Page 15 of Grace Notes
Frustration bubbles over—not at her, but at myself for being unable to help her. And even though I try to keep that frustration contained, it slips through the cracks anyway. Scooping her up again, I carry her across the living room and up the stairs. “Avery, I love you, but you don’t get to act this way. You’re going to go to your room and think about what you’ve done.”
Sharp pain slices through my ribs. No one tells you that disciplining your kids is the hardest part of raising them. This is the first time I’ve ever had to really discipline her, and it stings more than I expected.
Avery sobs in my arms, and I want to cry with her.
I feel helpless.
Depositing her on her bed, I squat down so I am on her level. “Baby, I love you so much, but you can’t act this way. You have to talk to us, or it will only get worse. I’ll be back in five minutes, and then I want to talk.”
I drop a kiss on her head and then stand, leaving the room. My feet are like lead weights with each step I take, leaving her behind.
Emryn waits for me outside the door, her lip tucked between her teeth and her arms crossed over her chest.
“Do you really think that was the best way to handle this situation?” she asks.
Scrubbing my hand over the scruff on my jaw, I say, “I don’t know, Emryn, but we can’t let her act like that—angry or not.”
She nods, her teeth digging deeper into her lip.
“Look,” I sigh, “We both know there’s no manual to this parenting thing. Maybe it’s not the right way, and I guess we will learn that soon enough. But right now, it’s all I have. If it doesn’t work, we try something else. Okay?”
“Okay.” Her voice is a broken whisper. This hurts her just as much as it does me.
Reaching out, I pull her to me, tucking her head under my chin, and we stand like that for the next five minutes, listening to our daughter yell and scream. And with each minute that passes, a piece of my heart breaks.
______________________
“Do you think Avery is okay?” Emryn asks from beside me in my truck.
My hand finds her knee, and I rub my thumb over the smooth skin, watching as goosebumps pebble it.
After Avery’s five minutes were up, Emryn and I went into the room to talk to her. We made sure that she knew how much we both loved her, but her attitude lately isn’t acceptable. She didn’t yell and scream and hit like she did before, but she was still morose when we left.
Emryn was hesitant about continuing our night, but I told her we needed it. Since Emryn moved back home, we’ve made sure to work out at least one night a month where it’s just us—even if it’s just a meal at home. Tonight, though, I’ve planned something else—something she doesn’t know about.
“I think she’s fine. My dad is there with her. If he needs us, he will call.”
She takes a shuttering breath. “Maybe we should take her to therapy. It might not hurt her to see a professional.”
“No.” It comes out sharper than I mean it to, but my answer is still the same, even if I meant to say it softer.
Emryn bristles, pulling her leg from under my hand and straightening her spine. She turns her shoulders to face me, and even out of the corner of my eye, I can see her disdain in the purses of her lips. “And why not? We went to therapy. I think you would be able to see the merits in it now.”
“That’s different.” The words are like gravel in my throat, making my voice deep and raspy.
“How?”
I sigh, not wanting to fight. “Because it means we’ve failed her. We should be able to take care of this at home. She’ll be fine. We’ll figure it out.”
“And what if we don’t?” Emryn asks.
“We will.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Slamming my hand against the steering wheel, I lose the restraint I’ve barely been holding onto since my daughter told me she hated me. “I don’t know, Emryn. I don’t know.”
The words crack through the silence of my truck, and Emryn’s head rears back. Hurt lacing through her eyes.
