A Chapter Ends For Now

This weekend was awful.

I know that sounds strange, particularly after I rhapsodized like a fool last Friday. Dallas and I had a watershed moment Saturday afternoon and then everything went downhill from there.

Before we were married, we discussed the fact that we were up to our eyeballs in dependants and that there were bound to be conflicts every now and then. Parenting one's own children can sometimes suck. Being a step-parent takes stress to the next level. We knew this and made the conscious decision that the relationship between husband and wife would supersede all others. As a unified front, we would face our children and gracefully usher them into adulthood.

We were ridiculously naive.

Last Saturday, Dallas began the task of cleaning teenage daughter's room and completing the rest of the few chores that we ask her to do twice a month. I had done them the previous two weekends in an effort to avoid an argument but found myself bubbling over with resentment and anger. We really do not ask much of our children and to be repeatedly disobeyed chapped my ass. Last weekend sensing that I was at the breaking point, Dallas went upstairs figuring that as long as the chores got done, it wouldn't matter who did them. In theory, that probably should have been correct but when I saw him making his way downstairs with an overflowing basket of her clothing that he intended to launder, I came unglued.

Why were the rules of the house bent for one person? Why was it okay for a single child to be so disrespectful to the process while the others were held accountable? Why in the world were we tiptoeing around the bad choices that were being made?

Emotional blackmail.

And that is the truth.

It's not like it's the first time that a father has been manipulated by his daughter. That's more common than male pattern baldness. What made our situation so challenging and tricky was that his ex encourages conflict, the reasons of which are many and varied and way too complicated to detail in this post. The end result is that my husband has, FOR YEARS, been trying to apologize for imaginary crimes and mend fences that were never broken with a daughter whose perceptions have been filtered through the distorted lens of an unbalanced mother. When displeased, teenage daughter has found that withholding communication and affection is an effective punishment for her father. Witnessing the pain that this causes my husband is nearly unbearable.

Teenage daughter is not a bad girl, though. She's not one of those wild kids that you watch walk out the front door and wonder if she'll come home sober and in one piece. She doesn't drink or do drugs and she seems oblivious to peer pressure. She is mild to the point of mousy.

So why the complaint?

I know, I know. This type of child can make you crazy because you spend an inordinate amount of time questioning your sanity. You ask yourself whether or not it really matters that she refuses to do her chores, or study, or stop texting during school hours. Is the world going to come to an end if she continues to take food into her bedroom, or repeatedly burn her brand new dresser with her flat iron? Is it that big a deal that she forgets to communicate her plans, or observe her curfew or sit for her learner's permit? And of course, the answer is no.

But when you take all of the events together, sprinkle in some attitude and add three other children who try pretty hard to follow the rules, you realize that being given the bird on a daily basis by one has the potential to bring the whole program down.

Saturday night, Dallas and I were out for dinner, subdued and still nursing the emotional wounds from the afternoon. As we discussed our situation, we concluded that we were finished with the ongoing battle. Teenage daughter was going to have to live by the rules of the house or we would be forced to take more drastic measures.

Dallas reached out to her and was met with a repugnant lack of respect that took my breath away. It was one of those exchanges that has you shaking your head and saying, "If I ever spoke to either of my parents that way.......". And it was the proverbial straw for Dallas.

Sunday morning, we packed her belongings, put them out on the drive and changed the locks on the doors. Teenage daughter now lives with her mother.

And while I feel that we have failed her in some respects, I also know that we, as parents, have a limit. Looking into the mirror and seeing an enabler staring back at you is a sick realization.

There's a reason that it's called "tough" love.