Do you remember me gloating over this little pecadillo? Yeah, well, I shouldn't have. Remind me, next time I start in with the schadenfreude to just knock that shit off, ok?
Here are the players, in case you're keeping score at home:
O = my daughter
P = O's dad, my ex-husband.
K = P's estranged, now re-stranged, wife.
O's father called her on Thursday and told her he was getting back together with his wife. To say that O took it badly would be putting it mildly. She sobbed. She raged. Her blood sugars went thru the roof.
We snuggled on her bed and talked a lot on Thursday evening. She does not want to see K, her dad's wife, ever again. I don't want her seeing K again. K, according to what P has told me, is a drunk. She locked O in her room once, when she was mad at her. I just found that one out a few weeks ago. P said that he'd found pot in her house. (Pot doesn't bother me, but it is illegal and I don't think O needs to be exposed to it at this point in her life. She's only 12.) P has said that K has thrown things at him. K had P arrested. It's a fucking mess. A mess. And I don't want O in the middle of that. O doesn't want to be in the middle of that.
So I called the guidance counsellor at her school. The counsellor agreed with me that O doesn't need to be subjected to that, that when O told her that her father was getting divorced, O was ecstatic. I told the counsellor what was going on now and she is going to talk to O tomorrow about it. In the meantime, I'm going to find a therapist for O to talk to as well.
Tonight, O told me that she was going to tell her dad that if he wanted to wreck his life by getting back together with K, then that was his business, but if he did, she, O, had no desire to see him any more. Ouch. I'm completely behind her on this, though. I think it may be bordering on dangerous to let O go over to that house.
O said that when her dad told her all this stuff, he just blurted it out and then basically hung up on her, never let her say anything in return. He hasn't called her since then. What a chicken shit.
I'm telling you, the fun never ends at Casa Bedhead.