Thankful Project: Day ... um...

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Thankful Project: Day 1

I'm thankful for having had a dry night for trick-or-treating and for chaperoning two responsible 10-year-olds who politely thanked each candy-giver and didn't squabble when it was time to end the night.

A neighbor has several fantastic trees in her planting strip. I love the way the bark falls away from the trunk:


A neighbor on the other side has this wonderful vine growing along our shared fence. As the blooms open wide and the petals begin to curl backward, they release a heavenly scent. Unfortunately, I haven't figured out how to embed smells into my blog. Yet.

For these things, I am thankful

I am thankful for bathroom vents that pull the steam out during and after a shower. Before installation, we relied upon open windows. We had to do a lot more scrubbing than we have to now. Phew.

I am thankful for the built-ins at the top of the stairs. They're a perfect central location for towels, sheets, and tableclothes. PLUS, their location is easy to describe to my family members: "Go get the blah-dee-blah at the top of the stairs."

I am thankful that the previous owners of the house saw fit to leave the original stained glass. Sure, they're not my crests. Sure, the windows leak heat. But it's lovely and lends to a sense of history about the home.

I am thankful for the "sleep" feature on my clock radio. I can listen to 30 minutes of my favorite tunes and fall asleep, assured that it will turn off by itself.

I am thankful for the recessed lights that replaced the "quaint" reproduction lanterns that once lit our home office. Eye strain is now minimal.

I am thankful for the fuzzy beanbag thingies that I can heat for 5 minutes in the microwave every winter evening to keep me warm all night long.

I am thankful for the outlet hidden in the back of our tall bathroom cabinet. It allows us to hide the Sonicare and any other rechargeables.

I mentioned it before, but I'll say it again: I am thankful for our toilet seat with built-in seat and water warmers and bidet functionality.

I am thankful for a full set of 3 bathroom drawers to myself. All mine. Nobody else's.

I am thankful for drop-down attic access. I can pull it down anytime and go up. And dream about turning it into a skylight-lit studio...

For these things, I am thankful

When I saw a therapist (I can admit it – I’m a big girl) in 2006 about anxiety issues, she suggested treating one aspect of my neuroses with self-appreciation and thankfulness, without guilt. While I have a handle on most of my issues (well, at least those I was trying to conquer then; I’m sure I’ve developed new ones now!), I realize I haven’t “counted my blessings” in some time. It seems wise to give thanks more often than during an annual November poultry pig-out.

School. Nearly every day I’m blown away by what I see of my daughter’s educational experience. I’m thankful that she has good aptitude for studies and friend-making, that we have access to such a fine learning institution, and that my husband and I have comfortable friend circles there, and are able to share the good experiences as a family.

Retreats. I am thankful that we have open access to a nearby summer retreat where we can all unwind and enjoy Puget Sound and good summer weather. I’m also lucky to have access to a getaway in my hometown, which we use mileage tickets to access at least once a year, in the summer.

Daughter. Of course I’m thankful for a wonderful little girl, and know I always will be. I never dreamed how proud I’d be of her, for her kindness, respect for other, aptitude for learning, and child’s joy of the world around her.

Bidet-functioning toilet seats. It’s warm when I need it, and the spray of water always leaves me feeling oh-so-fresh. It’s a shame these aren’t more common in this country/culture.

Adjustable beds. When I’m sick, it’s indispensable as a TV-watching aide and as a method to keep me propped up so I can breath well. It’s also a great daily tool to adjust to my aging body’s needs based on the variety of activities I’ve chosen.

Good neighbors. Even if the house wasn’t my dream of nooks and crannies, I’d be hard-pressed to move, given our good relationships with neighbors – a great bunch of people who watch out for each other and enjoy spending time together.

This is just a partial list, of course… I’ll endeavor to pepper my thoughts with further thanksgiving.

Sharing: 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 me a question. 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; she is 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. 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.

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place.

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.

Excerpt from The Invisible Woman, by Nicole Johnson
www.freshbrewedlife.com