In the midst of all the divorce drama comes all kinds of kid drama, of course. My two daughters (ages 13 and 18) have been at each other’s throats and dragging me into the fray.
We have to sell our family home and downsize. You’d think their legs were being hacked off. Without morphine. “I refuse to share a room with her,” says one. “She’s such a manipulator and you always take her side,” screams the other.
And the piece de resistance: “Maybe I’ll go live with Dad.”
Yeah, we haven’t even had the initial court hearing, but the play-one-parent-against-the-other game has begun. I don’t need this. All the reasonable adults involved (aka me and my family) have bent over backwards to make this transition as smooth as possible for these kids. I expected some blowback, but what I’m getting is spoiled rotten, Toddlers and Tiaras hissy fits.
These kids need jobs. Or something.