Scare Tactics

The day we give birth to our daughters is such a memorable moment in our lives as mothers. It's not that we're not equally joyous at the births of our sons, it's just that our first thought is usually something like: "Finally, a kid I can understand!" We couldn't be more wrong.

We fool ourselves into thinking that because we are the same gender as our daughters, we are already prequalified for perfect parenting. At last, we'll have a mini-reenactment of our girlhood with an opportunity to fine-tune the story along the way. Unlike her brothers, we believe our daughter won't have that uncanny enthusiasm for crashing toys together or rolling on the floor to a cacophony of sound effects.

Our heads are filled with visions of dolls, mother-daughter shopping trips, someone to take to chick-flicks and another estrogen-fueled body in the house with whom to share accessories, fashion tips...and feelings.

Then one day, reality hits. Often, it's at around age 10.

Despite the fact that, yes, we are also female, we find ourselves with virtually no ability to understand this other girl living in our midst. Our husbands look to us for guidance but we have no answers. We don't understand our daughters and they start to make our sons look, well easy.

We don't understand what they wear or why they think it's attractive. No matter what kind of hair or body they have, they want the opposite. They like everything we hate and our approval is the kiss of death when applied to fashion, music and friends.

We tiptoe around their mood swings in fear of saying THE WRONG THING. The harder we try to connect with them, the further they run away. We can't possibly understand anything they are going through. In their minds, it's so much worse today. Frankly, sometimes they scare us a little.

My friends and I joke about the coping techniques that we develop. The timing of a question, the phrasing of a suggestion or the diplomacy tactics needed for well-veiled criticism. Trust me, we've tried "direct" and it's a disaster. Instead we prepare ourselves for the various landmines of emotions that are hidden throughout the day.

We've become very adept at picking up visual cues. The rolled eyes, the grimace of disgust and the jaw-clenching anger can be spotted from a mile away. However, unlike us, our daughters are much more direct. "Mom, do you realize how annoying you are?" my daughter asked recently. "Yes," I tell her. "It's my job."

I find solace in the fact that both my mother and I survived my pre-teen and teen years and, at least in my opinion, we like each other. I like to think that on the day we become mothers, whether it's the first or the fifth time, we are reminded that our mothers were anything but clueless. In fact, it's my belief that these tactics that my friends and I use are nothing more than a time-honored tradition silently passed on from generation to generation.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned to my mom something that I wasn't going to share with my daughter because, as I told her, "You know how it is, Mom. Everything I say is stupid." "Yes," she replied. "I remember." Ouch.