She said Dad.

A wise woman (my mother) once told me that relationships are kind of like refurbishing furniture. Things sometimes have to get really messy before they can become beautiful. She also use to tell me that if I stuck my hair behind my ears it would make my ears stick out. I think she just didn’t like my hair that way…. well played lady. What can I say to make Richa afraid of wearing an entire outfit of various shades of hot pink? Hmmm. My mom told me before you can repaint/refurnish/renovate anything and make it beautiful you have to strip it down or in some instances even demolish it right down to the foundation. Resulting in a finished product that is usually an unrecognizable more beautiful version of the original. In between the two stages is a lot of work, sweat, frustration, wood shavings, and dust. A big ole mess. When it comes to some relationships I think she is absolutely right, and one of the Jo-isms (her name is Jo) that I’m thinking of today.

“Are you mad because I late?” This was the question my daughter asked me out of the blue after driving in the car for 10 minutes on the way to the veterinarian this morning. I was taken back because a) I wasn’t at all and b) in my mind I thought we were having fun talking about periods, but in her mind, unbeknownst to me, she was worried I was mad. “Mad? No love why would I be mad? You tried your best to get ready in 45 minutes, right?” Upon waking I told her she had 45 minutes to get out of bed, shower, dress herself (I’ve spent the day with a hot pink crayon fyi), brush her teeth, and come downstairs. It took her 55, so in the car I called and told the receptionist we would be 5 minutes late. No biggie. This insignificant phone call started an avalanche of anxiety in my daughter’s little brain. Unfortunately, the anxiety part I’m used to but for her to come out and ask me if I was mad at her? HUGE.

After a big smile of relief, she told me she actually had been awake for a while and wanted to get up to shower earlier. I said, “You did? Well why didn’t you sweetie?” Her response….” I scared.” What of? No freakin clue. Statistically this is how many adopted older children behave in their new home. The majority of the time she walks around as if landmines of uncertainty are everywhere, and at any minute could explode. So, her being afraid to move, make independent decisions, and do what she wants I’m used to, but for her to tell me how she was feeling and why she didn’t get up and shower on her own? HUGE. At that moment, I couldn’t have praised her more for recognizing her emotions, sharing them with me, and then asking me about them. I spent the rest of our car trip explaining (for the millionth time) that our home is just that…. OUR home. She doesn't need permission to shower, get dressed, go play with her toys, etc. She only needs to permission to use Netflix or her Ipad. It doesn’t matter how many times I say it though. She never quits needing the validation that we love her and aren't going to be mad.

The final step in our renovation project included Richa calling Andrew “dad” on the way to get bloodwork taken. She said it like it was the most natural thing ever. “Is Dad coming?” It took all the restraint I had in my body to not run off the road. I wanted to immediately stop the car, jump out, and do the electric slide. Since she’s a teenager I had to act completely oblivious to the fact that she used Dad in a sentence without any probing whatsoever. La dee dah…. nothing to see here….would have started whisting if I possessed that level of talent. My mother in law being the epitome of positivity quickly told me that “Mom” would be next. I hope I still have my hearing by then.

Our big ole mess is starting to look beautiful. We may have a ways to go before selling for big bucks at our local craft fair…. but I can envision the final product. It looks different than I imagined, but it feels priceless.