It isn't like she sided with me because we were both women. We didn’t form this wall of resistance against Mike and Ashley. She didn't take sides, but then she didn't have to. Therapy sessions with my husband provided enough "evidence" of what was going on at home. The way Mike spoke to me in counseling was a milder version of his constant critical nature, and it was distressing enough. Kerri remonstrated with him several times and tried to reason with him about his tone of voice and accusatory attitude to no avail.
Sometimes I wished that Kerri could live in my pocket, because I definitely would've benefited having her witness the frequent scenes at home with Mike and our eldest daughter. In my defense, I honestly did the best I could to stay out of their way. Ashley was always mad at me for some reason, and Mike was losing patience, although I had no idea why his antagonism was directed at me. Couldn't he see how it took next to nothing to anger her? Didn't he notice that she was usually the one who sought me out and picked a fight? It's not like I enjoyed arguing with her. I only wanted peace and quiet and time to spend with the other children so our family wouldn't fall completely to pieces. What person in their right mind would want to invite conflict, especially when she felt ganged up on!
Our family was falling apart. Ashley was a full-time job. Maybe Mike was "in charge", but that certainly didn't mean I wasn't under enormous stress. Never knowing when she was going to blow up, having to be on my guard at all times, especially at night, because she might try to sneak out of the house. And now the escalating physical violence. I had no energy to deal with Ashley, much less Ashley and the smaller children.
All of this unhappiness came pouring out of me during therapy with Kerri. Yes, I was angry with my girl. A saint would be angry with her. And maybe it was partly true that my hostility brought out the worst in her, but what was I supposed to do when she went on the attack? I didn’t understand Mike’s position or why he was so over-protective of her. As thrilled as I was that he had finally found it inside himself to love our daughter for herself, it seemed like he was going overboard. And since Mike refused to look at his behavior in its true light, there was nothing I could do about any of it.
Kerri told me in confidence that, given the powerful position Ash enjoyed at home, she didn't understand why she wasn't ecstatic. Here was a girl who had her father well in hand to the point where she didn't have to mind in any way. In fact, her father went out of his way to please here, often acting against the will of his own wife and the benefit of the other children. But Ashley wasn't happy- she was moody, irritable and difficult. And all she still wanted to do was sneak out and use drugs.
The summer was coming to a close, and school was starting. Mike had not worked for more than a few hours a day most of the summer. He claimed he needed to be home when Ashley was awake to monitor the two of us so "I didn't jump all over her for trivialities", and he "feared leaving us alone together". But part was due to his depression which made him unable to concentrate on the job. In fact, in mid-July he had set up an appointment to see a therapist and psychiatrist at Kaiser and started taking anti-depressants. There was some irony here, given his past theories regarding counseling being a bunch of nonsense, and I thought it was pretty interesting how fast he changed his tune when he was the one needing therapy. But if he wanted to stay home and babysit, well...
With the end of summer came the children's planned return to school. Mike had actually let me take Ashley with me when Ryan and I went shopping for school clothes. With Mike barely working, money was tight, so I was only able to buy each child a few items. Ryan was a breeze- he wore shorts, jeans and t-shirts, and he had his clothes picked out in no time.
But no, not Ashley. Her selection of clothes was skimpy, short, tummy-baring and all black. I stood in the stores, my heart dropping every time she came out of the dressing room in a different, inappropriate outfit until I finally told her to either find some decent clothes or we were going home. She finally chose a relatively modest black skort and three shirts in various shades of dark. I wanted her to buy jeans, which would be all-purpose and brighten up the wardrobe a bit, but she nixed the idea entirely.
When she later modeled the clothes for Mike he wasn't pleased. What was with the all-black? Was she in mourning or something? Well I tried to explain, but it wasn't getting through. It wasn’t like she was a Goth, she just preferred the color black. And I'd had enough experience with her in previous years to know that if I bought her something she didn't like, she wouldn't wear it, and I was not about to waste precious money on things which would sit in her drawer. I made the suggestion that if he didn't like my choice that maybe he should take her shopping. So he did.
They came home with a pair of tight dark denim shorts, two very short skirts- one gray and one black- and two more tops. Tight and skimpy. In black. Mr. Know-it-all struck out.