In four days, Rachel turns 14. I've always felt like 13 was all about practicing for being a teenager, but 14 is the magic bullet. On the 25th she'll be a teenager, and it scares the hell out of me.
People keep telling me that little boys get the crap out of their systems early and girls save it up for adolescence; if that's true, then the next 5-6 years will be sheer hell. Rach was a handful when she was little; she was a tiny tornado that left us drained every night, wondering how we were ever going to get through the next day. If her teen years hold more drama, I can probably look forward to heart attack #2.
In fact, I damn near had it tonight, when she not-so-casually reminded me that we let Alex start dating at 14, and that Cheese wants to take her to a movie next Friday. She was not happy with the grilling that ensued: what movie, what time, where, who else will be there, what are you doing before and after, and how are you getting there?
You didn't ask Alex ANY of that!
No, because Alex volunteered the information, and I was the way he and Stephanie were getting there.
In fact, I told her, I will be the way she gets to and from this date. It was good enough for her brother, it's good enough for her. If you don't like it, you don't have to go.
There was a flurry of texting: he wants to take her to see The Green Hornet, at the mall, afterward he planned on going to the food court.
Anyone else going?
This is where she got pissed. He wants to know if Alex can go. Because if Alex isn't there, his mom says he can't go. She thinks we need a chaperon.
I assured her that if Alex couldn't or wouldn't, I would make sure she has a chaperon.
She had to let that sink in for a moment. Oh God no, Dad!
OK, so maybe the whole becoming a teenager thing will amuse me once in a while. But you can be damn sure that if Alex doesn't go, I will.
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