I now have two rules for my 14-year old daughter. After an utterly miserable weekend with her, and I mean utterly miserable, this morning I spoke the current Law According To Mom, The One Who Still Runs A Tight Ship: "It is normal for you to not like me right now. It's ok for you to write angrily about me in your journal late at night. It's fine that you don't like the way I walk, talk, dress, sound or dance in the car. And it's normal for you to be completely irritated at me for something or the other that you can't even define most of the time. But from now on, remember these two rules, girly girl! 1) You must be minimally polite to me, and 2) you must behave socially appropriately to me. Got it?

She muttered something and started to back off. I gave her the evil eye, and she said, "Yes, Ma'am."

As I dropped her at school, after an icy silent drive there, she relented at the last minute and half-grinned and said, "Well, maybe I still do love you just a little bit." I grabbed her butt for a quick tickle (one of my personal favorite things to do that makes her squeal and say, "Stop it, mom! I'm not 2 anymore!"), and said, "Well, you know, girl, I love you to death still. Have a good day!"

And, just between you and me, she *is* still 2 years old. She's just in a bigger body now. She's got the exact same damn look in those eyes when she glares at me.

Through the years, this Big Huge Stating Of The Rules has been so important for this kid. Never even had to do it with her brother, really. But she has had to have it to function. When she was much younger, it was, "Your number one job is to obey." I'd have her repeat it to me. Me: "Now, what's your number one job?" Her: "To obey." Later on, around pre-adolescence, it went this way....Me: "What's your number one job?" Her: "To control my emotions." We repeated these things like mantras. So now we've got two rules to start focusing on at age 14, going on 2. Wish me luck!

I want to believe this will be better when she's 15. I know she's just needing to separate her identity from mine, and I'm thinking, fine, separate! I'm ready, believe me! I'm enjoying the freedom, frankly. But just do it and get it overwith, and let's move on to the normal, late-adolescent stuff which really ain't all that bad. At least you're dealing then with a person who's part-adult and as such is reasonably approachable.

Good grief.