Now what.

I think I mentioned this morning that the girls spent the night at My Mom’s. Due to the rapid onset of an epic headache, I asked The Zen Master to please pick up our children on his way home from work. I just got a phone call from My Mom asking me to please come and pick them up now before she killed Princess Punk. This request was interspersed with both of them screaming at each other incoherently. I told her The Zen Master was on his way and promptly called my husband to let him know he needed to hustle his ass if he wanted to pick up both girls alive. I called My Mom back to apologize for not letting her know that they would be picked up later than originally planned because I had to wait for my husband to get off work. She said it was not a problem that they were there longer, just the she and The Princess had just gotten into a huge fight because Princess Punk was
a mean, nasty, horrible spoiled brat.” She then said,
I didn’t mind them staying for most of the day, it’s just your daughter is just a bitch.
Then she said goodbye and hung up.

Ouch. Like really, ouch. It wasn’t even like she was stating the kid’s behavior was horrible or mean or bitchy, she made a definitive statement about my daughter as a person. And I’m sure (at least I hope) that she will feel bad at some point and say she didn’t mean it like that, but that was really one of those things you can’t un-say. Because somewhere, deep inside, some part of her really does feel that way.
And that is truly painful, especially given the source.
I expect that from My Dad. He can be truly mean, straight down to his core and in fact said several things of that nature about her on New Year’s Eve. And I stuck up for her, and I told him that things like that make a kid feel like shit and make them feel like you don’t love them. And I told him that I NEVER felt he loved me until I became an adult. In fact, I spent a good portion of my youth believing my father hated me.
My therapist would have been proud.
Anyway… To hear that, from My Mom…
It was gut-wrenching.
I know my daughter can be a first-class brat. Believe me. I know. But no matter how pissed off at her, no matter how much I yell, she always knows I love her.
Then a text from Princess Punk…

“Im never coming to this stupid house again!!!! they BOTH Wish that u only gave birth to The Peach and NOT me!”

Now What?

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