19 Ways She Loves Me

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How much does my teenager love me? Let me count the ways: Jason Mraz, Hoobastank, Avril Lavigne, Chris Brown, The Fray, Natasha Bedingfield . . .

Last weekend, I got an early Valentine from my teenager, and it surprised the hell out of me, to be honest. (I haven't received a Valentine from her in, well, NEVER!) While she was at her father’s house for the weekend, she made a CD for me featuring 19 handpicked songs that she thought I would like. Mom Music, she called it. (The last thing she ever made me was a macaroni necklace way back in Kindergarten. I still have it!)

To fully appreciate the selflessness of this gesture, you have to understand that my teenager and I hardly ever see eye-to-eye when it comes to music. In fact, we fight about music in the car constantly. I yell at her to turn off the rap crap. She berates me for listening to Cher ( I LOVE Cher! “Do you believe in life after love . . .").

“Follow the music into the light, Mom,” she pleads. “Right into the 21st century.”

What touched me most of all was that the songs she picked were DEAD ON perfect! They were exactly the songs that I would be listening to had I not been stuck in a musical time warp.

As I played each song, unwrapped each gift, my tween in the backseat yelled over all the beautiful music, “THESE SONGS ARE TOO SLOW!” To which her sister spun around in the front seat like Linda Blair in "The Exorcist" and snapped back in my defense,“Shut up! It’s mom’s CD and she likes it slow!”

Ahhhh . . . she knows me. She really knows me!

That CD with the 19 “I Love You’s” burned into it is now my new favorite thing. Goodbye Credence Clearwater. So long, Cher. Thanks to my teen, I am moving on, into the light.

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Shut Up And Drive!

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I’ve been demoted. If you’re a parent of a teenager, I suspect you have, too. I used to be Almighty MOM -- you know, Queen Bee, Ruler of the Roost, revered by my children, The One Who Could Do No Wrong. Now, in the eyes of my teenager, I am nothing more than The One Who Drives Her Places And Writes Checks.

It’s humiliating, this fall from grace.

I drive the carpool once a week. Three teens and a chauffeur stuffed not-so-comfortably into my Honda Accord. I have long legs and on Tuesdays, I have to move the seat so far up to accommodate the gangly boy behind me that my breasts are practically napping on the steering wheel. (Yet one more sacrifice we mothers make!) I was told, flat out, by my daughter not to say anything in the car and to “just drive.” Me? Not say anything for half an hour? That’s like telling the sun not to shine, or Britney Spears not to be a party whore.

After the initial “hellos” when they all pile in, I’m quiet for about two blocks, then it becomes physically painful NOT to say anything, mostly because NOBODY is saying anything. I am simply AMAZED at how rude and unsociable teens can be to each other! So I start talking, about whatever, asking questions to engage everyone in the car in some reasonable dialogue. My daughter sinks lower into her seat. Her body language says, “Mom, you’re embarrassing me!”

But then . . . it starts to work. I hit on a topic that these teens are interested in. The election was a good one. We learned that Brendan has Republican leanings and that Nick is a pretty funny guy. “Obama in ’08, Biden in ’09,” he jokes. The thick air clears, and the generation gap narrows.

I dare to look over at my daughter, who I’m sure hates me by now. She gives up a smile. Reluctantly. But it’s there.

So, Moms . . . why do you think our teens are so embarrassed of us? I don't get it! I don't look or smell funny, and I wear clean clothes.

_______________________________________________________

Oh, let me explain the video. When my teen read my blog title, she informed me that Rihanna has a song out with the exact, same title, the little copycat. So I thought it would be a fun link. Then I watched the video. I can't BELIEVE our teens are exposed to this crap! Enough with the metaphors about cars and sex! VROOM! VROOM!

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