Right now we are in the midst of baseball season. It takes up many of our evenings, but is sure a lot of fun. Braxton is on the Diamondback team and Michael is playing for the Tigers this year.

Some pictures of Alexander swinging. Good thing he likes to swing because sometimes mommy puts him in there a lot. Mommy has to make breakfast, lunch, or dinner, clean up, feed the brothers, do the dishes, mop the floor, chase Corvin down, etc. (can you tell I have the swing in the kitchen) and Alexander gets to watch it all from his swing.

My Michael Bean turned 6 years old. He had a great birthday with a fun visit from his grandparents and Aunt Lindsey. He wanted Fruity Pebbles for his birthday breakfast and we threw in some candles for fun on lemon bread. Grandma made a volcano cake (he insisted on the white frosting and sprinkles) and he was thrilled with it. I think the boys just loved playing with the dry ice. Corvin liked the cake too. Michael opening some of his presents.

Michael had a great day at school as well. He choose Aunt Lindsey to come and be his Royal Reader in his class. She got to dress up as their queen, walk the red carpet, and read a special story served on a platter to all her loyal subjects. He also got to have treats and a special birthday hat. I have never seen Michael get embarrassed until that day. His face was all red during the whole thing.

I promised my husband that I would post this picture on the blog, so here it is. I make fun of him everytime he goes out to mow the lawn with his glasses and massive headphones. I should probably stop teasing him before he stops mowing the lawn. He is saying "What?" because he has no idea why I laugh so much.

A little frog Scot found after mowing the lawn. The boys played with him to death. Here he is remembering his days of freedom and trying to escape.

My little Corvin J "helping" me make cake. We now have 3 boys to fight over licking the bowl and spoon.

Happy Mothers day to all the 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 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'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 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 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 cthedral 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 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 the table." 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.