Thursday night, I will deposit her with the pole-dancing grandma and the "I know what I like" grandfather for several days packed to the gills with shopping, restaurants, museums, the theater and pedicures.
And I am thrilled for her. Thrilled that she will get the attention she deserves. Thrilled that my parents are finally figuring out what they have missed.
Actually, I'm trying very very hard to maintain "thrilled," but I'm having a severe "Disney dad" response to this whole thing.
And as a result, in a cold little place in my hard Evil Mother heart, I am angry.
I am angry that this has been referred to as Roo-girl's "special weekend."
I am angry that they are trying to take 15 years of neglect and repackage it into a weekend of fun and games.
I am angry that they will use STUFF to speak to her, when TIME should have been enough.
My parents are local. They live a mere 25 or 30 miles from us. So why does this have to be a THING of epic proportions?
It could have been a day of lunch and shopping.
Then next month, they could have gone to the theater.
And maybe another time, she and my mother could have gotten pedicures together.
Perhaps what really yanks my chain is that it comes mere days after
A discussion prompted by her unreasonable expectations of what she is entitled to in a redecorating her room a la House Beautiful.
A discussion prompted by her champagne tastes on my beer budget.
A discussion prompted by a series of statements that all started with "I want" or "I need."
Because I want, and I need, too.
I want peace, and I need balance.
And everyone to get over themselves.