Sooo the outcome of the dental appointment, as I mentioned in my previous post’s comments, was that I was advised to cancel it and reschedule it for my own time with Franny. I don’t really have anymore outrage for the outrage pile, except to say it’s kind of ridiculous that when he was trying to force me back to 50/50 last month he insisted I forward on all of her commitments so he could fulfill them, and now…I need to reschedule. I dunno.

I feel like we’re all in a terrible trap here. In an ideal situation, you have a co-parent who you can work with reasonably. I think it happens–my neighbor Moonpants seems to be working things out pretty well with his babymama. What do you do if you divorce someone because you don’t trust them to be married to you properly–how do you then let this person look after your kids?

It’s hard to know what to do when neither party wants to give any ground. I come out of the gate really fast and hard every time and I admit I make her and my family the first priority FULL STOP, especially in the wake of me assuming most of her care.

It turns into a vicious circle because trust was already broken years ago, so when one person wants to do something different the urge is to dig in, and no one wants to explain themselves in the course of communication–it gets nowhere and results in me constantly trying to map out and cost/benefit every scenario four steps ahead based on previous actions. I ask “why do you want this” of him at every turn, regardless of the fact that I will get no answer and it will end in a stalemate followed by a strained detente again. (I see both sides of that as well–if you don’t have a good reason, then why do you want to do it, on the other hand, why would he want to explain himself to me?)

I what-if myself like crazy, and I know a lot of it’s about me and my upbringing. Since I felt like I had no adult advocacy or really serious adult protection as a kid, I tend to be hyperaware of when the girls may be feeling like their butts are dangling in the breeze. I try to avoid helicoptering the girls so they see both that they are capable of doing things themselves, and also that there are consequences for letting the team down.

Earlier this spring Franny called me from school to ask me to bring a permission slip that I had signed the day before in front of her and that she had forgotten on the counter. “No, I’m sorry, I cannot run the form you forgot to school. I’m too busy working,” I said. I was mildly irritated that some adult had let her call me, based on the notion that it’s reasonable for a parent to drop everything to bring a permission slip for a minor on-site school activity.

“But, if I don’t have it, I can’t do the activity!”

“Sorry, honey, next time you’ll have to remember,” I said, firmly, but I hoped not harshly.

I could hear the tears in her voice as she rung off and since I am a secret baby about the girls being in any pain, self-inflicted or otherwise, I hung up and felt teary-eyed myself, and very mean. Next time she won’t wait until the last minute and forget, though, I hope. Life is learning you have to bail yourself out, most of the time.

I guess I’ve been thinking a lot about finding balance with how I deal with the girls and in particular how I approach Franny and her dad since I read this article recently–I liked what Gottlieb wrote about letting kids realize they can fix themselves sometimes:

Consider a toddler who’s running in the park and trips on a rock, Bohn says. Some parents swoop in immediately, pick up the toddler, and comfort her in that moment of shock, before she even starts crying. But, Bohn explains, this actually prevents her from feeling secure—not just on the playground, but in life. If you don’t let her experience that momentary confusion, give her the space to figure out what just happened (Oh, I tripped), and then briefly let her grapple with the frustration of having fallen and perhaps even try to pick herself up, she has no idea what discomfort feels like, and will have no framework for how to recover when she feels discomfort later in life. These toddlers become the college kids who text their parents with an SOS if the slightest thing goes wrong, instead of attempting to figure out how to deal with it themselves. If, on the other hand, the child trips on the rock, and the parents let her try to reorient for a second before going over to comfort her, the child learns: That was scary for a second, but I’m okay now. If something unpleasant happens, I can get through it. In many cases, Bohn says, the child recovers fine on her own—but parents never learn this, because they’re too busy protecting their kid when she doesn’t need protection.

To a certain extent, I think letting Franny deal with her dad and his household and other people and situations (within reason) is exactly what she needs–some strife, and some variety. Not all ways of life are the same. I know that some parts of her relationship with her dad are satisfying, and some need work, same as with me. I’m trying to strike that balance of “I trust you to be out in the world, but I am here if you get in over your head.” And to be respectful, always respectful.

Sometimes she vents to me about him lying to her or doing things she doesn’t want that I think are a stupid idea too, like visiting my unmedicated mother, and I force myself to say, “It’s okay to see his limitations and to love him anyway.” Only she can choose what ENOUGH is with him like I did with my mother, and she may never get there–I hope she doesn’t need to. It’s such a fine line being respectful of her and her relationship with her dad, when I have no respect for him.