It’s time I put my cards on the table. My sincere effort here will be to explain the situation as objectively as possible. Being one of the players, I acknowledge that there will very likely be elements of bias, but, hey, I’m only human, OK?
Things have reached the point where I have to get my thoughts out somewhere, and since nobody reads this blog anyway, this is the safest place to file them.
I have to start by saying that I love my wife, my children, my grandchildren, and my great-grandson with all my heart. BUT (of course, you would expect a “but” after a disclaimer like that, wouldn’t you?) things are becoming more difficult to deal with.
The least difficult part of my life is Evelyn. While I never expected to be a caregiver for a spouse wearing a colostomy (heck, until a few years ago I didn’t even know what a colostomy was!), I have to admit that God has given me incredible gifts to handle my responsibilities, learning by doing. Professionals who have watched me change the pouch say that I should be an honorary nurse. Pretty high praise, I think.
However, the overall family dynamic is not healthy. I want to be clear that I’m not seeking sympathy or putting the “Poor Me” CD in the player, but my sense at this point is that I’m bucking against the tide.
What I mean is, I’m trying so hard to keep the household running efficiently, but I’m not getting a heck of a lot of cooperation. And, frankly, the greatest lack of cooperation comes from Karlyn. It’s never anything huge, which is probably why it’s so irritating; it’s an ongoing series of little things, mostly having to do with not finishing what she started. She will open something and not close it again (cabinet doors, drawers, the dog’s “cookie” jar). She will unwrap something and put the wrapper on a table or counter or even on the floor instead of the trash (I just don’t understand what’s so difficult about taking trash to a trash can. I’ll find used tissues on the furniture, floor, etc. If we didn’t have trash cans, I would understand, but virtually every room has one, so they’re not even that far away). She’ll use something and not put it back (scissors, boxes of tissues, the bottle of Febreze that’s been sitting on the floor next to the sofa for days, for example). She even has no second thoughts about going into our bedroom/bathroom and helping herself to Evelyn’s or my products.
What’s really irritating is realizing what those actions say about how she thinks of her relationship to the family and her lack of respect for us as her parents. By leaving things unfinished, she’s basically saying that she’s entitled to be as uncaring as she wants to be because Evelyn or I will come behind her and clean up after her. In her mind, it’s perfectly acceptable for her to make the mess and expect somebody else to clean it up (one notable exception: she will wash dishes that she uses when she’s been cooking late at night, which I greatly appreciate. She’ll also wipe down the stovetop, so I would be remiss not to mention that), but I compare her usual practice of not finishing things to the guy who walks in the circus parade behind the elephants and scoops up the poop. Karlyn’s the pooping elephant; I’m the pooper-scooper. I’m trying so hard not to let the house look like her room, which could easily be confused for a scene from the “Hoarders” program (the pile of clothes that has tumbled out into the hallway is actually a safety hazard for me when I need to get to my office). It’s a clear indication that she has no sense of caring for her possessions, which is not something she got from us. Once again, we set the example, and she defiantly does the opposite.
In fact, having said that, let me digress here a moment. The idea that kids learn from the example of their parents is a crock. I could list dozens of examples of how that hasn’t worked here, but I’ll mention only a few, such as:
>> Making beds. My example: I make our bed every single morning; her bed is a tangled pile of sheets (which she hasn’t laundered in weeks, by the way) and bed covers. We just bought her a new comforter to go with the new bed we bought her, but she doesn’t like it – too heavy.
>> Hanging up keys (I installed a key rack on the side of our hutch, which is just inside the front door so it would be as easy as possible to hang up our keys, but as recently as today, hours before I wrote this, she was looking for her car keys. My example: I hang my keys up moments after I come into the house because I don’t want to have to try to remember where I would have left them).
>> Hanging up coats (she has a closet just outside her bathroom with hangers she could use, but she opts for the “easy way” and simply drops her coat – or shoes or whatever – wherever. My example: I hang my coats, hats, and gloves on a coat rack I have just for that purpose).
>> My point: Karlyn has observed our little routines all her life, but she has chosen not to follow our example, so phooey on kids learning from the example of their parents. In all fairness, I should say that it never worked with her siblings, either, so obviously her brothers and sisters carry more weight when it comes to whom Karlyn actually respects.
Which takes me to my next point: I’m convinced that Karlyn is foundationally a defiant person, and I challenge anyone to prove me wrong. Why else would she refuse to use the trash cans? Why else would she ignore the key rack? Why else would she think it was OK to leave piles of clothes on her bedroom floor and then not launder them? These are all signs of resistance against authority (i. e.: “Mom and Dad, being the authority, want me to do thus and so, so I’ll not do those things even though they would make my life a lot more organized and a lot less stressful. I want to be in control, no matter how inconvenient and frustrating it makes my life.”) I suspect that I’m only now realizing something that was probably obvious all along: Karlyn never actually wanted to be part of our family from the start, so, in retaliation, she’s doing all she can to make things as uncomfortable as possible now for as long as she can in order to pack as many vengeful moments as possible into what remains of the time available to her. We give love and support. She throws it in our faces. Very hurtful.
Karlyn needs structure, but she fights against that as well. When she’s working, she’s much more pleasant because her time is predictable, and she doesn’t feel as though she’s “floating” aimlessly from one day to the next, leaving herself open to anxiety and surprises. But she’s out of work at the time I’m writing this, which has introduced some unsettling vibes into the household. One blatant example has to do with her injury (she injured an ankle, which she claims makes it difficult to give attention to customers on the floor of the furniture store with whom she was most recently employed; however, she has no complaints about the ankle when she wants to party. Just the other day she accompanied ’Chelley and others to an all-female “Galentine’s Day” event. I’m sure she didn’t sit in the corner with her ankle elevated). She must think Evelyn and I are clueless if she thinks we don’t see what’s clearly going on in front of us. Nothing could be clearer: Work? (My ankle hurts.) Play? (Oh, I can do that!). Come on.
Add to that the fact that she had asked if her boyfriend could spend some time with us, which we had no problem with because we understood it to mean a short amount of time. That was several weeks ago, and Ky is still sleeping on our sofa. Even that wouldn’t be so hard to accept if it weren’t for the fact that he uses “weed,” and brings that odor into the house with him which then gets left on the sofa (Karlyn or he, realizing the situation, sprayed the sofa with Febreze, but then left the bottle on the floor next to it instead of putting it back in the cabinet. Had I not noticed that, I wouldn’t have known where it was the next time I wanted to use it, because I had put it back in the cabinet after the last time I used it, which is why Karlyn knew where to look for it when she wanted it). It’s this kind of thing. Little irritations that add up to one frustrating household dynamic. The other day I found a soda can in the trash (I believe Ky put it there not realizing that we have a recycling bin). As a gentle reminder, I put a note on the trash can that said simply, “Soda cans go in recycling as do clean paper and plastic.” Karlyn saw the note and immediately concluded that I was being “passive-aggressive.” I can’t even put a reminder on the trash can without being passive-aggressive?
That same defiance carries over into inconsideration: I try very hard to show consideration to her and Ky when I get up in the morning. I’m an early riser; they’re not. But in our small house, there’s no way to move about without being in each other’s space. So, instead of going through the morning routine with the pets, which includes putting ice in their fresh water (ice makes noise), I wait until after they get up (usually mid-morning). Instead of using my recliner for my devotional time (which I would prefer – very comfortable), I take my books to my office where neither I nor the lights will bother them. Instead of sitting at the dining room table to take my blood pressure, I take the machine to my office so the noise doesn’t disturb them. I won’t go into detail at this point but suffice it to say that my gestures to be considerate are rarely if ever appreciated, much less returned.
Other people might think I’m being picky, and that I’m making a big deal out of a silly circumstance, but there’s more, and that has to do with Karlyn’s sense of entitlement. She has no qualms about asking me to pick up items for her when I go shopping, which I really wouldn’t mind if she would at least pay us for those items (PowerAde, Goldfish Crackers, pretzels [Snyder’s only, thank you], and the like). She will use the hamburger in the freezer, the pasta in the pantry, and the new toothbrushes in our bathroom cabinet, and enjoys the benefits afforded by our utilities and shelter but hasn’t yet offered to contribute to the cost of any of these comforts. It becomes an example of how the “movement” in the family is all from Evelyn and me and toward Karlyn; we’re doing all the giving, and she’s doing all the taking. She doesn’t pay rent. She makes infinitesimal contributions to the family (she’s very good at giving gifts for special occasions, but not so much for helping with the day-to-day running of the house).
So, whose fault is that? It’s Evelyn’s and mine, of course. We’ve never gathered the gumption to sit down and discuss this situation with her and still haven’t. So, until we confront her with our expectations, I guess things will drift into the future like this until we fade away. Which, incidentally, I believe she’s counting on. If she can hang in there until Evelyn and I are dead, then she’ll never have to worry about finding a place of her own that she’ll have to pay for (her “lip service” about having the goal of finding her own place before this year is out notwithstanding), but it will come at the price of Evelyn’s and my never realizing our goal of spending our final years together, just the two of us. Our final chapter is going to include Karlyn – just the three of us. We’ve always told her that we would never “kick her out,” but I’d be lying if I didn’t say that sometimes I think it would solve most of our problems because she’d have to land on her feet, and Evelyn and I would finally have our few remaining years to live out as we had hoped. I truly wish I didn’t think this way, but if our experience is any indication of how mixed-race adoptions work, I can understand why people who have observed our situation are not eager to enter into such an arrangement.
I asked myself how our lives now are different from how I imagined it early on, and one thing stands out: I would envision our family gatherings including conversations with each of our kids about how our various church services were going, a kind of “comparing notes” discussion: Did the pastor say anything that helped you? What is there about the church you’re attending that makes you feel uplifted? Are there any special outreach programs in the works? Etc., etc. But I’ll never have that discussion because none of our kids goes to church. In fact, it’s so bad that the very mention of church or religion makes the hair on the back of their necks stand up. This truly distresses me. They all have their own “spirituality,” but it comes closer to pantheism than anything (or, more graciously, perhaps agnosticism). Their spiritual practices are not in line with my understanding of Christianity, anyway. Again, Evelyn and I must own the bigger part of where our kids have ended up by not working harder with them to help them understand how vitally important it is to acknowledge the Creator God and not God’s creation as primary. We wanted them to be independent thinkers, and now we see where that got us. We were so hoping that they would not turn out to be stereotypical “preacher’s kids,” the kind that reject their upbringing by conveniently labeling it “shoving it down our throats.” But that’s exactly where we are, and there’s not much we can do about it at this point because they’re all adults now and responsible for their own decisions. May God have mercy on their souls.
It would be so nice to hear Karlyn say, “Hi, Daddy! Hi, Mommy! I’m home” when she comes in (well, as long as we’re awake – I honestly don’t think we’d appreciate being wakened up at 3:00 in the morning) and give us a little hug instead of hearing her trudge to her room without any acknowledgement of our existence.
I truly do believe that God is in control. I’ll confess that I don’t see where all this is going at the moment, and maybe Evelyn and I aren’t supposed to see the fulfillment of our dreams (don’t know why, but maybe our purpose all along was to sacrifice our lives for Karlyn so she can become the woman God intended her to be. Maybe once she becomes rich and famous she’ll start an endowment in our memory).
These are hard things to write and ponder, but that’s where I am mentally and emotionally right now. I’m not in a happy place by any stretch of the imagination. I’m not ready to say that I’m depressed, but I’m very discouraged and disillusioned. I’ve already sought counseling and hope that a session or so with my pastor/friend, along with fervent prayer, will reveal the plan that God wants me to follow.