Faithful readers know that I am having a hard week on the children front. I hit a new low when Divorced Moms tweeted my blog with
‘When your fiance’s kid hates you. What do you do?
Haha. Actually it was kind of a high, I had to laugh. Then I retweeted that bitch.
And favorited it.
I want to say thank you to all of you that commented and gave me things to think about. I appreciated every single one. It really did help and I shared all of your insight and advice (even yours, Damn Yankee!) with Al, since for the first time ever, HE DIDN’T READ MY BLOG. I told him that morning that I was blogging and he said he was scared and might skip it. I suggested he might want to indeed although I didn’t call her names or diagnosis her with mental illness.
We have had a very up and down week, he and I. I knew I should be supportive of him because he was horrified and embarrassed and mad and lonely there so I would pull off supportive for a while and then I would get steaming mad again and vent on him about the injustice of the situation. So, we were on a cycle and I know Al was probably at wit’s end not knowing if I was Nice Cuckoo or Irate Cuckoo on any given day.
He is coming tomorrow and I am dying to see him. First, I left while we were still in shock and raw following the incident. I got on the plane with swollen eyes and a headache the size of Texas. He left me at the airport with his own headache and fear of getting a Dear John text when I landed. Which of course I would never do. Because, I’m sorry, little girl, but I find your daddy, delicious. Sue me.
When all else failed, I did a lot of reading this week. I have no idea what I was thinking prior to this incident; of course we weren’t going to blend 6 kids without their being some hell involved. Al and I were living in LALA land. I should have started reading about blending families a year ago and especially about blending older kids. Shit, you would be amazed how much comes up when you google:
adult children and parental remarriage
There are a gajillion articles about it because apparently, there are lots of disgruntled young adults behaving badly when their parent remarries.
**Interestingly, several articles talked about adult children who in hindsight said they were sorry they interfered; that their parent did not remarry based on their objections and never had another chance to remarry, living and growing old alone. The adult child, of course, married and moved and went on with their own lives, leaving the parent to sit with their cats. But they felt guilty… they were pretty damn sorry then, I’ll bet. Also, they mentioned having to take care of the parent since they were alone. Hmmph. Assholes.
Now, Damn Yankee, gave me some things to think about that I know are true. Al’s daughter is not the enemy and I cant give up on her. Those were two that really hit home with me in the comments she made on my blog and I discussed them with Al today. I am trying to reframe them in my head, but more time from the attack needs to occur before I can change my feelings on the ‘enemy’ part.
I am 50 years old and I know many of my flaws but also some good qualities that I possess, and one thing is that I can forgive anyone almost anything. Maybe it is my clinical training, but I don’t really consider anyone as all good or all bad. One bad act does not define a person and for Heaven’s sake, I would not have wanted anyone to judge me my entire life for something I may have done when I was 22. I can move on from this and I still want more than anything for her to accept me and spend time with us. Really, she just has to throw me a crumb. Just a teenseyweensey crumb and I would be so grateful.
I had a patient once tell me his wife was an ’emotional terrorist.’ I loved that description and have since seen them everywhere. It means that they are stormy, their mood isn’t always stable, they have good days, but if they have a bad day you are sure to know it and it gets blamed on YOU. You are a hostage to their emotions. If they have a good day and are happy you get to be happy. Run and hide if they don’t.
Today, Merlot, almost 10 years old and the sweetest of the bunch (and most affected to be honest of the bunch because she is the youngest and will have a stepfather to live with the longest) even sweet, sweet Merlot is an emotional terrorist. She is in the habit of sending me selfies of herself looking miserable when she is with Stanley.
There is no purpose for this accept to let me know that she is miserable and it is because I am not there. So, I fall for it and feel like a terrible mother leaving her with her boring father and a dark life of 50% boredom and squalor, so then text Jumping Bean to go check on her. She texts back in 2 minutes that Merlot is fine, giggling and watching The Simpsons.
Emotional terrorism at it’s finest. I was her hostage.
Even Al’s 16 yo daughter, who has been nothing but a delight, had a good go of it last week on our lunch date. She said, and I will try to tell it the way she did, “My friends aren’t even sympathetic to my problems sometimes and they say things like, “You aren’t even on medication so you can’t be depressed!” And I say back, “My parents are divorced! Doesn’t that count for me to get to be depressed?” I’m very depressed, my parents are divorced!”
And I feel like shit since my kids also have divorced parents and want to buy her something to try to make up for all the injustices she has witnessed. Good God, here just take my wallet. I’m a hostage again.
This weekend will be a huge improvement. Al’s son is back at school an hour from here and wants to come up Saturday to watch a football game with his girlfriend so that will be fun. I plan to make dinner at the house for us all. I also have my kids all weekend, so that will be fun and a way for us to feel better about the situation.
But for future reference, we need an Emotional Terrorism Survival Kit or something. Think of it, instead of bottled water there are bottles of booze. It could include:
- ear plugs that are small enough to be unnoticed. They could lay it on thick and we nod occasionally from our place of ignorance. I would be willing to throw in a few ‘bless your hearts!” randomly for effect..
- pills or a cream to grow a thicker skin so that noise that made it through the plugs would have less impact.
- Ativan, Xanax or some other ‘i don’t give much of a shit’ pills. It would just dull what they say, ever so slightly.
- Ben and jerry’s Pfish Food or Chunky Monkey ice cream to eat in one sitting while you cry when they leave. That helps all injustices.
- For when I’m dieting, or need to go for the big guns, Pinot Grigio and some Fireball for occasions which there is no way mere ice cream can work.
- A blankee to make myself feel safe.
- a laptop to blog about the injustices and for ordering the occasional pizza because hostages get hungry.
It is a fine line. I want to respond to my kid’s every need and do whatever I have to do to make them happy. Now, I have even more kids that I want to respond to their every need and do whatever I have to do to make them happy.
But I want do it on my terms and not in a hostage situation. I come from an intact home and I wasn’t happy every single day of my life. What makes them think the divorce ruined their life? Neither of our homes were happy or healthy. Maybe having access to my Emotional Terrorism Survival kit will do the trick. I think I ought to patent that idea and market it. it could be a good seller for all parents but especially divorced moms and dads. Al and I need about 6 of them ourselves.
it could be about this big, with Emotional Terrorism Survival Kit on the side.
I need to get on this bad. I need a patent immediately.
Think more tomorrow.