Well, That Was Fast--My Daughter Moved Back Home

Here’s an update I didn’t think I’d be making any time soon. My “troubled teen,” whom I thought had made it in the big world is BACK HOME. I definitely have many mixed feelings about it.

I was beginning to get used to the peace and cleanliness in my house (not the quiet). It was effortless to be home—for over a month it was orderly, organized, clean, and good-smelling. There were no children, big dirty shoes, no litter boxes, no bad attitudes, no arguments, no cat fur in my mascara…but there was hollowness, stark silence, and an empty refrigerator.

The bottom line is, I missed my little girl—but the baggage that she comes her? Not so much. But I’ll take it because I love her in a way that only strong, dedicated parents understand. No matter what she does or says, she can’t break me or my heartstrings. I am, always have been, and always will be her rock. And she’ll always be my love girl.

So anyway, here’s how it went down. I was in Walmart after work, shopping for some goodies for my upcoming book club (one of my passions). I left my phone in the car so I could just get my stuff done without interruption. I didn’t think for one second that my daughter would call, as this was during her work hours, so I rambled around the store at my leisure.

Once back in the car, I saw that there were about five missed calls from her and one sobbing voicemail. I admit, I rolled my eyes in my mind and said, “Shit, what now, damnit?” After several tries, I got in touch her, and she said, “Mommy, can you come help me move out?” The “mommy” title was very telling; she was in great need.

We talked for the duration of the 45 minute trip to her apartment so she could calm down. She told me the details and I became pretty inflamed. There were so many problems that she exposed—first and foremost, she was accused of stealing from the roommate and there were issues over guys squatting in the apartment. My daughter actually took matters into her own hands and threw one of them out (proud of her for taking a stand). The roommate told my daughter that if she didn’t like the ground rules that she set up, she could just get the hell out. This was after the rent was paid for the month, of course.

I put in a call to the roommate, who was at work. It was a formal one stating that if they didn’t work out the issues at hand, that she would owe me for the remaining days of the month as I actually paid the rent for January. A thousand text messages followed, and I just stopped responding. The roommate is intelligent and articulate; she just uses her mind for negative purposes. My daughter tried to convince her that they should sit down and talk about their many issues, but the girl refused and demanded that she leave immediately. To make a long story short, within a couple of hours, both our cars were jam-packed with her belongings and her three cats, and we were on our way home. I was sweating bullets and so very sad for my still-weeping child. “Why am I such a failure?!” she kept crying out.

There has been another barrage of texts, but I’m not entertaining them right now. There are claims about damage, keys, court, etc. and I want to process this, and my daughter needs to as well. There were also issues that the roommate could get into big trouble for—selling pot from the apartment, arrest warrants, and who know what else.

My child and I will discuss this and solve the problems together; she clearly needs my support and I won’t let her down. I don’t agree with everything she’s done, but I give her lots of credit for trying to do well. For now, she needs to kick ass at work and get herself organized. She’s already calmer and happier, and has asked me to forbid her to ever move out again because she always does better at home with me. She broke down and cried about all the trouble she’s caused and to please forgive her. Of course I will. We are strong women in our family, and we’ll move on and put this past us. Life is too short to wallow in misery.

We’re now in the process of moving her back into her room and getting her organized one day at a time. I’ve set ground rules about friends, behaviors, etc. I can do that—I’m the parent/grownup and it’s my home. My daughter doesn’t seem to mind that I’m asserting my well-deserved authority.

This child has a bit of life cleanup to do—she let her car get trashed, she’s not been taking great care of herself, she’s been dressing sloppily for work, she’s not exercising or volunteering, and she hasn’t been eating well. Mama’s stepping in—it’s not a control thing; it’s a “get back to basics” thing. She needs the structure and has come to realize that I’m right again and that she should’ve listened to me in the first place. What’s the expression? Hindsight is 20/20.