I don't want to be *that* blogger

the one who jumps from peril to peril posting only the waah and the boohoo's.  I don't want to be the person who sees the thundercloud and neglects the rainbow.  I would pour this into a conversation with my Momma but I cannot.   This is the first time I've been at my in laws since my Mom died.  It's been purposeful.  I didn't think I could handle being here.  They are amazing people.  They are kind and thoughtful and gentle.  It wasn't that I don't like them, quite the opposite. I adore them. My love for them made me feel guilty.  Like I was already letting the family I have fill in the spaces that the absence of my Mom had left.  It made me feel betrayal was coming from my mouth when I called out "Mom" and it was answered by someone other than mine.  And then.  There have been a lot of "And then"s in my life lately.  I am conflicted and torn.   My heart has been so full today and so incredibly empty.  Tears have flown because I ache deeper than words can convey and then again because of the overwhelming joy that I feel at the efforts of my family to make this time positive.  My family went from 4 to 5 and that's how we roll.  All of us together.  This is the first time we've traveled to our in laws as a family of 5.  Worried is too strong of a word.  I was, however, concerned. Concerned for our newest family member.  Making sure that she felt loved and included.  Her presents piled up next to her like promises.  Promises and welcome.  My heart broke that she had to be here.  That the loss of the past year put us in this position.  Then in a breath it was swelling with pride.  Pride at this family that I have known for 1/2 my life.  These people that trusted me to love their brother & son.  The presents that were contained within the wrapping paper didn't lose their promise or their welcome as they were unwrapped.  Gifts for a girl they hadn't yet met but already knew they would love.  How can I not be joyful? How can I not feel the very grace of God? I have cried more than I thought I would.  Laughed more than I thought I would.  My breath has caught in my chest more than once.  My first choice would, of course, be to have my Mom here and not have to do any of this.  But I am so blessed in the midst of the sadness to be surrounded by people who love me and know how to show love. 
The gentle guidance of a grandma over an eager new embroiderer is beautiful and sad to watch.  Hearing my girlchild whispering excitedly over a newly acquired skill with her grandma and knowing that it will never again be my mom makes me sad in a way I've not felt before.  I didn't realize I would mourn that...or I guess I thought I already had. 
And so many more examples of moments that have brought me the greatest sadness and then in an instant I am overwhelmed by the blessing that is my life. The blessing of the people I am surrounded with.  The blessing of the gaping spaces in my life that are being filled by people who love us.  Sometimes without even knowing they are filling a gap.  My momma always bought my babies advent calendars. Every year they would look forward to picking it out with her. This year those calendars taunted me from well before Thanksgiving.  I would shop and they would be in the most obscure places.  I welled up with tears more than once after spotting a random display, knowing that this year it would be my job to them.  That from now on it wouldn't be a gramma thing. Today my mother in law called me into her bedroom after all the gifts were exchanged.  She handed me a bag.  Inside were reusable advent calendars.  boxes that can be used every year over and again. Never again will I have to buy the calendars that taunted me.  And it is still a grandma thing.  How can I not feel blessed? The best part? She didn't just get 2 no, our family of 5 now needs 3 and in her bag were 3 advent calendars. 

So basically it hurts and then...

I am sad and then...

I am so very very thankful for the and then!

Being My Own Glue

I have been stuck in this rut.  This place that is a lot like the waiting place a really smart Dr. once wrote about.  Being authentic is important to me.  Being the same person despite the company I am in.  Despite the circumstance.  Despite the occasion.  I've long called it being "real" and it's the one word I wanted people to use to describe me above all others.  But because I was so bent on being authentic I didn't realize that I was negating the validity of change.  Change doesn't mean I am inauthentic.  Things change.  Circumstances change. Relationships change.  I would never discount the renewed relationship between my brother and myself because I know that it is authentic and genuine and real but I wouldn't have rediscovered it if I hadn't been open to changing the way our relationship  was just a few short months ago. I didn't have a strong relationship with my extended family.  When I would see them I would enjoy the time we shared together but if it didn't happen I wasn't longing for it.  The change? The difference?  The glue that allowed me to be a passive participant in family relationships is gone.  If I want to be in touch with people *I* will have to be in touch with them.  It requires me going outside of my comfort zone to discover how to be my own glue.  I went outside of that comfort zone this evening.  I reached out and asked if I could "crash" their Friday night plans.  They said yes! I  felt awkward asking to spend a few hours and because of my terminology they thought I was spending the night, and they still welcomed me with open arms! So I spent a night laughing, ,crying and freezing with that extended family that I mentioned.  You know, the ones who I enjoy but don't long for? The difference this time? I left knowing that I will be creating an opportunity to see them again, not just waiting for it to happen.

When Jeremy retired we moved to a town knowing no one, not a super daunting task given our military background.  I had forgotten that it wasn't the moving that was the hard part.  The hard part of a new place is forging relationships.  I had discounted the glue of being military families.  We all knew what it felt like to be the new kid, so it was a title you wore for a very short period of time.  So here I sit in a 'new' town 4 months later and know as many people as I did when I arrived.  I keep waiting for the welcome committee, the new kid banishers to arrive and bring with them a gaggle of friends and a spot safely secured for me to plug in to and belong in. 

While my babies were little I found an amazing group of friends online, through a pregnancy centered website.  We talked and forged relationships and developed bonds.  I have met some of them over time and our families became great friends.  Consider some of them my close friends despite the fact that I've never laid eyes on them. After a decade of knowing these ladies I've seen their families grow and change.  Lifted them up through sadness and joy.

I've had a lot of glue in my life.  The glue of my mom being the anchor and the commentator on our family is no longer an option. It now requires effort on my part.  The glue of the military that bonded spouses together and allowed friendships to be forged quickly and deeply no longer exists in our new life.  Finding friends means going places and reaching out,again it basically means effort on my part.  The glue of my online family where somebody is always there to talk me through my current crazy or parental dilemma.   I didn't realize how letting somebody/something else be my glue had made me so lazy.  I  had never done things differently so I didn't think that I could because in my mind it would make me inauthentic.  It would make me less real.  It makes absolutely no sense when I walk through it.  So today I choice to reach out, to make awkward phone calls, to invite people in instead of just smiling and nodding.  Today I have decided that I will become my own glue.  If you get a phone call from me, be gentle.....this is new.

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.

Creating home...

One of the things I love about our house is that when people visit they stay longer than they intended.  Some days that is the exact thing I dislike about our house too.  Mostly, though, I love it.  I love that my house is homey and comfortable. That dinner around the table is always able to accommodate another plate or two and that everybody pitches in to clean up afterward.  I love the concept of family and I think it partially because of my experiences in the military.  We can disassemble and reassemble our house and have the same feeling because it's the people that make the home not the place. 

I was talking with my brother about what I hoped to impart/accomplish/teach/do for Sarah since she was living with us.  He talked about financial planning and money management. He talked about schooling and jobs.  I want to mentor her in all of those things but I realized during our conversation that the single most important thing to me is creating home.  I don't want to step into my moms shoes in her life, for the same reason that I want nobody else to step into them in my life.  They don't need to be filled.  What I do want for her is to create a place that is hers forever. A place that can hold her history and anchor her future.  When she is ready to go off to college I want her room to remain ready for her return.  When she is ready to step out on her own I want her wings to spread because her roots are safe.  I tend to over think, shocking I know, and I am probably putting too much energy into this whole thing but I am trying to pinpoint exactly what this new family dynamic will look and feel like.