Way back in August, Voldemort and I had mandatory custody mediation about kid #3. She’s the only minor we’ve got, the other two kids are over 18 (but I’d hesitate to call them adults. Maybe that’s just me.) At the mediation, we agreed that #3 would see a therapist and if/when that therapist deemed it appropriate, Voldemort and #3 would go to reunification therapy together.
I figured hell would freeze over and pigs would fly before that happened, but it seemed like a reasonable stance to take. I was between a rock (#3’s adamant insistence that she did not want to see or speak to her father) and a hard place (Voldemort’s vacillating demands for 50-50 joint custody, no, wait, just a weekly phone call).
I also had the impression that none of what happened in custody mediation mattered until a judge signed off on it.
Well, not so fast.
My lawyer jumped down my throat just before the settlement meeting because I hadn’t taken #3 to a therapist yet. See, #3 was really not on board the “see a shrink” train and strongly objected in the way only a 13 year old girl can. She was a misery to be around. I was in no hurry to poke that rabid beast and I let her be.
My lawyer was not amused.
Mr. Men’s Rights Attorney was not amused.
Voldemort didn’t seem to give a damn.
So I called around to therapists who take our insurance and found an opening after the holidays. (By the way, not a single office I called would report or release information to the Court. So I guess the judge just takes my word for it?)
Appointment made, it was time to get Voldemort to sign the paperwork required of minors under joint legal custody restrictions. This was a two and a half week funfest during which I mailed the form with a self-addressed stamped envelope, received no reply, emailed twice and finally flat-out said sign it or the shrink won’t let her in the door. And cc’ed my attorney.
Apparently, Voldemort only responds when I cc my attorney. ($50 a pop.)
Finally, almost a full month later, I dragged #3 to the therapist. And guess what? After talking to her for 15 minutes, the therapist called me back and stated, “She made it very clear that she does not want to see her father or a therapist.”
Fear not, hell has not frozen over and pigs are not flying.
What happens now? Dunno. The therapist was supposed to call me with the names of two psychologists who will write letters to the Court. Yes, there are only two in the entire county (and I don’t live in a rural area). At some point, I guess I’ll have to take her to one of these people and let them talk to her surly self to determine that hey, this kid really doesn’t want to see her dad or a therapist. Bet they don’t take our insurance either.
(*If anyone can shed light on why the images won’t pop up automatically in WordPress anymore, I’d be much obliged. I like the pretty pictures, I just don’t want to search and/or pay for them!)