My eldest daughter recently celebrated her twelfth birthday, and not only am I still reeling from that bit of news, but I am—on an almost daily basis—trying not to alternately laugh and then cry at my preteen's requests, such as:
1) She would like to start wearing eye shadow and mascara. As in makeup. Cosmetics. On her lovely, young face.
2) She has informed her father and me that next year for her thirteenth birthday the "only" gifts she wants are her very own personal cell phone, email address, and Facebook account. Well, okay, then.
3) She wants to play the radio at all times. In the morning, before I've had my first cup of coffee. In the car, with all four girls jibbering and jabbering over the music. In her room, blasting down through the floorboards. My 12-year-old responds to my protestations with, "You just hate music." It's not so much that I hate music, but that I love silence.
I don't think she's listening when I explain to her why she is not allowed to play on the computer all day, talk on the phone all evening, or spend every weekend at various friends' homes . . . she's too busy making her mental vows to never be as restrictive with her daughter as her mean ol' mom is with her.
Dinner last night: tuna noodle casserole, peas