in Which I Continue to Continue to Fail

Back in March or April, my middle daughter T announced that she would be moving out of our home and in with her boyfriend in "a couple of months." At the time, I pretty much blew it off. She didn't have a job, a car (much less a driver's license), or any money to speak of. The only bill T has ever been responsible for is the money she owes me for her cell phone - which is on my plan and gets paid by me whether or not she gives me her share. Which she generally takes her time about doing AND has never done without reminding or prompts from me.

In mid-April she upped the ante and announced that she was DEFINITELY moving out in May. Her boyfriend's parents had purchased a home and were unable to make the payments on their own. They requested that their son move back home and help by paying rent. He agreed. Between the two of them, they cooked up that T could move in also and they could share the $500 rent his parents were charging him. Of course, this seemed a CAPITAL idea to T! At this point, I not-so-subtly reminded T that she didn't have a job or a car or a license or any money or any practice with any real responsibility. I reminded her that she is a college student and that college is important, much more so than living with her boyfriend and trying to make ends meet when she has a home FOR FREE. I reminded her that if she felt she needed "responsibility training," she was more than welcome to pay rent TO ME, as well as her share of food, and utilities. She was also quite welcome to do something completely new and different and stop treating my house like a hotel by cleaning up after herself, pitching in for household responsibilities, and cooking twice per week. I reminded her that she hasn't EVER paid her share of the cell phone bill on time, nor has she ever paid it of her own volition. I reminded her that she and her boyfriend, despite being "in love," have no commitment to each other. I reminded her that she would not only have no place to go should their relationship crumble for whatever reason, she'd also have no way to get there.

She said, "I'll get a job, Mommy." As flabbergasted as I was, I was not rendered speechless and I can assure you that the conversation went downhill from there.

She DID get a job. Part time. Minimum wage. Around the corner from our house, which is approximately 40 miles from the house she'd be moving to. And her boyfriend moved out of his apartment on May 1st and promptly found himself with no place to go, as escrow hadn't yet closed on his parents' new home. Three guesses where he ended up staying, and the first two don't count.

After five weeks of boxes stacked in my living room and the two of them eating all of my food (which I refused to buy more of until they were gone), using all of my laundry detergent (which I refused to buy more of until they were gone), only occasionally lifting a finger to pitch in with the house and that only with stern admonishments, and spending the little bit of money her boyfriend was saving on rent instead of saving it, they finally moved in with his parents. And by the time that happened I was no longer upset or freaked out because my baby was moving. At that point I was pissed, resentful, aghast, and incredulous. At that point it was all I could do to NOT take her key, slam the door, and say "good riddance." Of course, I wouldn't have had the chance to do that anyway, because they moved all of their stuff out one day while I was at work and didn't say goodbye or even leave a note. Due to the fact that I could see the floor in my living room again, I deduced that the deed had been done.

I thought to myself, "Well, she's gone. Ok."

The next day, there she was. Sitting on the couch with her laptop. I said (most intelligently), "What the fuck?"
She said, "I have to work, so "J" dropped me off on his way to work."
I said (get ready for this one), "What the FUCK?"
She, having the grace to be somewhat taken aback, said, "We have to do it this way. I don't have a car. I'm trying to get a transfer to the ___________ Market up there, but I'll just have to hang out here before and after my shifts until that happens or I get another job."

Not wanting to allow the stream of vulgarity poised in my throat to emerge, I exercised the better part of valor and walked out in the backyard for a while. When I came back in, she was gone, but the plate she had used to eat the rest of the leftover pizza and the pizza box itself remained on the counter to remind me of my complete and utter failure as a parent.

The next day, there she was again. And last night, too. Last night, I finally asked her if she planned to cotninue this arrangement indefinitely. She again advised that she really didn't have a choice because of her lack of transportation other than her boyfriend, which of course had to revolve around his working schedule. Which prompted me to ask, "then why, in God's name, did you think you were ready to move out? Why, for Heaven's sake, did you move all your stuff out of here knowing full well that you would be spending JUST AS MUCH time here as before? Why on EARTH did you think your dad and I would accept this situation?"

I always ask three questions in a row. It drives MSU and the kids nuts, but I cannot help it. On the very rare occasions when I have asked one or two questions, the responding family members always wait expectantly instead of answering, assuming that another question or two is being formulated for rapid-fire.

T, being the non-confrontational entity that she is, rarely chooses to engage me. Instead, she'll give blanket statements as answers to questions or won't answer at all. She also contorts her face into this benign mask of earnestness which is so profoundly different from her usual facial animation that it infuriates me to no end and FEELS like direct defiance even though she isn't saying a word. I find myself escalating these conversations in an effort to get some kind of REAL reaction out of her, some kind of insight or recognition or inroad. Usually, I will escalate it too far and get tears for my efforts... but still no real information. Yet another way I have failed as a parent for T, one of legion.

This time was no exception. I honestly can't remember anything she said. Every response was so non-committal, so nonchalant, so benign-mask-of-earnestness that I could barely see through the haze of my fury. My misdirected, unjust, and completely misplaced fury.

It's ME I'm furious at. Not her. ME. Because she's my baby and I'm enabling this ridiculous behavior. Because I tried to be a conscientious parent and succeeded in raising a entitled, spoiled, unrealistic, lazy, and presumptuous sponge (she also happens to be talented, generous, extremely witty, and creative, but that's beside the point). I'm mad at myself because I fear that this ludicrous situation will drive a wedge between myself and T that will eventually create an uncrossable abyss. Hell, that wedge was probably there already.

I'm incensed with my own failure to teach my daughter how to protect herself. I'm outraged at my own inability to protect her FROM herself. And most of all, I'm ashamed of my sudden and all-encompassing surety that maybe I should just change the locks and LET HER GO.