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Are you afraid of teenagers? I'm not: general category. I am: my own child becoming. Teenagers in general are extremely attractive globs of iddy goo, unaware of how frickin' awesome they look now, what with their lack of cellulite, abdominal muscles and unlined skin, unaware of how completely uninformed and unformed they are, convinced as they are that they know everything just because they can hit the eighteenth level of Whatever Game Is Not Important to Me.
I think I may die when my daughter becomes a teenager. And so, I have to start gearing up for it now. She's four.
Vodkamom has me worried.
16: Mom, can I go to Susie’s house?
Me: No, you were just there last night.
16: Please? (very sweetly…)
Me: No.
16: WHAT?????????YOU ARE SUCH A B****. (Not so sweetly.)
Me: You’ll have to do better than that.
16: YOU ARE THE WORST MOTHER EVER! (At the tippy top of her lungs.)
Me: You know I’ve heard that before. Try again.
16: UGH. YOU DRIVE ME CRAZY!! (Door slams, and neighbor calls the cops, I’m sure.)
My sweet little four-year-old tells me at least once a week that she'd prefer I stop singing to the radio, stop looking at her and STOP WITH ALL THE WORDS ALL THE TIME. JUST STOP. At those moments, I catch glimpses of her tween years, and oh, God, her teenage years. Those years during which I will probably lose her for a while. She will probably think I am the most annoying creature on the face of the earth, and it won't be until she graduates college and goes out into the cruel world that she decides maybe I wasn't that stupid.
And so, even though she's only four, I've started reading bloggers with teenagers with the same sort of trepidation/fascination that I read about gladiators or gangsters. May I be worthy to sit with these parents.
Take Melanie Lynne Hauser (and please, you really have to go read this entire post -- it rocks):
Anyway, yesterday I ventured into his lair a couple of times. Mainly because I had started to forget what he looks like. And the last time I did so — just to pop my head around the corner and say, “Hey, buddy — how’s it going?” — he tugged on his hair (which he does when he’s frustrated) and said, “This is the 7th time in two days you’ve come in here.”
Oh, God. So I prepare for this transition in our relationship even now, feeding her head full of stories of me conquering kingdoms and slaying dragons, hoping I can convince her that her mother really rocks. (It's not even working on a four-year-old.) I think when she enters teendom that I may have to take up tennis.
Nigel offers this advice:
With this realization I also found that it was impossible for me to be the perfect parent. Regardless of my intentions, I will always make mistakes as a parent, and so will my child. During the teenage years, I have also matured. While these years have been stressful, they provide a means for seamless transition to adulthood. With each child, I have learned to love and respect them as an individual, though they may not follow the ideals I had in mind.















