Building our future

We are buying a house, well building a house to be more exact.  We talked about buying for a while and would walk through various floor plans and neighborhoods and nothing ever clicked.  Mom was going to live with us when she retired.  We started searching for houses when we got here with her in mind.  The schilldren would dismiss a house w/too many stairs because of her knee. Or a house without a second living room because of her furniture.  Soon after she was killed we started looking for houses again as our family had grown.  It was too sad.  A house with stairs was something that we leaned toward because then it wasn't a house that Gramma would have lived in. But that made us sad too because it was blatantly not a house for Gramma.  Our realtor suggested building but we thought it was beyond our reach financially.  We met the builder anyway and everything has fallen into place. Step by step our house is growing.  It is such a beautiful thing because the house is new and fresh and doesn't come with history.  It didn't belong to a family that lost it to foreclosure (a fact that is pretty common we've discovered in our search) or it doesn't smack of being pro or anti Gramma since we are creating the floor plan to fit us each step of the way.  Today we met with the builder for the final time before they break ground and start building.  We picked out siding, shutters, roof shingles, and windows.  The final thing we needed to decide on was a front door.  So many choices.  We decided that we would give a nod to Gramma.  Something that will make us feel her presence every time we walk in or out. Something that will bring a smile to our faces.  We found the color of her lipstick.  It's a shade of mauve and burgundy and, dare I say  it, love.  All wrapped up into a front door.  The coolest part? The name of the color is Colorado, which is were the rest of our O'Day family is.  Perfect made even more perfect. Like I said every single step feels ordained and arranged. Filled with grace and anointed by God.  We are building future and it's being anchored on my Momma's kiss.

I used to work at Camp New Hope

as a teenager.  It is a camp environment for kids and adults with physical or mental differences and it was such a giant learning ground for me.  It taught me so many things about others, about life, about myself.  It also provided me with 2 life lessons that I have carried with me far beyond the length of a job.  2 is really short changing the lessons I learned there, but 2 stick out more boldly than others.  The campers changed weekly and while you truly shouldn't have favorites, I couldn't always help myself.  I fell hard and fast for a child about 8 who was wheelchair bound.  His name is imprinted on my heart and has been since the moment I held him while we swam.  He had severe brain damage and I assumed it was some form of cerebral palsy.  One day while working with him one on one another counselor came in and asked if I knew his diagnosis.  It was a pretty popular game at camp, and over time I became pretty good at it.  I offered my guess and the other counselor shook her head.  I made a couple more half hearted attempts at guessing but I couldn't figure it out.  After a few minutes she said "He's a shaken baby" in that exact moment I experienced a heart break that I had never felt before.  By this point I had lost my Dad and knew what loss was, but I had never mourned the loss of potential.  The loss of what was to be because of another.  My Dad died of a heart attack, not at the hands of someone else.  That loss was hard to endure and sad but this baby was 'normal' (i loathe that word).  Somebody he trusted got frustrated that he wouldn't quiet and shook him, until his brain would be forever damaged and his life forever changed.  That child is the reason I don't do crying babies.  That boy is a huge reason I parent the way I do.  I saw a glimpse of what unchecked rage can do. An instant can impact forever.


Now the 2nd lesson is not quite as dramatic.  One week I had 2 sisters who were hearing impaired in my group.  We signed and they signed and it was a thing of beauty.  I love sign language and am so geeked to get to start a class tomorrow to truly learn how to sign. This story though isn't about being heard, it's about being dismissed & shut down.  They asked to swim, it wasn't our turn.  They asked for crafts, it wasn't quite time.  They got frustrated with me and I was signing and trying to figure out what we could do that would make them less frustrated.  And then.  The moment that is seared in my mind.  They looked at me and widened their eyes so I would notice them and then with deliberate direct eye contact they both slowly closed their eyes.  They didn't close their eyes tightly it was gentle and a passerby would have thought they were just taking an extended blink.  I knew better.  I was shut down.  In a way that I had never been before.  You can talk louder if a child covers their ears.  You can keep talking if they look away and refuse to engage, knowing that they still hear you.  A deaf kids closes their eyes and that's all she wrote folks!  There is NO way to counter that.  That is the feeling that makes me crazy.  It is that feeling that makes me shut down in relationships that should feel safe.  I feel the deliberate gaze of people in my life and then they simply close their eyes.  Sometimes they shut them about all things and I am left trying to figure out how our friendship has taken such a turn and why I wasn't aware of it.  Sometimes they shut them on certain topics and I am left trying to figure out what is allowed to be discussed and what is not. I would far prefer direct dialogue.  Tell me why you are whatever you are.  Are you angry? why?  Are you disappointed? why?  Speak it.  Don't close your eyes and just refuse to acknowledge the source of whatever it is that has you closing your eyes in the first place.  It's probably why I over think, over talk, invest way too deeply in the ramifications of words and actions.  But just like a deaf kid with eyes closed there is no way in.  No way for me to rectify the relationship or fix the issues.  It  leaves me wondering if I should step in or step out.  And that is where I am. 

Bed time routine

Our bedtime routine used to include me singing each child 2 songs someplace after brushing teeth but before saying prayers. Joshypot got wise and would ask me to sing "the song that never ends" which, as it turns out, actually does end after about 3 go rounds.  Mostly though they would ask me to sing Gramma O'Day songs.  I would sing a song of six pence, or share my favorite things, talk about a cherry that has no stone.  Hosts of other songs would come and go but they would always have at least one "gramma song" in the mix.  I stopped the practice several months ago...perhaps even a year.  In an attempt to streamline bedtime the singing got cut.  My mom always gave me grief about it, blah blah blah they are only little once, blah blah blah you will regret this when they are older. As she would crawl into bed with them on every visit and sing for far more than the 2 songs I used to allot.  I felt like I was off the hook because it had turned into a special thing for them.  Now that the blah blah blah has subsided in my head I can hear what she said even louder.  They are only little once, I do regret the time I spent not singing to them.  I started singing a few nights ago.  Only one song.  I can't do more.  Right now it makes my heart ache as I sing and hear echoes of her voice in mine.  My voice catches when I try to sing more than one song.  Scratching his back, stroking her hair.  Making sure the Gramma sticks.  It's only been 2 months and yet it feels like I can already not hear her voice in an instant. 

"It's a wonderful life"

I have this phrase matted and in a frame hanging on my wall.  It's a curious story how it came to live with me.  I bought it as a present for a friend years ago and yet, on my wall is where it hangs.  I had placed it gently into the van and then my toddler stepped on it climbing out of their car seat.  I heard a single pop and noticed later that the glass was broken. I was so disappointed that it was broken.  I waffled back and forth back and forth on what to do.  Returning it for a replacement popped in my head for a moment but that would have been like stealing to me.  The store didn't break the glass.  The store shouldn't lose out on their profit simply because of our accident.  I thought about buying another one but simply didn't have the extra money in my budget at the time.  It sat on a shelf for a while in the department store bag, forgotten.  Months had passed and I discovered it in a cleaning spree of my closet.  This time I pulled it out of the bag and read the words "It's a wonderful life" with the words "wonderful life" written even bigger in the background in big block letters.  And there in the middle of this wonderful life was a giant break in the glass.  I fell in love.  There could not have been a truer statement.  This is a wonderful life.  With all the breaks in our glass. It's through the flaws and the hurt, the difficult and the struggle that we are able to appreciate the strengths and the love, the easy and the journey.  It's been on my wall for many years.  Anytime people mention the break and how easy it would be to get it fixed I am reminded of the story and why I like the broken.  My Mom has helped me move several times and "It's a wonderful life" became part of our moving dance.
Hey Kam, the glass in this frame got broken in the move
Aww man! Which frame? Is the picture damaged? (usually from another room so I headed to see)
Nothing is damaged it's just a crack in the glass but it goes all the way through.
Oh, *that* I know, it's been like that since I bought it. 
By this time I would be standing next to her and I would go through the whole story.  She would fill in the details I'd forget because by  now she knew the story.  And our dance. 
I am so blessed and thankful for that frame, those conversations, and the fact that despite the broken in my life right now I know that it is still wonderful.