Destruction

Sunday afternoon we went to the farm so my dad could put another starter on the van (the third one in three years – the last one he put on just before Christmas, so there is some issue that keeps burning out the starters) and check it over for inspection today. The children are allowed to run around and play pretty much anywhere they want, since there is plenty of space to spread out and no neighbors close enough to disturb. We had a nice afternoon and enjoyed dinner together, making our traditional s’mores as the sunset and the lightening bugs came out to play. It took my dad longer than he thought to fix the starter, but fortunately I brought along pajamas and towels to give the kids a bath, so there would be one less thing we needed to do when we got home.

 

This morning my mom called me practically in tears. She took her car to the car wash this morning and noticed huge scrape marks all along the passenger side of her car. Apparently, Chica Marie took a stone and carved doodles all over my mom’s car – the car she has had for less than a year, the car she adores and parks far away from other cars in parking lots so it wouldn’t get scratched, the car she agonized over purchasing for several months, test driving it multiple times before deciding. She told me she did cry when she saw it. I apologized and offered to pay the cost to fix the damages. My mom wanted to know why Chica Marie would do such a thing, why does she always break things when she is visiting? I felt horrible. I loathed whatever mental issue would cause Chica Marie to be destructive like she was and wished I had made her stay in my sight. I’m sure, if I had asked Chica Marie why she did what she did she would shrug and say, “I don’t know.” And she would only be sorry for the punishment she would receive (which, I don’t even know what that will be – nothing helps).

 

My mom reiterated her stance that I would regret adopting Chica Marie because she is more damaged than I realize and what will I do in another 10 years when she’s out vandalizing things or worse, grabbing a kitchen knife and stabbing me in my sleep. She worries that the behaviors will wear off on Love Bug, who, in her eyes, still had the ability to be a “good little boy.” She wanted to know what the therapists say, what things I can do to stop the destruction and other troubling behaviors. The conversation ended abruptly because my mom was at work and had to go. As I hung up the phone I realized any hopes I had of my mom baby-sitting Chica Marie were gone. And to think, on our drive up to the farm I was asking  Chica Marie what she would want to call my parents, since when she got adopted they would be her grandparents.