Threats and Consequences

This morning, while Danielle was having a conversation with FosterEema, she proceeded to call me a bunch of disrespectful names. Although I wasn't present in the room, I overheard what she had practically shouted.

When the conversation was finished, FosterEema left Danielle in the kitchen, and made a stop in Danielle's room. She took Danielle's CD/clock/radio out of her room as a consequence for the name-calling.

She didn't say anything to Danielle about it, but later Danielle noticed her radio was missing and complained.

"You'll get it back when we can show us a couple of days without calling us names," FosterEema replied, calmly.

Danielle started to make threats. She told FosterEema that she would steal our new computers, which we bought for work, in retaliation.

"There will be consequences to you for doing that which you are not going to like," FosterEema replied. Then she turned on her heel and walked away.

We'll probably keep our office door locked for the next little while, just to make sure her plans are foiled.

Punishment for Imagined Wrongs

This weekend is just turning into one of those weekends.

Friday afternoon, Danielle's biological aunt called. She knew Danielle was at school, but had called to give us an update the the health status of a relative who has been seriously ill for quite some time. We thanked her for the info, and promised to let Danielle know she had called.

After Danielle returned home from school, we shared the news.

"Do you want to call your aunt back?" I asked. This required a simple yes or no answer.

Danielle tried to turn it into a great big discussion. We were trying to get ready for dinner, and we didn't want to have a long, unpleasant argument. We've told Danielle, multiple times, that we don't care if she returns calls or not, yet every time someone from her biological family calls, she tries to turn them into arguments with us.

We refused to be sucked into the argument. "Either you want to return your aunt's call, or you don't. It's very simple, and either choice is fine with us."

Danielle fumed.

For dinner, FosterEema made a nice fresh loaf of challah, a braided Jewish bread typically served on the Sabbath. With it, she served chicken, salad and dessert. It was a large meal, and quite delicious.

Danielle has a habit of putting more on her plate than she can finish, and she often has leftovers that she asks us to eat. In this particular instance, she wasn't able to eat all of her bread, and offered her leftovers to me.

"No thanks," I declined, as I was already full. "I don't want your bread."

Danielle got angry. "It's not like I have germs!" she yelled.

Next thing I knew, she and FosterEema were arguing over the fact that I'd been rude and called Danielle "germy."

I had not called Danielle any names. I'd simply said that I was full, and didn't want to eat her bread.

Not wanting to get sucked into more drama, I went to the bathroom to take my evening shower. A few minutes later, FosterEema came into the bathroom and told me that Danielle was ranting and raving that I'd called her names (which I hadn't done) and that I had called her "germ-infested" (which I also had not done). Eema said that she'd told Danielle I hadn't said any of those things, and suggested that perhaps she was feeling over-sensitive since her biological aunt had called.

Danielle admitted FosterEema may have been right.

Even though Danielle admitted that I hadn't called her any names, the imagined wrong has given her justification to call me names all weekend. She hasn't said anything particularly foul this time around, but everything she's said to me has been rude, disrespectful and insulting.

"I don't like it when you speak to me that way," I've said, repeatedly.

Even FosterEema is getting sick of it.

The irony, of course, is that Danielle recently went crying to FosterEema. "FosterAbba doesn't like me!" she complained.

FosterEema counseled her and told her that the way she's been treating me with her pushing and calling me names isn't exactly leaving me in a position to want to spend very much time with her. "If you want to make your relationship better with FosterAbba," she counseled, "then you need to quit being abusive."

I overheard part of the conversation. Later, when Danielle and FosterEema came into the living room, FosterEema prompted Danielle.

"Is there something you want to say to FosterAbba?" she prompted.

"I forgot," Danielle replied.

Danielle has written me several notes where she's apologized and says she knows she can't change how I feel about her. With each note, I've told her the same thing:

An apology is worth nothing if you don't change your behavior.

She apologizes, but then she turns around and does exactly the same thing again, again and again. Then she goes and whines to FosterEema, who is rapidly losing her sympathy.

"I'm tired of watching you abuse my husband," she told Danielle this morning. "You are hurting your relationships with both of us, and you need to change your behavior."

Sick of Faking It

One of the dirty little secrets in the adoption/foster care world is that parents (just like their frequently attachment-disordered kids) don't always immediately attach to their children. The advice of professionals and well-meaning bystanders is always the same:

Fake it until you make it.

This means that you are supposed to fake those feelings of attachment and that you are supposed to behave as if you already are attached. The assumption is that eventually genuine feelings will follow your actions.

I'm getting tired of faking it.

I've lost count of how many times Danielle has come to me looking for sympathy, and I've gone through the motions of giving it to her without genuinely feeling it. The other night, when Danielle said she felt like a bad person, I gave her a number of reasons why it couldn't possibly be true. That night, after we'd all gone to bed, FosterEema remarked that some of the things I'd said were very insightful and sensitive, and that she couldn't have said things better herself.

She was shocked to find out that I really didn't feel any of what I'd said, that I thought it was all bullshit, and that I'd said what I'd said because I was supposed to say it, not because I actually meant any of it.

The longer I parent Danielle, the more and more of a liar it makes me.

I don't like Danielle. I don't, at least right now, have any loving feelings towards her. Yet, at every turn, I find myself pretending that I do care, and verbalizing loving words that I know in my heart aren't true. On the outside, I do the things I'm supposed to do: I cuddle, I praise, I compliment, and I thank. On the inside, I wish we could send Danielle somewhere else, and I ponder things I could say and do to hurt her and make her cry. Sometimes I have violent dreams where I beat her or emotionally torture her.

I would never do any of the terrible things I contemplate, but I think about them, all the time. I want to tell Danielle the truth: I despise her, it was a mistake to adopt her, and I wish we could send her somewhere else.

I know one isn't supposed to feel and think these sort of thoughts about one's own child, but I do. I hate the conflict I feel inside when Danielle is upset about her personal problems and I have to verbally respond with sympathy when I genuinely feel like saying, "you deserve what you get, Brat!" It's turning me into one of the worst kinds of liars -- a faker.

I hate it. I'm sick of faking it.

Giving Credit Where Credit is Due

In response to Why Danielle Needs to be Reminded, several folks opined that I ought to be happy that she did at least part of what she was supposed to do.

I am glad that she did part of what she was supposed to do.

My frustration is that Danielle insists that she doesn't need to be reminded to do the things she needs to do, which is plainly not true.

That is where my frustration lies.

Danielle gets credit for the things she does right. The problem is that she doesn't react well to redirection, reminders, or any type of correction for the things she doesn't do right. In fact, she'll try to use the things she did right to try and avoid correction.

It's incredibly, awfully, frustrating. Combine that with a kid who can get physically violent, who has turned disrespectful speech and name-calling into a fine art, and you have a kid who simply isn't very likable.

Well, that's not entirely true. When Danielle's around strangers, outsiders, and people who are not her parents, she's incredibly likable.

But not to me. She goes out of her way to be verbally and physically abusive to me, and I don't like it.

I don't care that she's a kid. I'm tired of being abused in my own home.

And it really doesn't matter to me that, as FosterEema pointed out, Danielle spends more of her waking hours being good than not. What Danielle is doing is still abusive. I wouldn't accept this kind of behavior from a friend, an employer, a client or a lover, and I shouldn't have to tolerate it from my kid.

There are tons of support systems to protect children from their abusive parents. Unfortunately, there seem to be no mechanisms in place to protect parents from abuse made by the hands of their children.

Why Danielle Needs to be Reminded

Last night, we had a big discussion about how things were going to happen this morning. FosterEema had to be at a client site by 7:15 in the morning, necessitating her departure by no later than 6:30 AM. Eema had mentioned this to Ms. Teacher, who offered to swing by the house to give Danielle a lift to school.

The plan as it was discussed:

• We would wake Danielle up at 6:30 AM, just as FosterEema was leaving.
• Danielle would complete her chores, which included cleaning up the previous night's dishes, taking out the trash, and cleaning the bird cages.
• Danielle would get ready for school, which included packing up her books, being properly dressed, and getting her own lunch together, in time for a 9:30 AM pick up.
• Danielle did not want to be nagged, bothered, or reminded to do any of these tasks.

I wasn't too keen on the idea of "not reminding" Danielle, but kept my mouth shut. Sure enough, when Ms. Teacher showed up, Danielle wasn't ready. She still had to put some books in her backpack, and she had completely neglected to make lunch.

We didn't have time to make a sandwich, and she'd previously eaten all the noodle soups and granola bars (and of course she didn't say anything when she ate the last ones) so there was nothing to give her.

"How much money do you have?" I asked.

"All I have is cents," she complained. She tried to argue that she shouldn't have to pack a lunch since she'd just had a big breakfast and wasn't hungry.

Ms. Teacher and I both vetoed that idea.

I'm not too happy that Danielle has managed to blow through $100 since her birthday. Although she spent about half on clothing, the other half she couldn't account for. She couldn't remember what she'd spent the money on, and basically had nothing to show for any of it.

I handed her $5. "I am putting you on notice that you are in trouble," I told her. "You were supposed to pack a lunch, you didn't, and you've also spent all your birthday money and have nothing to show for it. Here's $5. You may spend it on food only, you must bring me back a receipt, and you are going to pay me back in chores for what you spend."

Danielle wasn't too happy with what I had to say. I apologized profusely to Ms. Teacher because she had to wait. As usual, she was gracious and forgiving.

Danielle complains that she doesn't like to be reminded to do things she's supposed to do, but she's also demonstrated she can't seem to do it without reminding.

What Happens on Her 18th Birthday

In response to Amazing Contrasts and Frustration, Ordinary Seeker asked:

Are you going to tell her she needs to leave on her 18th birthday?

My answer is: maybe.

A great deal will depend on what Danielle's behavior looks like as she approaches her 18th birthday. If she's still being violent, disrespectful, and arguing about chores, then we will definitely ask her to leave. If she's somehow managed to find a way to change her behavior, then there might not be a reason to ask her to leave.

There are three years, 11 months and six days until her 18th birthday. There is the possibility that a lot could change between now and then. There is also the possibility that nothing will change, and I'll put her on notice before her birthday.

What I can say is that if Danielle's 18th birthday was coming soon, I would be preparing her for an eviction. I would be encouraging her to find a paying job, and to line up alternative housing. I would be buying packing materials, and offering to help her box everything up.

It's bad enough that I have to live with a teen who thinks it's okay to be violent against family members. I don't have to live with an adult who feels the same way.

Small Steps Forward

Danielle was lucky enough to have two contacts with her therapist today. She had a session first thing this morning, to which I took her because FosterAbba was working, and a second session (disguised as a lunch date) with Ms. Therapist and I.

Before Danielle's early session, I went in and spoke to the therapist about yesterday's blow-ups and the note that Danielle wrote afterward.

The therapist agreed, as she always does, that Danielle needs to learn to control her temper. "My sense," I told her, "is that Danielle's problem is not one of consciously and deliberately choosing to do the wrong thing. Rather, I think the reacts impulsively in the heat of the moment, and is indeed genuinely sorry after the fact."

"I think you're probably right about that," the therapist said.

I also told the therapist that, when we talked about the note last night, Danielle said something along the lines of "Well, my birth family always told me I was bad, so I act bad because the bad followed me like a curse." When she said it, we told Danielle, "you aren't a bad person, because you don't enjoy hurting people. You make bad choices sometimes, but you can choose what kind of person to be."

When I shared Danielle's comments with the therapist, her eyes widened. "Now we're getting closer to the real stuff," she said. "This is big stuff, and Danielle and I definitely need to talk about it."

Danielle and I came home after our therapy session, but went back to see the therapist for lunch. The therapist requested that the lunch be just Danielle and I. "Danielle clearly feels the strongest bond to FosterAbba, which is why they conflict so strongly," she said. "I'd like to talk to her with just you there, to reinforce for her that she has two parents.

Lunch, being a sort of "stealth therapy" was pretty low-key, but we did touch on some of the same issues, and it was very clear that Danielle is feeling genuine remorse for her behavior. "The trouble is," the therapist said to me when we had a moment alone, "that remorse after the fact isn't the same thing as moderating her behavior beforehand. That's what we have to work on."

Yup, it is. As worrying as conscious indifference and disregard for the rules would be, in some ways extreme impulsivity is more worrisome. It might, as the therapist thinks, be easier to fix in the long run, but it's also much more volatile in the short term.

On the upside, I figure that even if Danielle is acting out an hour a day, that still means she's behaving appropriately 96% of the time. (Or, if you prefer, 93% of the time she's awake)^*. Too bad that last 7% is so hard to achieve - and so frustrating in the meantime..

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* 23/24 total hours = 95.83%, 13/14 waking hours = 92.86%

Amazing Contrasts and Frustration

Yesterday evening, Danielle wrote me the following note:

Dear Abba:

[FosterAbba] I never got the chance to say sorry. Ya sorry doesn't change anything but it's still good to say it. I know that the way I chose to act was not the smartest thing I did. I acted like a butthole I should of kept my mouth closed and had of said nothing. Sometimes we say things we don't mean. The thing I say I did not mean it. If you ment yours thats ok. It's the way you feel and nobody I mean nobody could change. You know the person who could change it? It's you. Well I won't bug you any more with this dumb letter.

Just remember that theres alot of people that love. including me.

Anyway I'm sorry.

You never have too talk with me. :(

Warmly,

[Danielle's full legal name]!

There's a part of me that has to acknowledge and be amazed by the fact that Danielle can write an apology letter at all, considering three years ago she couldn't read or write anything more than her name and random letters. The fact that she's reading books like Twilight is a huge victory.

Yet at the same time, I feel very frustrated by Danielle's ongoing behavioral problems. We restrained her twice, yesterday. This morning, she's having another meeting with her therapist and I know exactly what will happen while she's there: FosterEema will drop her off and quickly report what happened, the therapist will "process" the event with Danielle, she'll come home remorseful and apologetic. Later, she'll turn around and do the exact same thing, perhaps in a day, a week, or a month.

Last night, we discussed Danielle's apology letter. She agreed that she didn't like the consequences she's received for her behavior, and she agreed that it was pretty stupid to argue and fight about things she was going to do anyway.

I asked her point blank if it was worth losing her MP3 player and TV privileges until she's off restriction for her earlier blow-up where she went after one of the birds, and she claimed that it wasn't.

Though later she came back and said she "didn't care" that she wasn't going to be allowed to watch TV.

She probably won't care up until the moment that we decide to watch one of her favorite TV shows.

In some ways, Danielle has come so far. In other ways, she hasn't improved at all, and in some measures, she's even regressed. Her temper has been a problem for a long time, but it wasn't until the last six to eight months where violence has become an issue.

I'd trade violence for a good, old-fashioned, throw-herself-down-on-the-floor-screaming temper tantrum any day.

Danielle, of course, had to look for an opportunity to complain during our conversation. She griped that it hurt when we restrained her on the floor.

"Well," I told her calmly, "we aren't trying to hurt you. However, if you pinch, hit, push, bite, kick or do anything violent, we are going to restrain you. Violence isn't okay in our home, and if you make a move to be violent, we are going to put you down on the floor."

Danielle didn't like my answer. She also didn't like (which she made reference to in her letter) the fact that I had told her, point blank, that I was sick of her behavior.

"You don't like me," she accused.

"It's hard to like someone who calls me names, throws things, hits, kicks and tries to bite me," I replied flatly. "Would you like someone who did those things to you?"

Danielle had to admit that she wouldn't.

Sigh.

I honestly don't see this situation getting any better, and the option of leaving really isn't an option at all. In our state, when determining child support, it doesn't matter whether or not the parents are legally married. What matters is whether or not we are her legal parents. We both adopted Danielle, and both our names are on her birth certificate.

Truly and honestly, adopting this kid was the biggest mistake I've ever made.

Only three years, 11 months and 7 days until Danielle's 18th birthday.

Yeah, This is Old

This morning, Danielle has been dawdling in getting ready to do her schoolwork. Part of the cause, apparently, is the fact that she's not going to school today because they have scheduled the high school exit examination for the seniors for part of the day.

Danielle is pissed off. When I asked Danielle to do her chore, she refused. Then she tried to pinch me on the hand.

We ended up restraining her on the bedroom floor.

Shortly after we let her up, she was in the dining room, and decided it would be a good choice to give me a hard shove.

I threw her on the floor and we restrained her again. She called me "fatty."

Now she's up and doing chores, though she's slamming everything in her path as she does so. She's earning consequences along the way, because everything she breaks or damages, she'll have to pay for in one way or another. She slammed the front door open, hard, and the doorknob pushed a dent into the wallboard where it hit.

The birds are locked up in their sleeping cages, which are located in our bedroom, for safety. FosterEema and I are back at our desks, ostensibly trying to get some work done.

Two Days Gone Was a Relief

I've been back home for just a bit more than 24 hours, and I'm already realizing what a blessing it was to be out of the house for a while.

While I was gone, I missed my wife, but I didn't miss Danielle in the slightest. In fact, I felt resentful when I called home to talk to FosterEema about my decision to stay a second night, and she put Danielle on the phone to say hello.

I didn't want to talk to the rug rat at all. Fortunately, Danielle didn't have much to say, and quickly put Eema back on the line.

Last night, Danielle was back to her usual irritating tricks. Every thing we asked of her she initially refused to do. We ignored it, but it was irritating nonetheless.

"Danielle," I said at one point, "I see your sneakers and your backpack are on the middle of the living room floor. Please pick them up and take them to your room."

"No!" she exclaimed.

I just stared at her, giving her a disapproving look.

"What?" she cried.

I said nothing, and continued my ugly stare.

Danielle stomped into the living room, grabbed her backpack and her shoes, and stomped them down the hallway.

Chore done, but it's just exhausting. I want to yell, "Do the fucking chore without complaining!"

Instead, I say nothing.

We go through this for everything. Showering, chores, putting her junk back in her room where it belongs, even brushing her teeth. Last night she fussed about flossing.

It was such a relief to be with my mother. There were no squabbles, no petty fights about chores, no arguing over picking up the piece of trash or empty soda can Danielle just threw on the floor instead of putting in the garbage. I spent two days in a lovely clean, quiet, and argument-free house.

It was nice, and it tempts me to leave for good.

Unfortunately, if I left it would create problems with my business, I would miss my wife, and I'd end up saddled with ridiculous child support payments* that would leave me unable to afford my own place to live.

Only 3 years, 11 months, 8 days until Danielle's 18th birthday.

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* Our state has an online child support calculator you can use to determine how much in child support you will pay in the event of a divorce. FosterEema and I filled out the form as an experiment, and I realized there's no way I could afford to leave with the amount of support I'd be expected to pay.

Lowering Expectations for Success

Sharon, over at Mega Family Living wrote a post entitled Success vs Failure that I thought deserves attention. In her post, she writes about how she and her husband have had to lower their expectations for what they would consider "success" in their adoptive children.

She closes her post by saying:

When do they learn that some choices are so bad and hold such serious reprecussions [sic] that there is no turning back ? With some choices there are no "Do Overs."

I have asked myself the same question over and over again with respect to Danielle. When will she learn that there are some things from which there cannot be a full recovery? When will she learn that there will come a point where she'll do something so bad that she will irrevocably change the path of her life, and not for the good?

In Danielle's defense, I should point out that we've had a fairly quiet couple of weeks since her last serious blow up, and we've only had one fuss where we had to restrain Danielle, which happened just over a week ago. FosterEema reported that while I was visiting my mother over the weekend, Danielle was so well-behaved it was like we had a "completely different child."

Even so, two weeks of decent behavior isn't enough for me to declare any sort of victory, or even to decide that things are permanently on the road to improvement. Danielle has shown us again and again that after a serious explosion, there will be a few weeks (or even a few months) of good behavior before the next violent outburst.

In the distant past, my expectations for Danielle were pretty high. I hoped that she'd catch up in school, graduate from high school, go on to college, graduate, and find work in some sort of productive and satisfying job. I envisioned that she might get married someday, and would have a loving and productive steady relationship with a well-chosen mate. She and her spouse might or might not have children, but if they did, she would be careful not to repeat the mistakes of her biological family, and they would be well-loved and well-cared-for.

Now, I think we'll call it a success if Danielle graduates from high school and manages to avoid a criminal record. I have every reason to believe that Danielle will finish high school, though I do question whether or not she'll be able to pass our state's high school exit examination and obtain her diploma. If she can't pass the test, she'll get a "certificate of completion" instead.

I no longer dream of Danielle going on to attend college or working at a job that requires decision-making or critical-thinking skills. I have long since stopped thinking about what our relationship will be like after she becomes an adult, because I believe she'll run back to her biological family on her 18th birthday.

There's a big difference between the expectations that I hold in my heart for Danielle and those that I verbalize. I still verbalize great expectations, and I set the bar high. However, the goal I hold out in my heart as being a realistic goal is much lower.

This way, I won't be too disappointed if she fails.

Trick or Treat, Smell my Feet

It's hard to believe that Halloween has already come and gone. In fact, it's hard to believe how quickly this year has gone by.

Not too much longer, and we'll have the December holidays upon us, and the frenzy of gift-buying and gimme, gimme, gimmes on the part of our kid.

We had sort of a weird Halloween. FosterEema and Danielle went over to party to Chatty Cathy and her mother, and I spent the weekend up at my mother's house. This was the first Halloween that I can remember where FosterEema weren't together. I went up Saturday morning and came back first thing this morning.

I think my mother really appreciated the company. She lives on a deserted, rural road, and hasn't had any trick-or-treaters in over a decade. We swapped stories, shared a bottle of wine and had a nice visit. I really didn't want to come home. It was so quiet at my mother's place. Her house is always peaceful, tiny and clean, and I always dread coming back to the chaos, squabbling and mess of our home.

While I was gone, FosterEema kept texting me to let me know that she was cleaning up the house. I was looking forward to coming home to a clean place, but was disappointed. I really didn't notice that much difference in the overall mess of the house from when I left.

Sigh.

There Always Has to be Drama Somewhere

Things have been relatively drama-free with respect to Danielle for several days now, so it seems that other parts of our lives have to go thermo-nuclear to make up for the lack of drama at home.

So far, this week we've seen considerable drama in the following areas:

• A friend is trying to refinance his house, and getting the loan papers signed and transmitting proof of employment to the lender has turned into a giant scene. My friend keeps calling me, hoping that I can somehow fix everything for him, which of course I can't. The delays have meant that interest charges are accruing on the payoff of his old loan, which is pissing him off.
  
  
• Another friend is having all sorts of drama with her pets. Like my friend "Millie," this friend tends to collect animals, but at least she has the means to care for all of them. One of her cats is urinating all over her house due to bladder stones, while another has gone missing.
  
  
• More and more clients and potential clients are crawling out of the woodwork with jobs for us. Although the increased income is good, we are already overbooked, and these "emergencies" that keep popping up are interfering with our ability to get our previously-booked work done. One client in particular is causing us to tear our hair out, because they did something we specifically advised them not to do. As a direct result of their not following our advice, they've created several emergencies which have had to be fixed right away. If they'd only listened to us, they wouldn't be screaming that their systems don't work and begging us to drop everything to come fix it.

I hate drama, especially when it's stuff that's not of my making. I can't fix my friend's mortgage, I can't heal or find my other friend's sick and missing cats, and I'm not willing to take the blame for something messing up when we advised our client not to do something.

But now everybody is running around like a chicken that's had its head chopped off, and all I can do is try to be understanding, set boundaries, and limit myself to doing the things I can do and can control.

Argh.