Fight Club

Any intelligent person (well, any intelligent person who's actually been there) will tell you that parenthood ain't easy. Some people say it's "the toughest job you'll ever love." 

Truth.

But, when my now teenage daughter was a toddler, I was pretty smug about the whole thing. Basically, I thought I had nailed it. After all, the "terrible twos" weren't terrible at all. My sweet little girl was compliant, agreeable, bright, and a pure pleasure to be with. As far as I could foresee, things would never change. I would always be her best friend.

Oy vey, was I naive!

These days, I can't even tell you what half of our fights are about. Everything seems fine and then suddenly we're sparring. This morning, for instance, I went in to wake her up (yesterday's experiment letting her get her own sweet self out of bed was a non-starter, literally) and she turned away from me, rather abruptly, which was when I noticed that she hadn't in fact washed her hair last night as she had promised to do.

"I didn't have tiiiiiiiiime," she whined. 

I was tempted to berate her, to make ultimatums, to express my very real frustration. 

Instead, I walked away.

Before you think this is me shirking my responsibilities, let me explain how far I've come. Just the fact that I can vacate the premises, exit stage left as Snagglepuss used to say, when a full-fledged fight is brewing is a huge step forward. Huge, huge, huge. (Did I mention that it's huge?)

And, besides, is the world really going to come to an end if she goes to the stable with dirty hair? I mean, isn't it going to get dirty there pretty damn quickly anyway?

I admit, the stakes are low in this particular case, right? But, that doesn't ever seem to matter. In fact, we tend to fight more about stupid things like dirty hair or dirty laundry, texting and too much cookie dough than anything of substance. I suppose I should be grateful for that.

Last week, The Wall Street Journal ran a story called "Why Mothers and Teen Daughters Fight."  With comments from several experts, it boiled the issue down to two opposing objectives: moms want their daughters to stay close and daughters want to break away and be themselves. In a way, the story was encouraging. I'm not alone, this is all normal developmental stuff, and (apparently) there's not much I can do about it.

On the other hand, it was a bit depressing. You see, despite the fact that I'm not alone and this is all normal developmental stuff ... THERE'S NOT MUCH I CAN DO ABOUT IT!

My resolve for the summer and the coming (senior, omg!) year is to choose my battles. This isn't always (or ever?) in my control though. So, I'll just have to practice walking away.

I'm already getting better at it.

If you enjoyed this post, I invite you to order a copy of my book  Lovin' the Alien at www.lovinthealien.com.

For Argument's Sake

"Because I said so!"

For the record ladies and gentlemen, I never planned to be a "Because I said so!" kinda mom. I always imagined that my child and I would have rational dialogues. That we would reach a win-win consensus. That we would see eye-to-eye more often than not. That we would, after a thoughtful and civilized discussion, agree about what was best for her own well-being.

That was then. This is now: LMAO!

These days, I wish it was as easy as saying, "Because I said so!" You see, there's no point in becoming that authoritarian cliché because guess what?!? Whether I say those dreaded words or not doesn't matter one single solitary iota. The argument ain't over until my daughter says it's over.

And, unless I capitulate, she never says it's over.

I can't tell you how many times I have left a room while she's still making her point — making it for the eighth or ninth or seventy-third time. She is tireless. She is persistent. She is indefatigable. (Sometimes I wonder if she is hearing-impaired.) In her hormone-addled mind, "Yes," means "Yes." "No," means continue the debate until "No" means "Yes." It bothers me to exit in the middle of her sentences, so I fire lame verbal warning shots: "I'm leaving. I mean it. I'm going away now. Really. This is me, walking out the door." If I do manage to escape, she lets go with a loud, guttural wail of frustration.

But, I've learned not to react or even feel particularly sorry for her. Because, no matter how pissed she is when I declare a cease-fire (oh, and she can be quite pissed, believe me), in her book it's only a temporary setback. The argument will resume, with nary a beat missed, at dinner, in the car, or before school the next morning.

My daughter wants to major in equine studies and make a career in the equestrian industry — either running a riding school, as an equine photographer or as an equine affairs lobbyist in Washington. She has it all planned out. But, I worry that she is missing her true calling. She should go to law school, directly to law school, do not pass go, do not collect $200. She has a keen litigious mind, a sound sense of logic, and an unrelenting passion to see that justice is done! Justice, in this case, meaning that the result she gets is the result she wants. The verdict is in and the court finds for the plaintiff. Case dismissed.

Until this past weekend, my daughter's utter inability to accept my authority or comply with my wishes was a source of bewilderment (and even a little shame) for me. I mean really. I'm a good mother. I work hard. I make things pleasant and easy and nice for her. Is it so much to ask that I get a little respect?

Uh ... don't answer that.

Then, I read about a study recently published by the University of Virginia in the journal Child Development. This study, conducted over the course of three years, found that adolescents who argued with their mothers were less likely to succumb to peer pressure about drugs and alcohol than those who simply backed down and did what their mothers said.

In other words, the skills my tween is developing in our never-ending mother-daughter debates may actually serve her well in high-risk high school moments of truth.

Hallelujah!

Will this new information make my day-to-day life any easier? I doubt it. Will the family feuds still make me want to pull out my hair? For sure. But, maybe I can adjust my thinking a little bit. Maybe my daughter isn't trying to get the upper hand as much as she's trying to assert her own independence. Maybe it isn't that she thinks I'm wrong; maybe it's that she's trying to define for herself what's right.

Or, maybe she really does think I'm a moron, that life is unfair, and that no one else has ever had to suffer like she does when it comes to (insert grievance here: cell phone limits, an early bedtime, cleaning her room, eating her vegetables). Don't get me started. Better yet, don't get her started! Any of these (or a thousand other) perceived injuries can launch a deposition the length of War and Peace.

She may never be a lawyer, but if holding her own in an argument is somehow an indicator of her ability to hold her own when confronted with bad behavior or a dangerous situation, then I can breathe a sigh of relief.

I pity the peer who tries to talk her into doing something she doesn't want to do.

Smooth Sailing

This morning, my tween daughter and I had an argument.

You see, she had made plans to meet a friend at the beach at 2:00 pm. I knew about these plans. She also had plans to join that friend and her family for dinner afterwards. Alas, I did not know about these plans. I have nothing against the friend or her family. But, we had already accepted an invitation for a cookout at my in-laws.

As per usual, my insistence that my daughter change her (until then, secret) plans met with ... shall we say ... a bit of an attitude. According to her, I "just don't understand." I was also "ruining her life." When words failed, she resorted to sound effects.

My tween daughter does an uncanny impersonation of Chewbacca from the original Star Wars.

At any rate ... disagreements are pretty much par for the course these days. But, this morning's interchange took me by surprise. We hadn't had a single argument for seven days.

In that glorious fight-free week, we sailed with friends from Boston to Bermuda and back again. We visited pink beaches and crystal caves. We ate way too much and saw way too many shows in the ship's "Stardust" theatre. We went sightseeing, shopped and had a proper British tea at a fancy hotel. We lay by the pool, flipped through magazines and listened to steel drums.

Best of all, we got along.

I was reminded over the course of the vacation just how much I like my daughter. She's funny and smart. She makes entertaining observations. She's polite and appreciative. She holds her own in adult conversations. She's an uncomplaining traveler and eager to try new things, see new sights. It sounds corny, I know, but I felt like my daughter was back. We left whoever has been inhabiting her body for the past year in Boston when we pulled away from the dock.

Not only was this new and improved version of my daughter with me for the duration, she actually seemed to want to be with me. There were countless tween and teen girls on the boat due to the fact that two different dance companies had been invited to perform. We saw them everywhere — bikini-clad at the pool, posing flirtatiously for the ship's photographer, making out on the Promenade deck with teen boys they had just met (yes, really), and prowling in packs through the Atrium en route to the disco.

But, my daughter, I'm proud to say, was not interested.

In all fairness, I may not have been the draw. (In fact, I'm fairly certain I was not.) We cruised with my best friend, whom my daughter adores, and, more importantly, her 18-year old. My daughter was no doubt pleased to be hanging out with this older girl. I have a hunch that if the teen had decided to go to the disco, the tween would have happily tagged along. As it was, we stuck together, presenting a unified, if multigenerational, wall of girl power.

The vacation ended, as vacations are wont to do, too quickly. Before we knew it, we were back in Boston. We have nice suntans (thanks to SPF 30), a couple of pounds to work off, and hundreds of pictures to sort through. We have wonderful memories of good times with great friends.

And, I have something even more precious. I have reassurance that my beloved daughter is still in there somewhere.