Benedict Me

I am a traitor.

How come it seems to always work out that the right thing feels so terrible and heart-wrenching? Shouldn't the right thing be easy and floofy, and thank you kindly when you're done.

My oldest daughter is not going to thank me today when she gets home from school. I'm going to throw her weekend bag in my car, have a huge fight with her that'll end with her threatening to leave, and drop her off at the one place she might dread more than her father's. Ouch.

It's nice to have other people freely offer their services as the bad parent. But it's so hard for the good parent (me) to do something she'll never forgive me for. If I could send myself for the weekend I would. I would LOVE it there.

Instead I'm going to spend the evening house-sitting at Dad's with a bottle of whisky and my arthritic dog and my blind cat, and a golden retriever I have to carry up and down the stairs. I'll fit right in!

And when Haley comes back hopefully I'll be able to whistle and she'll come right over so that I can throw a saddle on her.

I cannot take her to Wyoming with me while she's being all defiant. She blames her attitude on how hard teenagers have it now. I can't say I blame her. Every other generation of teenagers had it so easy, so much respect and freedom and opportunity. I feel sorry for all her friends with their cell-phones and their playstations and 175 channels to choose from every night.

I think the feeling of being a traitor just passed and now I'm pretty pissed off that she looks at me and says "what are you going to do about it?"

Now I'd love a live web cam at Kath's. I owe that woman alot.