“Mom! Can I Talk to You for a Minute?”

She sought me out at the end of the soccer game—a first round State Cup duel our girls won 2-1. I knew she was pissed about something—it showed all over her face, particularly during the second half of the game. Did I think she was pissed at me? Well, yes. She’s been pissed at me for about a year. I can’t tell you why other than to relate that she’s a teenager. And what teenage girl isn’t just a little bit pissed off at her mother?

But something else was clearly bothering her and my guess is that it was just a stressful situation. Regardless, she did voice what was bothering her about me:

“Please don’t talk to me from the sidelines,” she said while standing one inch from the sideline chalk. “It doesn’t help. It’s just a distraction.”

“Okay,” I said. “Gotcha.”

My 15-year-old was right. Usually I’m not a sideline screamer. For the most part, I’m either taking photos or saying things like “Ooh! Good pass!” or “Get a goal!” But during this game I did bark once: “Willow! Wake up!” She definitely heard me.

Even though they ultimately won, after the game I didn’t sense a feeling of pride or victory coming from the team—from the parents or the players. The other team had stepped it up a notch and came to play, while our girls played nervously. They were actually a little lucky to have pulled off the win. I think to make it a real victory, however, next week in round two, the girls should remember to bring their positive attitudes to the field . . . and so should the parents. And by parents, I mean me.

I vow to never bark again. Sorry, Willow.

Q: How Do You Get Your Teenager to be Sweet Again?

A: Let her go on a date

She’ll be fifteen very soon—so soon, she’s planning her birthday party. But for now, she’s still fourteen. And she doesn’t look it. Ask anyone. Last month when she was trying on dresses for the Winter Formal dance, the saleswoman kept bringing sophisticated, low-cut, sexy dresses to the dressing room.

“Can you please stop bringing these little numbers that make her look like a dominatrix?” I asked. “She’s only fourteen.”

Our assistant, herself barely beyond her teens, dropped her jaw. “OMG!” she gasped. “I thought she was at least seventeen!”

I’m not sure at what age a dominatrix outfit becomes appropriate, but when we added the three-inch heels to the little black dress we ultimately chose, this six-foot blonde did not look like a freshman on her way to her first high school dance.

Every parent of teenagers will warn you how quickly they grow up. When you’re carting around sweet, little babies or have a toddler grasping your hand and smiling at strangers who admire them, you may hear the words “just wait!” a few too many times. We also heard, “You’re going to have your hands full!” and “Better get your shotgun ready for when the boys come calling.”

Our daughter was not comfortable with the attention she received when first starting high school. Not only did we feel she was too young to date, she also knew she wasn’t ready. But last night, something changed. She said “okay;” and we said “okay,” and no one had to hunt down a shotgun. All the rules were met, the formalities observed, and the only thing her daddy asked the boy was, “are you a good driver?”

“I’m an excellent driver,” he said. And he drove her home a few minutes before her curfew. Everyone was happy.

With our seventh grader away at a party and our freshman on a date, that meant we had the house to ourselves, and it was a lovely evening in front of the fireplace for mommy and daddy. We recalled how many times we’d heard the words, “Just wait!” and couldn’t help but smile.

Was this what we were waiting for?

She’s Leaving Home

All my friends with older children assured me of the following: Even though I was the mother crying in the school parking lot on the first day of kindergarten, by the time the kids were teenagers, I wouldn’t be nearly as sad to see them go.

Willow is 14. She’s a good kid and we’re very proud of her. She was born on her due date, and in the early years, always ranked in the 50th percentile for height and weight. She’s maintained exemplary grades, never gets sick, and she’s chosen really nice friends. She’s definitely a normal girl with typical teenage mood swings, and occasional lapses into unacceptable bouts of selfishness. Fortunately, that’s an easy fix. All we need to do to get her attention AND get her back on track is to take away her cell phone for a few days. Lo and behold, our sweet daughter returns.

So, while I’m not sad to see her leave on an eight-day adventure to Washington DC and New York City with her eighth grade class, I am keenly aware that this will be the longest separation she’s had from us. And it makes me a little nervous. Will she behave? Will she execute everything she’s been taught about being a good and respectful citizen while not under the constant watch of her parents? This is a true rite of passage and I know, with the incredible itinerary the school staff has planned, she will have the experience of a lifetime.

I can’t help but wonder, however, after 14 years of being her mother, can I stop worrying about flippin’ EVERYTHING for just five minutes?

Mostly, for the next eight days, I’m going to miss Willow’s sense of humor. There’s very little about her that doesn’t brighten my world at least once a day.

Thank God for cell phones.