So, this is the sequel to last night's post about Tabbi saying that she hated us. It isn't fair to portray her as the bad guy, when I have to admit my faults, as well. Ok, I don't have to, but I always do. I screw up and I shout it from the rooftops (aka blog it from my desktop), because I am an equal opportunity caller outer. And last night, I lost it. While I may have forbidden Tabbi to open her mouth again, I opened mine. A lot. And a calling out must be done.
Tabbi would attest to the fact that I don't raise my voice. Actually she says that I am way scarier than most parents, because the more mad I get, the calmer I get. I don't yell hardly ever. I speak. Firmly. However, last night post my post, I got mad. Really mad. And I yelled.
The conversation started with me trying to talk out what was going on, but rational talk and 11 year olds is an oxymoron. So, she yelled. She yelled that she hated her life, she's hated it for the last 4 years and why can't she just go to her mother's. Her mom is the only one that loves her and her dad hates her and while I am pretty sure that more words came out of her mouth after that, all I heard was a dull roar. And then I realized that the roar was probably coming from me.
I am not going in to detail about what was said, because it is all personal business of this family. What I will say is that I had zero tolerance for her assertion that her father doesn't love her, and I made that clear. CRYSTAL clear. I demonstrated voluminously how much her father loved her and that things may not be perfect, but she doesn't show love so well herself. The more I said, the louder I grew, telling her that maybe she would have a better relationship with Mark if when he walked in the door at night and asked how her day was... maybe she should answer. Maybe an eye roll and one syllable response to every question asked isn't necessarily the most loving response either. However, I said this all at possibly the highest decibel level this house has ever heard. And if you know this house, that is saying something.
The good news is that by the end of our "conversation" (which has left me with a scratchy throat today like I just cheered all night at a double header), Tabbi and I came to an understanding. Then, of her own volition, she came downstairs and hugged her dad and they both apologized and told each other that they love each other. At the end, we went from the Osbournes (minus the drugs and cursing) to the Cleavers (minus only the pearls). The lesson learned: Blended families like ours are not easy things, and tweens can push you to within an inch of your sanity... but in the end, we all survived. And people thought it would only be the cockroaches left after a nuclear war....