week.

I was shocked. As far as I know, I have never been the literal answer to someone else's prayers.

At first I felt all warm and fuzzy, but on the way home I started to feel a bit guilty. You see, the "what-if" game is not uncommon for me. How many times had I felt a prompting to do something, or to say something, or to give something but didn't. I have such a fear of being seen as condescending or high-and-mighty that too often, I let it paralyze me and I end up doing nothing at all. The man I saw at Denny's, who was clearly homeless and ordered only water-I felt I should buy him a meal, but I didn't. The girl who seemed overwhelmed with her children, and I thought maybe I should offer to have them over, but didn't. The couple at the fast food place, who spread all their change out on the table, counted it carefully, and determined they had enough for a small drink--nothing more--I wanted to "accidentally" drop a ten dollar bill next to their table as I left...but I didn't. The elderly lady sitting next to me at church; I had the sudden urge to put my arm around her, and I didn't.

Were their prayers unanswered because of me? Because of my fear?

Maybe.

Probably.

...I think I just found my New Year's resolution.

For all the mothers building their own cathedrals...

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 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 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, devoured - the book. And I would
discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:


(1) No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of
their names.

(2) These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see
finished.

(3) They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.

(4) 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.


God Bless You as you build your Cathedrals!
Monologue by Nicole Johnson