Costco

So I have been told, by my brother's girlfriend and my sisters, that Costco is a magical place full of wonder and delight and cheap rotisserie chickens and bulk packages of Poise pads.  I have never experienced this beacon of wonderment and delight, so they decided to take me here.  On a Saturday.  Before Mother's Day.  With Charlie, my child who freely acknowledges that she should not have access to adult money because it would not end well.  I imagine you can imagine how this went.

First off, the line to get into the fucking place was of Cedar Point length.  For those of you who don't know, Cedar Point is a local-ish (45 minutes away; pre-marriage I would have been like WTF that is a total day trip away and now it's like, oh I drive that far to go to the grocery store that's not Walmart) amusement park that is a big fucking deal when it comes to amusement parks.  Meaning, the lines are redonkulous.  I manage to somehow get a relatively close parking spot, which, I guess, like, yay me but why can't that luck extend to winning the jackpot in the lottery?  We get out and go inside to an entryway that is guarded more closely than Fort Knox.  Like, God forbid someone comes in without someone having that magical Costco card.  Which, Charlie was all like, "This place is a scam, you have to pay to get in and then pay for the stuff you buy?"  And I'm all like, welcome to adulthood in America.  Get some student loan debt and you are solidly middle-class, child.

Anyways, I'm waiting for Elizabeth to come in as she did not have the luck to get a super close spot.  I spot Faith, my brother's girlfriend, waiting for us inside the store where she has already completed most of her shopping.  I surreptitiously take a picture of her and then text it to her with the caption of "I can see you" because I am an asshole like that and should probably not be allowed technology unsupervised.  Anyways, we meet up and she is all relieved that it was just me and not some creepy ass ex texting her (sorry for unknowingly triggering past traumas there!) and we start shopping.

I will start off by saying, Charles had mentioned getting some laundry baskets because our all appear to have started to crumble worse than infrastructure in a red state.  I will say, we did not get laundry baskets.  Mostly because I did not want to spend the time looking for them because holy fucking shit, this place was packed tighter than a Taylor Swift concert.  I did get this two-pack of little trash cans with a flip lid, one for the bathroom because the one we currently have harbors more nastiness than a high school boy's gym bag, one for Charlie's room because she very suddenly became concerned about the lack of a trash can in her room.  We won't talk about the CONDITION of her room, however...

Anyways, we move on to the food section.  It is crazy.  Like, people just everywhere.  Gallon containers of everything from Liquid IV to rotisserie chicken that has been removed from the carcass already.  My already short attention span is going haywire.  Plus, dear sweet mother of God, there is like some kind of old person convention going on wherein they leave their fucking carts in the middle of the goddamned aisles.  I have a sudden urge to ram my cart into people. (Side note: on the way there, Charlie was talking about her one classmate who apparently has asked if anyone ever considers jumping off of the barn loft and also broke all of the bones in the chicken he dissected and asked to bring them home.  Charlie expressed concern (rightfully so) about this kid, but also coined the phrase "What in the Jeffrey Dahmer is that?" so I will forgive her for future sins.)

We start to encounter samples.  I don't know if it was just the day or what, but they were meh.  I will say Charlie tried this smoked salmon that she liked so I promptly got it because if my children ever express a liking for something remotely healthy I'm all over that like Charlie Sheen on a bowl of coke.  I also purchased some ravioli she liked, some Lacroix (despite me trying to talk Charlie into buying the Kirkland brand...I did give her a lesson on the difference between total price and price per unit, but since it was not her money to spend, we got the Lacroix).  I also got Liquid IV, because summer is coming and my husband works in a sweat shop (well not literally but it gets pretty goddamn hot) and will need the rehydration.  Elizabeth bought some energy drinks whilst ignoring my statement about how bad they are for you.  Apparently, I cannot guilt her into better life choices anymore, so yay for growing up?  I guess it's better than her sharing the bowl of coke so I will take the W however I can.

Then we go to checkout.  Being a newbie, I assume that I cannot do so without my sister who has the magical Costco card, so I follow her to self-checkout.  I promptly get scolded by the checkout babysitter.  Apparently I am a "fire hazard".  Well, I have been told by Alexis before that just because humans are flammable does not mean we should light them on fire (solid advice there, I believe.  I'm counting it as a parenting win) so I accept this but I continue to get passive-aggressively scolded by said checkout babysitter until I find an open checkout.  Then I get scolded by the scanner because I did not put said trash cans in the checkout area.  When did technology get in the business of shaming people?

When all is said and done...I was meh.  It was not a place full of wonderment and delight.  It was a place where my imaginary prescription for Xanax would have come in handy.  Would I go back?  Not on a Saturday.  Maybe like a Tuesday early in the morning, but I'm a night owl and the nearest Costco is 45 minutes away so that won't happen. (That time frame only applies when it is a place I can tolerate unmedicated.)  Do I consider the trip a success?  Yeah, I got a semi-healthy food for Charlie and some new trash cans. I didn't kill anyone.  I got a new catchphrase. I got to hang with my family. I did not use the catchphrase "What in the Jeffrey Dahmer is that?"

Letters IV

Dear Bitchez,

Time for my tri-decadely Christmas letter.  What, Christmas is over, you say?  Huh, funny that...people bitch at me for taking my decorations down the day after Christmas, but I try to extend the season by putting out a Christmas letter three days late and all of a sudden I've suggested the equivalent of torturing nuns and drowning puppies.  I'm trying something new, bitchez, as apparently I definitely can't be arsed to do anything on any kind of regular schedule.  Or even in a timely fashion anymore because late for me is now the new on time.  Which is incredibly anxiety-provoking for me and super awesome for my mental health.

I am still working two jobs, but my new practice is picking up more so now I am in the awesome position of not quite being able to reduce hours at the first practice but needing more for the second and therefore working all the fucking time.  Being a business owner is awesome...if you are a business person.  I am not so it pretty much sucks monkey balls.  Thank God for people who invent electronic health records that pretty much idiot-proof the whole process of insurance and billing.  I  never would have been able to figure out how to open my own practice before the Google was a thing.  I also decided that it would be super fun to occasionally teach a crafting class at a local wine bar, which then led me to being asked to teach a crafting class at the Senior Center.  Oh, and don't forget that I am trying to get EMDRIA certified for my practices which entails occasional (expensive) consultation and that I am trying to get Roman certified as a therapy dog which requires (expensive) training classes. I also recently slipped and fell and gave myself a concussion, which forced me to take off work so now I get to try to make all that time up somehow.  My therapist tells me that I am running away from my crazy because I keep myself so busy.  I then tell her that I don't like her very much sometimes, and we laugh and laugh because a.) we know that's not true, and b.) we know she's right.  It might be time to up  my meds, perhaps pursue that imaginary Xanax prescription...or, you know, learn to say no...

Charles only has three more days left in 2018, and has thus far avoided any kind of surgical procedure.  Go Charles!  He briefly had a stint with a very entertaining albeit incompetent HR lady at work, but alas his employer only enjoys rewarding incompetence in dangerous situations, like while using a crane to lift metal parts that weigh thousands of pounds or whilst handling a machine that melts wire at thousands of degrees.  She was soon let go, so no more entertaining stories of someone potentially more insane than myself.  Now he is back to having that look of desperation in his eyes, and as I've said many times before, this may or may not have a lot to do with to whom he is married.

The girls are all doing well.  Elizabeth continues on at school and working for the same practice I do.  She has been faced with a lot of adult shit this year, like friends with seriously ill mothers, a best friend's pregnancy, (and my resultant becoming a grandma, named Gigi.  Delilah picked the name out as she smiled when I asked her if that was what I should be, and had no reaction to Lala or Mimi. No more GmaL #itspronouncedjamal), and lots of car repairs and the resultant crippling debt.  Oh wait, that's from her student loans...She has handled it all well and as far as I can tell has not resorted to utilizing substances to make her forget how much being an adult sucks.  At least not on a regular basis.  Alexis continues to dance and grow at an unacceptable rate.  She appears to have adjusted to middle school and we do occasionally get her to look up from her phone to interact with us, so all is well there I think.  Charlie's teacher wants her tested for the gifted program, which is OK as long as "gifted program" does not entail throwing more busy work at her like some schools do.  Charlie has also decided to expand her dance repertoire to include tap and hip hop, as well as the acro and ballet, and is now on the Company team for dance, which performs locally.  Charles got upset a few weeks back as the studio owner posted the fees for the competitions in a place he could see them...he said ignorance was bliss and now he can't unsee those numbers.  I say I am looking at this as an investment in our future...if nothing else, to guilt the girls into putting us into a really nice nursing home because of how much we spent on dance for them growing up.

The animals are all cool.  Asher the chinchilla has gotten a new cage and is doing well.  Maximus recently ate 2.5 dozen Christmas sugar cookies and was on my shit list for a while.  Lucky for him they were undecorated.  Fucker also managed to get the lid off the tupperware container without destroying it.  Roman continues on in puppy classes.  We've taught him to fist bump because we need a dog who is cooler than we are, natch.  Deogie could also benefit from a prescription for Xanax, but also does not have one.  The rabbits just kinda chill and do rabbit-y type stuff.  They are pretty unexciting. 

We ended up NOT selling the house and discovered that our realtor was the WORST EVER.  Like, not showing up to show us a house worst.  Like lying about showings coming over worst.  Like having paperwork done incorrectly worst.  Needless to say, we ended up not getting the house we put a bid on and did not renew our contract with her, nor will we be using her in the future.  Back to the plan of building.  That is, if we ever get out from under MY crippling student loan debt.  2018 did nothing but show me how much fun it is to be an adult while not being independently wealthy.  Yay for no surgery though?

Happy Holidays, bitchez!  Looking forward to a 2019 wherein I continue to not be rich and remain just as crazy as I am poor, effortlessly.

Love,
Me

Questions

I had some rare time alone with Alexis a few nights ago.  I say rare because anymore, we are so fucking busy I barely see my house and I *think* I slept in my own bed last night but I'm not 100% sure because, hey, we're busy and I haven't been home much so I vaguely remember what the interior of my house looks like...between volleyball for her, dance for both girls, doctor's appointments, me still working two jobs, and attempting to somewhat have some sort of social life and a relationship with my husband...yeah.  Busy.

We went outside and I practiced volleyball with her, strangely reminiscent when I would do so with Elizabeth.  This is also very funny as I totally suck at volleyball due to my t-rex arms and complete lack of upper body strength.  Attempts to serve the ball on my part are usually epic fails, plus the baby aspirin I take makes breathing on my skin give me a bruise, so now I have bruises up my forearms that will make people question if I am a battered woman more than they already do (I am so not, for the record.  Poor Charles.  I abuse him way more than he abuses me...)

We got to talking about a variety of topics.  She randomly got on the subject of coffins, and was shocked to discover that people are, in fact, actually buried in coffins and that this is not a Hollywood invention. (That's my honor student for you, folks.)  She then started to inquire as to why we feel the need to bury our dead, and we then discussed diseases that rotting dead bodies can carry, the fact that the beginnings of organized religion probably came around the same time as when humans started to bury the dead, and that now we not only have cremation and burial as options, but you can be created into a diamond to wear as jewelry as well as be put into a pod to nourish a tree.  (Side note:  When I initially told her that you could be made into jewelry, she was all horrified because she thought that you would just be like, wearing a dead person's body parts on a necklace like a charm.)  We then moved onto the circle of life and how it used to be that you would become one with the earth again but now I'm not so sure about that because of embalming.  I am also unsure how this will affect the zombie apocalypse, participation in which is my sole reason for wanting to be buried because I intend to fully participate.

Then somehow, we moved onto the concept of space being the new frontier and if there was life on other planets.  I had to explain the concept of a light year to her, and we discussed the idea of moving to another planet when Donald Trump destroys our current planet and how this would likely just lead to us destroying another one ASAP.  Then somehow she started to question how old our planet was, and when I told her billions of years old, she then questioned why it is only the year 2018 then.  Next came a fantastic discussion of BC/AD and how this came about, and how the current calendar was formulated.

Goddamn.  By the time we went inside because the mosquitos around here have decided that I am quite the snack and have been giving me quarter sized incredibly itchy welts so I wanted to avoid this, I was exhausted.  Not from the volleyball (though we did discuss how my t-rex arms plus big boobs meant I would never be a good volleyball player).  The conversation reminded me of ones you have with a preschooler in its randomness and the way that she listened eagerly, but it was so different too.  She actively engaged and added to the conversation and was forming her own ideas and thoughts.  She was...well, grown.

It is so hard to reconcile my little innocent girl with the woman she is becoming.  She still wants to snuggle and will let me hug her tightly for a long time, on her terms, of course, but I am well aware that those days are numbered.  I am bracing myself for the hatred and venom that will be spilled my way, and reminding myself that it is normal; that she needs to figure out who she is and to learn to think for herself.  All that so she can one day become a strong, independent woman.  It has already started in small ways...she won't say "I love you" to me when I drop her off at school, even if it is just in the car with the door still closed.  She made a joke about a log that had looked really inappropriate a few weeks ago.  She even told me today when I was complaining about an ad interrupting my video  "That means you need to get off of YouTube and do something with your life.  I heard that on a YouTube video."  I love her sense of humor and her good heart and her beauty and grace when she dances, as well as off the stage.  I am just wondering how it will be until she has questions I can't answer.  Mom, why does he want to break up with me?  Mom, why are people so mean?  Mom, why did that person have to die when they did nothing wrong?  Mom, why is there suffering and evil in the world?

Those are the questions that I don't know the answers to.  Throw as many questions about the universe at me as you like, child.  I can answer those.  I can still pretend that you are young and innocent with those.

Letters III

Bitchez,

Time for our yearly Christmas letter!  Well, not really yearly, but there's not a term for 3 times in 5 years.  Like, tri-half-decadely?  IDK.  I make shit up half the time, so let's just go with that for now and accept the fact that I can't be counted on to consistently write a Christmas letter.  It's tough work maintaining this crazy, I tell you what.  I can't be expected to maintain my crazy AND a yearly letter AND to publish it on this blog.  One has to prioritize, you know.

Speaking of priorities...Charles finally decided that he should maybe make his health a priority and went to go get his knees looked at.  Of course, they are pretty fucked up and he desperately needs a knee replacement, but quality of life means nothing to insurance companies so they keep shelling out for bandaids for the amputation here and keep doing more minor surgeries.  In this case, it was repairing a torn meniscus (he likes to do that to his knees for funsies, I think...he had the other one done a few years ago) and cleaning up what little cartilage remains in his knee.  The surgeon told me that the knee wasn't as bad as he expected, which considering that the knee he DIDN'T operate on is bone on bone probably isn't saying much.  But, we at least got to work out the disability insurance we are paying for again this year, though for not quite as long as last year's surgery.  He has been informed that this is not a trend that needs to continue into 2018, but no one ever fucking listens to me around here based upon the number of clothes that make it thisclose to being inside the laundry hamper vs on the floor.  Other than that, he is enjoying being employed by a place that prides itself on increasing the level of desperation and despair in its employees eyes exponentially year by year whilst simultaneously wrecking his physical health and forcing him to dream of someday being a kept man.

I am continuing at the private practice, and have started up my own here in town because God forbid I should ever have things like free time or relaxation or reduced stress.  I continue to try to run, not because I enjoy being lapped by the power walkers (which, let's be honest, probably would happen) but because if I don't, I tend to get incredibly cranky and turn to unhealthy coping mechanisms and a dark sense of humor in times of stress...wait, that happens anyways...so why do I run again...?  I also participated in the Minimalism Game again this month and was again shocked by the amount of crap I threw away or donated, this time mainly from the little girls' rooms where they were hoarding miscellaneous puzzle pieces and random plastic pieces of various playsets like their very lives depended on it.

Elizabeth continues to do well at school.  She has moved into an apartment with her boyfriend and cousin and two cats, who are now my grandkitties and I am enjoying being a grandma to because she better not fucking make me a human grandma before I am 40, goddammit.  Plus I haven't thought of a cute name for the kid to call me because I'll be damned if I'm going by Grandma.  My grandchild will be a bevy of originality and awesomeness, naturally, and my name should reflect this.  So I'm not ready to be a grandmother based solely on my lack of an original name.  Of course, there's the whole she needs to finish college first thing too...but I would hope that given that she pretty much went to college with me, that would be a no-brainer.  She also continues to work for the private practice I am at, doing their social media stuff, and everyone loves her to pieces because I somehow have not fucked her up so much she is unable to be a productive member of society.

Alexis continues to dance and I continue to shell out extraordinary amounts of money for this.  She is starting to run into the whole school activities vs dance thing, and I will tell you what, she certainly did not learn stress management from me!  She decided to NOT do Student Council this year because she felt that she could not give it the proper amount of attention between 4H, dance, and band, plus maintaining her good grades.  High five me, parenting WIN with her not picking up on my unnatural and unhealthy Superwoman complex!  She also is continuing to barrel full speed towards adolescence and I'm continuing to hoard my imaginary Xanax to get through it as my anxious to please baby is starting to get some serious sass here.  Imagine that, a child of mine being sassy?  Must get that from her father.

Charlie is dominating first grade academics like the boss that she is and has not only continued her acro classes, but is also doing cheer.  She wants to do swim as well, but I am having a hard time finding classes for her around here that aren't filled up by the members and I refuse to pay $300 for a rec membership to *maybe* get first dibs at swim classes that I will have to pay extra for anyways.  She's already doing better than me in that department as she can tolerate, you know, actually getting into the water, and isn't that what parenting is all about?  Your children having better than you?  Well, she can sure as shit save herself from drowning and that is more than I can say for me (well, at least when I am trying to get out of swimming in gym as a freshman in high school...).

The animals are maintaining.  We had to say good bye to Gunner as he had bitten someone despite all of the training we had put him through.  Charles and Elizabeth had contemplated getting me another puppy, but honestly, I don't have the time to put into one right now with both practices and I am going to be semi-responsible and put the kibosh on that.  We had briefly thought Deogie had cancer, but when we got the lump removed the biopsy, much to the vet's surprise (and Dr. Google, at least according to the pictures...) it was benign.  He at one point did figure out how to get around the cone of shame to lick at his stitches, so he had to get a bigger cone, and it was really hard to not laugh at him as he continually misjudged the size of the cone and ran into shit.  I'm probably going to hell for this, but the little shit did it to himself by being too smart for his britches and getting around the (smaller) first cone.

Seriously, the cone is literally the size of his torso...

Maximus and Toby continue to do well, as do the various fish we have upstairs.  I'm still not convinced that the sucker fish is not going to murder us in his sleep one day as he is still unnamed and probably has an angry blog somewhere blasting the inherent unfairness of being a sucker fish, but I guess if it happens it will be well documented and I can say from the grave "I told you so."

Anyways, looking forward to a future where maybe my husband won't be going under the knife again and I will be only working one job, and not being a grandmother until I have an appropriately creative yet meaningful moniker.  I'm hoping for 1, maybe 2/3 in 2018.  Goals, amirite bitchez?

Merry Christmas!

Laura, Charles, Elizabeth, Alexis, and Charlie

Voices

I hear voices in my head.

Not the kind that scare people and require heavy duty psychotics.  Let's not give the mentally ill a bad name by associating me with them, m'kay?  More of an internalized dialogue that carries on between some facet of my psyche and society.  And different facets of my psyche with other aspects of my psyche.  Let's face it, my brand of crazy would not be complete unless I was fighting a losing battle against myself, amiright?

The constant ebb and flow of my day to day life is fraught with examples of all the ways I have failed, at least in my mind.  Today was a perfect example.  I  had to work a bit later than usual due to some glitches with a hospitalization.  Alexis also had an extra dance class for competition because they like to see how much they can make me twitch there with last minute changes to the schedule.  I was running late.  Plus, the original plan of me bringing her dance stuff with me so I had it when I picked her up from my in-laws (due to Elizabeth having a planned after school activity and therefore not being there to get her sister off the bus) fell through because Elizabeth's activity fell through.  None of this was in my control.  Or really, anyone's control for that matter.  It's life.  Changes happen.  She got to dance, and actually on time.  (Barely on time, but still on time.)  She was even fed before hand.

I appeared cool and collected while dropping her off, but in my head is a litany of sins the voices are screaming at me.

If you were a better therapist, you would have gotten that client out the door sooner.

If you were more organized, you would not have had to worry about the dance clothes and she could have gotten dressed at home.

If you were better at managing your money, you could be a stay at home mom and be able to run your children around whenever and where ever.

If you were a better mom and if you really loved your child, you would not feel that you had to be rushed.

Over and over in my head.  Constantly belittling myself.  Constantly second guessing my decisions.  Never being good enough.  Always critical.

I am fully aware that it is illogical.  I am educated enough in therapy to know how to address that negative self-talk.  And yet, I constantly do it to myself, and sometimes to challenge it is exhausting.

You play board games with your family?  We don't do that.  I must not be dedicated to my family.

You get up at 4 AM to exercise?  I am not disciplined enough to do that.  I must be lazy.

You stay at work till 9 PM to finish your paperwork?  I won't do that.  I must be a bad employee.

 You are planning on buying a new house and going on vacation?  I can't afford that.  I must suck at managing finances.

You are going to send your child to a private school?  There aren't any around here.  I must be selfish because of where I choose to live.

You and your BFF are going to a concert together?  I barely find time to have coffee with my friend who lives around the block.  I must be a bad friend.
 
Around and around.  Not all from my internal voices.  Some from society, telling me that I need to compare myself to others and always be found lacking.  I am not thin enough, blond enough, pretty enough.  My job is scorned as weak women's work.  I am not tiger mom enough.  Hell, I don't think I qualify as a kitten mom.  I am awful as a wife because I am difficult to live with.  I am a horrible friend because I barely make time to hang out.

All at once, everything feels as though it is crashing down.  The voices are screaming at me. Most days, I can control them.  I reason that I am not superwoman; that other people's lives are filled with struggles as well; that I am keeping it together.

Just because I don't read to my children as often as others does not make me a bad mom.  Just because we have to hurry to dance does not mean I am a crappy therapist.  Just because I don't exercise at godforsaken hours of the morning does not mean I am lazy.

I am more than the sum of the epithets that my psyche throws at me.

Together

There should be some kind of boot camp for new parents that requires them to put together toys on Christmas day while simultaneously entertaining their child(ren) who are on a Santa-induced high and have the attention span of a meth-addicted gnat.  It also should be required for Marines to have to do this as a part of their basic training.  It totally would help them to withstand torture.

First, there is the whole having to get the fucking parts out of the box.  Truly, whoever invented those stupid twist ties to hold the toy in place to look pretty and lure your child into desiring it...this person, who ever you are, you are an asshole.  Then there is the plastic encasing the toys, that when you try to cut it magically becomes razor sharp and rivals a surgeon's scalpel.  Doctor's Without Borders should investigate this as a potential source of medical equipment for them.

Once you manage to get the stupid piece of plastic out of the box, you have to read the directions.  Which really, I understand why men stereotypically skip these because I often end up more confused after reading shit like, "Take the left weight-bearing panel and insert it into the f slots of the upper upper shelf.  Insert the turnscrew and turn until it clicks into place."  And of course, the arrows that are meant to help are usually totally NOT pointing at the fucking f slots and the pictures they have of the weight bearing panels do NOT match reality.  And it NEVER clicks like it is supposed to, leaving you haunted that somehow you will be contributing to a future maiming of your child because of a poorly put together Christmas present.  Meanwhile, you have lost the fucking screwdriver that they told you you needed but you have not quite figured out for what and the kids are literally climbing up the walls.  You frantically start to search for some Xanax and/or massive quantities of alcohol.

So let's say that you actually get the fucking thing put together and it is semi-sturdy and appears somewhat functional.  Out of the bottom of the box floats a whole new form of parental torture...stickers.  Stupid, brightly colored, products of some demented bastard's imagination.  The adhesive on those things is stronger than most welds.  Seriously; you put the sticker anywhere within 1 inch of the toy and some magical force propels it to stick to it.  Unless, of course, it is where it needs to go.  And if you get the stickers in the wrong place, all sorts of wailing and gnashing of teeth will commence.

Then your kid will play with this toy for the next week, if they have not already abandoned it for the packaging it came in and/or some junk mail that is laying on the counter.

Daddies

Alexis has been totally a Daddy's girl lately. This means that any time that I have tried to do anything for her, such as getting her dressed or brushing her hair or yanking her out of the way of the oncoming traffic she was about to run into in a desperate attempt to get away from the evilness that is anyone NOT DADDY, there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. She threw a big ol' fit too.

It really warms my heart to see how much she loves her father, especially since as a baby, she was antisocial to the point of being diagnosable. With something. Perhaps Schizotypal personality disorder. Or just being an asshole. Seriously. She only wanted Mommy, and I firmly believe that was just survival instincts kicking in and knowing that I had da boobs. Da boobs=eating, which she did. Voraciously, and often.

However, I got to thinking today...I wonder how much it hurts Elizabeth to see Charles and Alexis interacting. To look at her and to know that her own father has not been there for her that way. To know that while she and Charles are close, the bond that they have is slightly different from the one that he has with his own flesh and blood, despite the fact that he has essentially stepped into the father role for most of the year. Does it hurt her to see that relationship that, through no fault of her own, she does not have? Does it hurt her to have Alexis crave her father's attention, when before she used to be all about her "Sissabeth"? And to see him willingly dote upon Alexis, when being a teenager, Elizabeth does not dare to reach out like that?

I do what I can to facilitate the relationships with both Charles and her bio dad. Despite temptations in the past, I do my damnedest to not bad mouth EITHER in front of her. But is it enough? Have I done enough to ensure that BOTH my girls have the role model they need?

Or maybe I just worry too damn much...