My 12-year-old daughter said the "B" word. No, not that one. The other one that has the same effect of stopping you in your tracks: Boyfriend. She would like permission to start dating. [Insert heavy sigh here.]

OK, at this age, it's completely expected. Although I am not ready for this phase to happen just yet, I do accept that it is a normal part of a tween's young life.

It sort of reminds me of being a homeowner. I love having a house. The thing about having a house, though, is that at any given time my dream home could become a nightmare if a pipe were to suddenly burst. The thought alone makes me cringe, but I recognize that it comes with the territory and the only thing I can do is prepare for the possible damage that may or may not happen.

When I was her age, I wasn't given dating advice. I wasn't warned about the "bad boys." Even though my mother had been through some major life experiences, including domestic violence, she wasn't much of the sharing type. Maybe she thought I was learning via observation. If so, she was correct in her assumption. I did follow in some of her footsteps which unfortunately, were not down the right path.

Those fails ultimately led me to figure out what it meant to have a healthy relationship on my own. What I needed to avoid and to look for, how to be happy and love myself, and most importantly, that love requires work. Hard work. It took me a long time to get that.

I wish those lessons had come from my mother, but they didn't. And that's no fault of hers. She couldn't teach me what she wasn't taught herself. I know in my heart my mother did her best raising me, but this history isn't one I'm going to repeat.

I want to arm my daughter with as much information as I can before she has her first official boyfriend. Even though middle school dating is not quite the same as the real thing, I need to take a proactive stance for her sake. Dating violence is very scary and very real, and I don't want to wait for her to get involved with someone who may be harmful to her, whether emotionally, verbally, or physically. I don't want to freak her out, but I do want to educate her about what dating should and should not be.

So, after a few discussions with my husband, he and I came up with a plan. The goal isn't to overwhelm her. We want to have good and open conversations with her. We want her to ask questions, and we want the information to resonate with her before Mr. Right Now appears (hopefully, he'll make a few wrong turns before he does).

The five steps we devised for her to complete before she can enter the dating scene are as follows:

Heart shape with hands photo via Shutterstock.

1. Understand and acknowledge your self-worth.

True self-worth among adolescent girls, in my opinion, is scarce. With social media giving instant gratification, the validation our girls receive instills a false sense of confidence. My daughter has to be the source of feeling good about herself, and this should not be dependent on how many likes a photo of hers gets.

2. Ask yourself why.

She has to be honest as to why she wants to be in a relationship. Is it for status? Attention? Of course at her young age, these questions may be difficult for her to answer, but it's worth investigating the true motivation for her sudden need to have a boyfriend. The dating pool is filled with people who have good and bad intentions. Her reasoning to date should be pure, not tainted with selfishness.

3. Research.

She will have dating research assignments on looking up various topics surrounding relationships. Personality types, fantasy love vs. real love, and boundaries are examples of the top items on the list for her to research. This crash course of Relationship 101 will be flexible on the deadlines, but not on reporting back to me on her findings.

4. Put it all together.

Like a mad scientist, she is going to create the ideal boyfriend based on what she has gathered from her research. She will mock up and present what a good guy looks like to her. The goal here is to see what she has learned and what qualities she thinks are important to have in a partner. And of course, if her model ends up looking like Frankenstein, she'll be sent back to the drawing board.

5. Set boundaries and know when to choose yourself.

Naturally, she is a loving and giving girl. That's what I love most about her, but that could also leave her vulnerable to be taken advantage of. Reminding her that it's alright to say no and to put herself first will not only aid in boosting her confidence, but will give her the ability to know when to draw the line.

I am fortunate to have a daughter who shares as much as she does with me. While she is still communicating with me (you know, before the teen takes over), there is no better time than now to teach her about the highs and lows of dating. I don't want it to get too heavy, but I definitely want to ensure she grasps the basic concepts involved.

Obviously, I know I can't save my daughter from everything. When she starts dating, it's a given that her heart will be broken more than once. What I am able to do is guide her and do my best to protect her from trusting the wrong person. I can't guarantee that she'll always have good relationships, but doing this is as close to an insurance policy that I can get.

The first time I thought about killing myself, I was eleven. I’d had some trauma in my life, unspeakable things that my tween self could not articulate. Pain that ran deep, seated into my soul. I could not get away from it.

At eleven, I didn’t make a plan; plans came later in my teens. But I thought about death constantly and cried myself to sleep every night. With the every day assaults on myself as a child, a black child, a black girl-child, a working-class black girl-child—each breath was a chore. I had “black girl pain.”

I was lucky; I’m still here. Other children were not—are notas lucky as I was. While suicide among young children is rare, in the last twenty years since I was eleven, over 657 children aged ten and younger have committed suicide. Many more have tried, albeit unsuccessfully. Even more concerning than the raw numbers is a trend that has not been found among adult victims: young black children are killing themselves at three times the rate of white children. 

While the death of any child is tragic, the deaths of black children by their own hands are hard for our community to grapple with. Black people take pride in our strength to have survived what we’ve been through. Generationally, we believe that the injustices of chattel enslavement, Jim Crow and continued second-classcitizenship have fortified our heart and souls such that admitting mental illness and the deep trauma of our existential reality is a sign of weakness. We’ve worked so hard to endure our trauma with dignity that we’ve often neglected our feelings and emotions as human beings.

As law professors Lani Guinier and Gerald Torres wrote, black people are the canaries in the coal mine; what happens to Black people eventually happens to everyone else. The injustices come our way first, as we are the most vulnerable in our racialized society built on a foundation of white supremacy. Black children are the offspring of those canaries. When the adult canary fails to come out, indicating the poisonous air in the mine, their children are left even more vulnerable. 

In the current moment of #BlackLivesMatter, this tragic news is another opportunity to focus on the importance of black lives. While white supremacy and childhood trauma are not going anywhere anytime soon, there are things we can do to protect our children.

Like adults, children who kill themselves often act on impulse; planned suicides are more often the exception, not the rule. Our children, like adults, need an intervening moment where the impulse is disrupted. This requires parents and other caregivers —including education professionals —to be tuned into children’s moods and behaviors. A child that is “acting out”might be depressed or anxious. If something seems “off,”it’s up to adults to investigate. 

Our children need to be able to talk about their feelings, even the negative ones. If a child says, “I want to kill myself,” we cannot brush it off, as disturbing as it may be, thinking that a young child cannot really feel what they are expressing. While it’s true that young children likely lack the understanding of death as permanent, that won’t stop them from trying to hurt themselves. Black parents especially need to allow our children to express themselves; the adage that a child is to “be seen but not heard” burdens our children with the responsibility to keep things in. They need to have a safe space to let things out. 

Perhaps most importantly, our children need access to quality healthcare; doctors should be on the front lines of this crisis. The National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) estimate that approximately 90% of young children and adolescents who attempt suicide have a mental illness, and other studies show an increased risk of suicidal thoughts in children who have or have experienced bullying, physical abuse or sexual trauma. Early recognition and identification can lead to early interventions; hurt children in pain can be treated and counseled.   

My twenty-year battle with depression and suicidal thoughts makes me worry about my three young, black children. At nine, seven, and three years old, I realize that their odds of one day living with the burden of mental illness is high. I’ve berated myself often for the situation they have been born into: black, in a world that devalues blackness, and maybe mentally ill, in a world where mental illness is seen as being weak and, for black people, an affront to our ancestors who survived through so much. 

The loss of every child from suicide is heart-wrenching. The trend of rising rates of young black children dying from suicide is personally frightening. Our children are our future, and their lives matter. 

Dr. Mama Esq.

Sociologist. Lawyer. Scholar.

Mommy. Wife . Bipolar survivor.

Friend. Lover. Child of God.

My 11-year-old daughter looks like she just lost her best friend. Probably because in a way, she has.

Image: Steven Depolo via Flickr

Her BFF from school is still very much alive, and she still wants to be my daughter's friend. Thank goodness on both counts.

But she's leaving to go to a different school. She'll still live nearby, but Anna won't see her every day.

"Can you believe what so-and-so did?" will give way to, "You'll never believe what so-and-so did!" The minutiae of middle school will need to be merged via text and chat and Facetime.

I've been all the way around on the tween Ferris wheel once already with my now-teenage daughter, so I know this much is true: How a middle-school girl feels good about her closest friendships is how she feels about life in general.

I'll never forget the look on Anna's face when she walked in the house the day she learned about her school friend's departure. I wish I could. But then I'm glad I can't, because what kind of mom wants the ease of forgetting her child's pain while that child is still in that pain?

I held Anna on my lap while she cried, and she told me, "Please don't tell me everything will be okay, because it won't." I couldn't argue with her.

I'm feeling my way along here, figuring out what will help Anna through this season of loss and change. Here's what I'm telling myself a lot these days ...

Let her feel what she feels.

Our American society favors a short list of emotions: happy, cheerful, optimistic, and fine. People who are sad or discouraged or upset are encouraged to get over it ... now.

On top of this, as moms, we yearn to heal what is sick, mend what is broken, and right what is wrong. When our children are hurting, we want to ease their pain immediately if not sooner.

But I know I have to let Anna walk through, not around, what Ecclesiastes 3:4 calls "a time to weep and a time to laugh."

I told her we would be patient while she processed the new reality she was facing without her friend as she had enjoyed her in the past. And Anna herself warned us not to brush off her sadness by telling her she had other friends.

She helped us see that friendship is not like a scale: as long as the balance of friends stays the same, all is well. Rather, Anna's close female relationships form a puzzle: incomplete when one piece is taken out.

In addition to striking "everything will be okay" from our stock-phrase vocabulary, we're also learning not to say "cheer up!" or "what's wrong?" When in doubt, we do what everyone knows you're supposed to do to comfort someone who has lost someone they love: hug them and say "I'm sorry."

At the right time, direct her mind sometimes away from The Thing toward Something Else.

I'm not trying to rush Anna past the reality of what she's losing. If I do, I'm dishonoring her feelings and the friend she's saying a kind of goodbye to. Mentally processing the situation is crucial for eventual acceptance and healing.

But there comes a point when continually stirring The Thing That's Bothering You around and around in your head serves no purpose and accomplishes no good.

I gave Anna an assignment: Come up with Something Else to redirect her brain toward when it had spent enough time on The Thing. Something Else could be a Bible verse, a prayer, a list of what she's looking forward to this summer, the lyrics to a favorite song, or a review of the available flavors at our favorite ice cream shop. Whatever -- as long as it gave her mind somewhere safe and comforting to land.

Check in ... but allow her some space.

A couple of days into our journey, I told my daughter I thought we needed a plan and a code. I could not spend the next several days or weeks or (heaven forbid) months constantly asking her, "Are you okay? What's the matter?" I knew she wasn't okay, and I knew what the matter was. But neither did I want to ignore her if she needed to talk again or if something else had come up.

We agree on two guideposts: 1) if something else was wrong or if Anna wanted to talk further about The Thing we already knew was wrong, she would tell me so I wouldn't have to guess what the look on her face meant; and 2) if I wanted to confirm that the look on her face was because of what I already knew was wrong, I could mouth or whisper "F.S.?"-- for "Friend Situation"-- just to confirm and acknowledge.

Give her good medicine.

The day Anna learned about her school friend's departure, she was scheduled to help out at an end-of-year school function. I took her to it, hoping the activity would distract her from thinking, but she was bored and had plenty of time to think. On the way home, her face was heavy with sorrow, and I was scrambling to figure out what I could do to help her.

A few minutes after we walked in the door, my older daughter, Lydia, called from our family room, "Anna! Come out here! I have to show you something." Anna went to her sister (grudgingly), and within a couple minutes, I heard both of them howling with laughter.

Lydia had dug up an old camera she hadn't used since her pre-iPod days and hooked it up to her laptop to play a slide show. While she and Anna watched old "modeling" videos they'd made and clicked through pictures of their elementary-aged selves, they laughed .. .and laughed ... and laughed. From the other room, I could hardly reconcile the sound of Anna's delight with the despairing look I'd seen on her face minutes before.

At the computer, listening, I typed a Facebook post thanking Lydia for her big-sister gift. She said to me later, "Did you hear how I had Anna laughing? I knew those pictures would do it," and I told her, "I just posted about it."

I loved how Lydia's idea beautifully proved the wisdom of Proverbs 17:22 ~ "A cheerful heart is good medicine."

Give her a glimpse of the future.

Soon after The Day, the mom of Anna's school friend emailed me asking if we could schedule some time for our girls to spend together. She said she wanted to give her daughter "something to look forward to in the near future." Smart mama.

We made the date, and I promised Anna there'd be more to come: weekly dinners or donuts before school. Sleepovers. And in the category "Things I Never Thought I'd Say": God bless texting, tweeting, and messaging for their power to keep our girls emotionally connected even when they're physically separated.

For the most part, I've clamped my mouth shut on "everything will be okay." Instead, I'm telling my sweet girl a couple things that are probably more true:

It will get better (but you might not realize it until a little ways down the road).

Things will not be the same. But they can still be good.

The youngest of our five is about to be a sophomore in high school this year. And as I was reminiscing about how fast these last 15 years have gone for her, I realized that I only have a few more years left to make sure she is ready to take those important steps into her own adult world.

Public Domain Image via Pixabay

I started going through the checklists that her brothers all had to master before heading off on their own to see lessons my daughter needs to be sure of before she’s on her own. We’ve spent the last 15 years learning how to tie shoes, do well in school, make new friends, and care for herself. Now she turns her eyes towards the things she’ll need to be on her own.

Some people are very good at knowing they need to save money. But most teens have different views of what “emergency cash” should be used for.

As they get to college, they are hit with credit card offers, shopping for their own clothes and food, and the temptations that we all face.

Do your teens know how to write a check? Balance their bank account? How do they keep a track of how much money they have coming in and going out?

All of my sons were very surprised at how much it actually costs to live on their own. They priced out the cost of rent for their apartments against how much money they made. But before signing their lease, we sat them down to make sure they can also cover  the electricity, water, gas, as well as food.

Having a visual budget they could look at really helped my kids make sure they were covering their bills and even saving for car repairs. But be ready, even though they look prepared, they will still need help even after they move out. We still get calls asking for guidance and even help with bills here and there.

One of the worst calls I have ever gotten from one of my children was when my son called after having an accident. His first instinct was to call me 3,000 miles away.

I was completely frantic as he called so upset. In this moment of fear he didn’t know who to call or what to do. So he called home.

Now we have gone over it a few times about calling 911 if they are hurt, AAA for towing, and yes, they can still call home, too. But what if we aren’t available?

Having a mental call list in case of an emergency is vital to being sure they are getting the best care when we can’t be there to help.

From knowing how to pick the best fruit to getting the most for their money, teens need to know how to go grocery shopping and buy what they need to prepare healthy meals for themselves.

Trust me, teen boys and some girls will try to get by on Top Ramen and Doritos. But they need to know how to know what the true cost of their item, and price per lb. And they need to know how to avoid supermarket money traps.

Tip: Once a week, have your son or daughter make dinner for the family. This includes looking for the recipe, shopping and using coupons, and making a meal within a budget.

Believe it or not, teens are losing the ability to answer the phone. This once-simple skill has been lost due to text messaging, personal cell phones, and many of us no longer having home phones to answer and take messages from.

I’ve asked my daughter to grab my phone when it rings and she looks at me like it’s on fire. So I know that’s a skill we need to work on. Can your teen take a message from someone they don’t know?

It's never too late to play telephone and catch up on this life skill.

Just like answering the phone, teens are also having a hard time when someone knocks on the door. From turning away a sales person to taking a message, there are so many good opportunities to teach teens how to be ready for the time when they answer their own front doors.

Do they know how to check to be sure if they should open the door? What if someone tries to come in without their permission?

During the summer, we get a lot of door-to-door salespeople who are perfect targets opportunities for practicing this important skill.

Sure, they were the best on the soccer team and did great on their Bio exam, but does your child know what to do if someone grabs them from behind?

Did you know one in four women in college women have survived rape, attempted rape, or unwanted physical altercations?

Hate crimes against Muslim and Jewish students have gone on far too long. Students are being beaten, tortured, and even killed here in the United States, not in back alleys and dangerous areas, but on college campus locations across the country. Do your sons and daughters know what do to protect themselves?

All young adults think they are ready for stepping out on their own. And many of them are well-prepared for this big step. However, many struggle at knowing when to ask for help. They fear looking like a child or admitting they made a mistake.

From knowing when to ask for tutoring for a class to knowing when to come talk to their parents about a bad relationship, we all have to encourage our teens to have an truthful relationship with us. If they feel like they can’t talk to us, do they have someone they can turn to?

It might be hard for parents to accept. But giving your young adults a call list of other people might save their lives. Maybe it is clergy, a suicide hotline, or a family friend. They all need to know who they can confide in when they need to talk or ask for help.

It might sound simple, but how many times have you heard your teen make a doctor appointment or call the dentist to schedule a cleaning?

Making these simple appointments regularly before they leave high school will give them the skills and confidence to do them on their own later.

This summer, have your teen make some appointments for you. These can be crossed off your to-do list and give them time to work out how to get appointments accomplished.

When the kids turned twelve, all of them started doing their own laundry. But as parents, we still try to help them and ourselves by grabbing their clothes and doing them along with ours.

That won’t help when they are standing in front of the pay-per-load washers and trying to understand why all of their clothes are pink or how to get out a blood stain.

As hard as it is to watch them make mistakes, it’s our job to start to take the hands-off approach and let them do it.

Tip: Pick a day of the week and teach them how to do one load of darks, colors, whites, and delicates. Example – Monday/darks, Tuesday/colors, etc. Overwhelming them will make them zone out.

Sure, they know when the car has a flat tire that it needs to be changed. But do they know how to check the tread before it blows? How about checking the fluids? Will they remember when you aren’t there to remind them?

You would be surprised at how many people have no idea how to care for their own cars. Now is the time to get them ready for the step they’ll need to take after driving away from home.

There are so many skills that they will learn along the way, as well as things that we will continue to teach them as they go. These are just a few of the lessons I know I’ll be working on with my daughter this summer.

What other skills do you think teens need to know before heading off on their own? I’d love to hear your tips and suggestions.

BIO:Crysta is a freelance writer and editor of Dancing with Fireflies. She's a mother of five, creative engineer, and owner of Morning Tempest Studios. She and her family enjoy hiking, daydreaming, and taking in concerts across the country. Crysta is rarely without her co-pilot, her dog W.

If you like this post, please let me know. Or you could share it!

You can find Dancing with Fireflies on Facebook, Twitter, and her shop on Etsy.com

"Mom?" said my 9-year-old Sophie, looking up from her iPad game and glancing over at me with her big, brown eyes and a sheepish grin on her face.

"What's up?" I asked, girding myself for a request I would not want or be able to fulfill.

"Can I start using the word crap?" Her sheepish grin was still glued to her face.

Image: Kid swearing photo via Shutterstock

Before opening my mouth, I did a quick calculation: If I accede to her request, how long before she graduates to obscene vulgarities once the first domino falls? I ruminated for about two seconds.

“OK. But only at home,” I responded, happy to oblige under certain conditions. She caught me on a good day.

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Obviously. Only at home. I promise." She returned to her game, reassured that she had received the official okay to yell crap! the next time something annoyed her.

What are the odds of raising a kid who actually seeks her parents' permission to curse (or, in Sophie's case, use a mildly inappropriate word)? Let's face it, Sophie's a child who still worships her stuffed animals and sleeps with her now-ancient burp cloths. I suppose having free reign to say crap makes her feel like a grown-up. If that's all it takes to make her happy, I'm in.

Perhaps Sophie was emboldened to ask permission by her 14-year-old sister Chloe, who now curses, with perfect enunciation, openly and energetically in front of us. We're beyond the point of berating her for it. How could we? It would be the height of hypocrisy if we did.

The girls have grown up with two parents who swear with abandon -- and in two languages -- to the point where the words no longer have any real meaning or impact.

Until Sophie's request, I hadn't really thought of cursing in front of one's parents as a rite of passage. Yet, receiving the green light to use expletives does mark a certain point of no return when it comes to freedom of self-expression, doesn't it?

Sophie asked to add crap to her lexicon four days ago. "Have you used it yet?" I asked her.

"No. Not yet."

"So, you're keeping it in your back pocket for when you really need it?" I asked.

"I guess so."

"It feels good to know you have official permission to use it, doesn't it?"

And with another sheepish grin, she looked at me and nodded her head.

Like this post? Check out Jennifer's blog, Pink Me Not. You can follow her on Twitter, too.

Pixar's newest offering, Inside Out, is pretty darned amazing for the way it suits all ages, offering not just fun, but food for thought.

While the audience is privileged to see what's going on in the head of the main character -- an 11-year-old girl named Riley -- her animated parents are not so lucky. They have no idea that Riley is in deep, deep trouble, tumbling head over heels into a bottomless pit of loneliness and indifference.

Image: via Pixar

The heck of it is, they miss all the signs their daughter is in freefall, even though we can tell they're great parents. I don't want to give away the ending if you haven't seen the movie (and you definitely should see it), It's a wonderful film, but when the lights came back up, I was left wondering: What could Riley's parents have done to avoid her downward spiral into the blues?

The result of that mind exercise resulted in the following 7 parenting lessons I learned from watching Inside Out:

1. Don't move to a new place sight unseen. Dude, like what's up with that? Moving from Minne-frigging-sota to the West Coast without checking out your new digs? In an age when everyone has Instagram on their smartphones, why couldn't Riley's parents have had someone send them photographs of the new apartment?

   Riley and her parents could have looked at the photos so they would know what to expect. They would have seen that their new home was basically a disaster. Then they could have either refused that place or included Riley in discussing all the fun ways they'd fix up her room (like we did around the office at Kars4Kids via this Pinterest board when we were redecorating the office). Instead, Riley and her parents drove and drove for days and when they were exhausted , discovered they were moving into a dump. Not cool.

2. Connect with the new neighbors in advance of the move. Do a reverse lookup and find out who your neighbors will be. Or call the school and have them arrange to have kids Riley's age chat with her online to avoid the problem of not having a single soul to call her friend on that first day at a brand new school. I mean, the neighbors could have brought casseroles and stuff. This is the age of social media. Everything is possible. It's not rocket science.

3. Scope out the neighborhood online before you get there to find a restaurant with normal pizza. Look, this is basic. Know the neighborhood before you get there. Remember: GIYF (Google is your friend). Use Google maps or look for the city's website and find out what shops and restaurants and services are in the new area. You don't have to move into a new place completely raw.

4. Talk about the move ahead of time. A decision such as moving to the opposite coast should have been discussed in a family meeting. Not that your children get to decide where families will live, but so that kids can be prepared to have a smooth a transition to the new environment as is humanly possible. It's just not fair that Riley got such a huge shock. She should have known what to expect. That she didn't is, yes, her (admittedly animated) parents' fault.

5. Be real about what sucks. Yes, moving away from everything you've always known -- your star role as an ice-hockey goddess, your best friend, your beautiful home -- well, frankly, it sucks. Instead of pretending it's all an adventure, Riley should have got some sympathy from her parents instead of all that playacting. It is perfectly okay to say to your child, "Yes, moving away from what you've always known and loved sucks."

6. Make sure your child has something fun to do. Riley's parents knew that hockey was a big deal for Riley. Maybe they could have checked out the local hockey scene in advance of the move and found a way to sign Riley to the team, or at least schedule try-outs. It's another example of how Riley should have been part of the move. Instead, she was left to her own devices to figure everything out on her own. She clearly could have used some help finding a way to structure her free time in a fun and productive way. That might have kept her out of trouble.

7. Always be watching your child no matter what. So you're moving and things are chaotic. That's still no excuse not to have one eye on your child at all times; even if she's past the age of eating the sand in the sandbox. Riley's parents saw she was sulking, but they didn't get how bad things were until it was almost too late. Don't let that happen to your child. Even if she's totally capable of getting dressed by herself and no longer needs to be reminded to do her homework. Your child will always be your child. You don't want to ever miss even one distress signal.

Did you move to a new neighborhood with a child Riley's age? What tips and tricks did you use to make things go smoothly and keep your child on track? What did you learn from the move?

Dear Mouthy Housewives,

My daughter left for sleep away camp a week and a half ago, and I am nauseous. I am just so sad. I feel like a part of me is missing. And I am paying for this experience!

There are still five and a half weeks to go. I never went to sleep away camp, but I know this will likely be a great experience for my daughter.

I've had a few calls with her, and she rated her experience so far an eight out of ten. So she's doing pretty well. But I'm a mess. How do I survive the rest of the summer?

Signed,

Mom the Mess

Image: Camp Pinewood via Flickr

Dear Mom the Mess,

I've never sent my kids to sleep away camp, either, but know plenty of families who have. There seems to be two kind of parents when it comes to their kid being away. There are the ones you find doing shots of Mad Dog while dancing the Macarena. And the ones who can't stop sobbing. Obviously, you fall into the second category.

You feel the way you feel. So don't beat yourself up over being sad.

You are responsible for your child 24/7 and then suddenly she is gone for the summer and of course it can make you feel lost. And yes, you will find yourself shoveling ice cream into your mouth while combing the camp website for a sighting of at least your kid's left elbow. Is the left elbow having fun? It looks like it's having fun!

So you're going to be sad. But that doesn't mean you can't be sad and productive. What projects have you been trying to get done around the house? What closet have you been meaning to clean out? Do it now!

Also - this is a great opportunity to give your other kids more one-on-one time and/or get more quality time with your spouse. You can even schedule some "me" time.

Listen, before you know it, your daughter will be home, probably driving you crazy, and you'll think, "Why didn't I clean out that closet when I had the time?" So seize the opportunity while you can. Wipe away your tears and don't miss that 7:30 pm showing of Magic Mike XXL.

Good luck, 

Kelcey, TMH

Recently I read Ann Friedman’s salty piece in New York Magazine on "vocal fry," a way of talking in which you draw out the end of sentences or words with a low, raspy, creaky sound that comes from the back of throat.

Like "upspeak" and "valley girl speak," vocal fry is a speech pattern or vocal tic -- apparently unique to women -- that seems to make the person using it (i.e., the young woman) sound immature, dumb, small, and not confident.

Image: CBS News

But, Friedman argues, "To assume that our verbal tics are always negative is to assume that the goal of all speech is the same. Which, of course, is patently ridiculous." Basically: As if!

The way a woman speaks allows her to connect more authentically with her audience. Regardless of public perception, it isn’t her job to change how she talks to better suit the audience's ideas of what confident and smart looks like.

So what’s the problem? Do we sound too young? Are we preemptively limiting our opportunities by sounding babyish or uncertain? Or is the real problem that we just don’t sound like white men? Therefore, we sound stupid and cannot be taken seriously.

To be honest with you, I’m just tired of talking about this stuff.

As a mother of two girls, it is completely unsurprising, yet still so sad, that in 2015 it is not enough to just listen to what a woman has to say without critiquing how it sounds. This is a non-issue perpetuated by a male-dominated, old establishment so afraid of what women have to say that they are trying to distract you with candy-colored fluff, like how our voices sound.

Lately, every time I turn on CNN, they are talking about or to Donald Trump. I have never in my life heard anyone speak more declaratively, but with as little knowledge about anything as Donald Trump. There is neither a hint of lilting, creaky, female tones or any real substance to what this man says. It's just lots of garbage, and he says it quite forcefully, I might add!

When I think about my daughters, and how they might speak as they get older, I can only pray that theynever sound anything like Donald Trump.

It is completely absurd to "police" how women sound when they're speaking. As journalist Jessica Grose said on a recent podcast about this topic: While we are all busy sharing our opinions about Kim Kardashian’s creaking voice or low-brow banter, she is busy building a gazillion-dollar multi-media empire.

If my daughters end up like her, would that be so bad? I mean, maybe the 18 selfies a day thing might be annoying, but otherwise, come on. She's a married mother at the head of a massive financial juggernaut. Behind her upspeak, she must be doing something right.

When it comes down to it, I really don't care how my daughters sound or will sound, as long as they have the brains to back up what they are saying (regardless of their vocal tones). I also don't really give a fuck what anyone else thinks about how my girls sound. And I'm pretty sure my number one job as their mother is to teach them that they shouldn't either.

Life is filled with opportunities to wallow in other people's judgments of you. But, generally speaking, what a major time-suck!

My advice for my girls? I think I’ll actually take a page from The Donald's book -- literally. In his book, Midas Touch, he blessed us with this gem: "Criticism is easier to take when you realize that the only people who aren’t criticized are those who don’t take risks."

So don’t sweat it, girls. Criticism -- about your voice or otherwise -- just means you’re doing it right. Or maybe I should say, You're doing it riiiiiiiiiggghhht.

Read more at My Jenneration or follow me at @JennMeer

The other day, I told a mom friend I was hosting a sleepover. I confessed to her that I hardly ever let my daughters have sleepovers because I always freak out about what the girls will do and where they'll sleep and if, heaven help me, everyone is having a good time!

"I don't do them either," she told me.

Photo Credit: Vinamra Agrawal via Flickr.

Later that same day, I told another mom that my daughters were making dinner that night -- something they'd never done before in spite of being a tween and teen, because I'm an uptight mother who never cooked with her kids.

"I don't cook with mine either," she told me.

I. Don't.

Who knew two little words could be so freeing and encouraging?

I feel like I'm surrounded by moms who do. They do spectacular birthday parties, and they do homemade hummus in Bento Boxes for school lunches. They do craft projects every day of the week, and they do ... everything. With their kids and for their kids. Which is great for them, if they love it and if it charges up their mom spirits.

But I just ... don't.

I don't do and haven't done and won't do so many things. And the other day, my friends showed me I'm not the only mom who doesn't do. Which felt like a gift.

In case it feels like a gift to someone else, here are a few other things I don't:

I don't have it all together.

I don't do Pinterest-inspired birthday parties.

I don't take pictures of every moment of my children's lives.

I don't know what I'm doing a lot of the time even though I've been at this for a while now.

I don't make my kids do enough chores.

I don't serve my children the recommended five to nine servings of fruits and vegetables a day.

I don't like everything about being a mom.

I don't have this all figured out.

But, here's what I do do

I do love, love, love my children.

I do enjoy them.

I do cherish them.

I do love spending time with them.

I do pray for them.

I do talk to them.

I do listen to them.

I do treasure them.

I do want joy and satisfaction for them.

And I do love this quote from Go-To Mom Jill Savage: "There is an art of leaving things undone so that the greater thing can be done."

What I don't do -- what I leave undone -- frees up time and energy and passion and enthusiasm for what I do do: the greater things.

The value of that is something I don't have any doubts about.

And if you're an "I don't" mom, you're not alone.

Because I don't, either.

If you're a mom of tween girls (or not), chances are you've witnessed the growing popularity of Taylor Swift.

Born in 1989, 25-year-old Taylor is captivating us on her latest world tour. When our family learned that her concert itinerary included the Bay Area, we promptly joined 100,000 local fans to get tickets for the August show at Levi's Stadium. Although I cringe while thinking of the ticket prices, the live performance is still with me, and swiftly feeling priceless.

Nestled high in the nosebleeds, we experienced a Taylor who was larger than life even though in reality she was just a glittery speck on stage. She sang strong, danced flawlessly, and spoke graciously for two full hours of chart topping entertainment.

But what's best about the concert is the feeling that the show never ended. Taylor's persona is accessible online, and she seems to understand our society's ubiquitous connectivity. At one point during the performance, she credited Silicon Valley and the local technology industry for making tools that help her connect with fans. She shares moments and interacts virtually, just like everyone else.

Except, she's not like everyone else.

Contrary to the fans around me who were paying more attention to their image at the concert than the actual concert, Taylor had no trouble making the most out of every real life moment.

The next day I started following Taylor Swift on Instagram to see if she posted any highlights of the evening, and have since become analytically curious about how she balances the details of her life over social media.

With a 12-year-old in the house, I want to be aware of how people are portraying themselves online. Soon, my daughter may want her own Instagram account. She hasn't requested it yet, but given many of her classmates are heading in that direction, no doubt we'll be facing her own account creation sometime during middle school.

Who will she follow? What will she post? What examples are appropriate for her newsfeed? Following Taylor has helped me identify five characteristics about social media etiquette that I can reference for my tweens when the time is right. Now that I think about it, having my kids join this online journey could turn out to be fun (I hope). Here we go:

Be Classy

When the kids and I were talking about how much we enjoyed the concert, we noticed how Taylor Swift seems so cool and classy. For example, unlike Miley Cyrus, there are no pictures on her Instagram feed that I need to censor. There are no butts or innuendos.

Instead, there are just photographs and videos of a Rock Star celebrating life, who also happens to have a fun group of friends and a really cute kitty.

Share Information

On Instagram, hyperlinks are not allowed in the text of a single post. The only place a hyperlink will work is on your profile. One day, I noticed how Taylor's profile changed from www.taylorswift.com to a link for nominees of MTV Video of the Year.

This simple update gave me current information about who was nominated for video of the year, cluing me into pop-cultural happenings that I otherwise wouldn't know about. I found this information useful, because music videos became a conversation starter I could share with my girls.

Appreciate the Moment

Knowing the MTV Video Music Awards were pending, I tuned into Taylor's Instagram feed again to find out if she won. Nothing showed up on the night of the awards. The next day, there were pictures from the previous night showing good times with her friends.

The delay, I hope, was due to Taylor's choice to live in the moment, focusing on her real life experience, and not on her social media stream. Juxtapose this to the Miley Cyrus Instagram feed, and you will see who was enjoying the moment, and who was exploiting the moment.

Lead With Kindness

Scrolling through Taylor's posts, what I found really nice was her celebration of special guests throughout the tour. She highlights others. She invites others. She emphasizes that the applause needs to be louder for her guests than it does for herself.

Be kind and thoughtful to others. My girls, if you are reading this, let's always keep this in mind.

Be Authentic

I think part of what has fascinated me about Tayor's very unsmall social media following, is that she shares glimpses of her inner circles. While it's possible a crew of marketing professionals is staging these glimpses, it's also possible that Taylor herself constructs and authorizes every post.

Whatever the case, it comes off as authentic, right down to the handmade knitted sweater.

So sure, I'm a 43 year-old mom who has fallen for Taylor Swift, quite possibly even more than my tweens. But in a world full of bad examples and destructive life choices, wouldn't any mom be thankful that such a hugely popular icon holds true to setting a decent example? I believe that answer is yes.

Rock on, Taylor.

@LorraineAkemann

I have a 13-year-old son who loves science and engineering, and I'd be thrilled if he built a clock all by himself—and I'd hope his teachers would be, too. Unfortunately, that's not what happened on Monday to Ahmed Mohammed, a high school freshman in Irving, Texas. When the story broke about the boy being handcuffed and taken into police custody after his English teacher deemed the homemade science project "suspicious".

My heart broke as I read the article in the Dallas Morning News, recounting how Ahmed missed his student council meeting to be interrogated by a police office who commented, “Yup. That’s who I thought it was.” As much as our nation talks a good talk about encouraging STEM education and being innovative, we're not walking the walk -- especially when it comes to students of color. And the look of terror on the skinny boy's face (wearing a NASA t-shirt, natch) in the photo of him being walked into the police station haunts me. He is just that—a boy—he looks like he could easily be one of the nerdy kids playing Minecraft in my living room. Ahmed is a Sudanese-American and also a Muslim, and investigators questioned him about his name during his interrogation. There are so many layers of racial stereotypes and assumptions at work, it was depressing.

Thank you fellow supporters. We can ban together to stop this racial inequality and prevent this from happening again pic.twitter.com/fBlmckoafU

— Ahmed Mohamed (@IStandWithAhmed) September 16, 2015

This morning, I was heartened to read that I'm not alone. The hashtag #IStandWithAhmed is trending on Twitter, and the @IStandWithAhmed account created by the family snowballed to over 27 thousand followers.

While Ahmed's clock might not be welcome at his Texas high school, it is welcome at the White House, with President Obama tweeting his support and invitation to visit.

Cool clock, Ahmed. Want to bring it to the White House? We should inspire more kids like you to like science. It's what makes America great.

— President Obama (@POTUS) September 16, 2015

Hillary Clinton is also tweeting her support.

Assumptions and fear don't keep us safe—they hold us back. Ahmed, stay curious and keep building. https://t.co/ywrlHUw3g1

— Hillary Clinton (@HillaryClinton) September 16, 2015

And Mark Zuckerberg posted on Facebook an invitation to come meet him at headquarters. And Google and NASA employees are supporting Ahmed, as well.

Hey Ahmed, give me a call in a couple years. We could always use smart, curious & creative people. https://t.co/02a4feMrk5

— Bobak Ferdowsi (@tweetsoutloud) September 16, 2015

Hey Ahmed- we're saving a seat for you at this weekend's Google Science Fair...want to come? Bring your clock! #IStandwithAhmed

— Google Science Fair (@googlescifair) September 16, 2015

The Irving Police Department says its not pressing charges against Ahmed, but this conversation is far from over. Take a look at what Twitter is saying:

.@IStandWithAhmed I just ordered a NASA shirt in your honor. https://t.co/kudffOApTs

— Felicia Day (@feliciaday) September 16, 2015

What if brown ppl reacted to the terrorism of white America the way that white America reacts to brown people? #standwithahmed

— Stereo Williams (@stereowilliams) September 16, 2015

"Way to be creative, kid! That's exactly what we want around here. Unless you're Muslim." #standwithahmed

— Barnabas Piper (@BarnabasPiper) September 16, 2015

In Grade 4 in 1978 I took a real gun, albeit 100 year old one, for show & tell. No problem. Muslim kid builds a #clock& they freak. #Ahmed

— Graham Broad (@ProfessorBroad) September 16, 2015

America is busy trying to inspire kids like #Ahmed to love learning and creating, while Texas is locking kids up for being dark and smart.

— JJ Demon (@JJDemonic) September 16, 2015

The look on this kid's face as he's led away in cuffs is absolutely heartbreaking. I almost can't bear it #Ahmed https://t.co/LXNAiHGANi

— Celeste Headlee (@CelesteHeadlee) September 16, 2015

Had to pull my kid out of public school due to racism. For every Ahmed we know there are many more we don't #IStandWithAhmed

— Aisha Saeed (@aishacs) September 16, 2015

Also check out the photos of people posing with their own clocks in solidarity with Ahmed:

In solidarity with @IStandWithAhmed CAIR-Chicago staff brought our clocks to work too. #IStandWithAhmedpic.twitter.com/NK9CWhyfru

— CAIR-Chicago (@cairchicago) September 16, 2015

Brought my clock to work today. #IStandWithAhmed#Solidaritypic.twitter.com/h4Jr0siF1A

— Simran Jeet Singh (@SimranColumbia) September 16, 2015

.@IStandWithAhmed Because building a clock is one of the first things would-be electronics geeks do. pic.twitter.com/f3ZteAy2Mo

— Emily Lakdawalla (@elakdawalla) September 16, 2015

I think Ahmed has a brilliant future ahead of him, both in technology and as a young man who is growing in awareness of the extent of racism and injustice in America. I have no doubt he will be headed to the White House, Facebook, and more. But first, he has to meet with his attorneys...

Going to meet my lawyer. pic.twitter.com/YCxOOeOz3Z

— Ahmed Mohamed (@IStandWithAhmed) September 16, 2015

News and Politics Editor Grace Hwang Lynch blogs about raising an Asian mixed-race family at HapaMama.

This morning, I read the story of Ahmed Mohamed and his clock that he took to school and was arrested for suspicion of making a bomb and it's been bothering me all day. I can imagine that he packed this clock that he built all by himself carefully and was full of pride and boasting as he showed his science teacher how he had figured out the gears and wires all by himself. He probably couldn’t wait to see the teacher’s eyes widen, impressed by how smart the kid was. Instead, the teacher told him to hide it from the other teachers and the next teacher had him arrested. 

This brown boy, like so many Black and brown boys, is guilty… until proven guilty. “Police say they may yet charge him with making a hoax bomb — though they acknowledge he told everyone who would listen that it’s a clock.”

As a mom, this story hurt my heart. As one who advocates for education for all children, it struck me as a ridiculous reaction by educators, but as a mother of Black children, it made me sad.

My own son is one of those tinker-er kids. He says already that he wants to be an engineer and is always imagining his next greatest invention. I don’t really raise an eyebrow as he explains why he needs to order an electro-magnet or some wires or more batteries, or asks where the wire cutters and hammer and pliers are.  I imagine that Ahmed Mohamed is like my son, his parents like me, who wonder and are amazed by their child’s creativity and curiosity. 

Unfortunately, though, a parent’s own amazement of their child has to be tampered by the reality that everyone may not see their child that way. Everyone does not see my Black son as the beautiful, intelligent, funny, hopeful kid he is.  We keep finding that out, on the streets and in our schools.

There’s lots wrong with what happened to Ahmed and his clock project. This is only a short list.

The boy was taking this clock to an engineering teacher. Engineering. Like, this is what the teacher is supposedly teaching him to do. Or if not, what the heck are they doing in class? Instead, the paper reports that “He’s vowed never to take an invention to school again.”  How is that the purpose of school? Are we going back to plants growing under cups and bread blooming mold for the science fair?

The policeman said that if it had been left under a car, it would look like a bomb. Yes, sir, you may be right. But it wasn’t left under a car. It was in a child’s hand as he said “look teacher.” And it was in a backpack after the first teacher told him to put it away. And if you, Mr. Officer, thought it was a bomb, was interrogating a high schooler and trying to get him to admit that his clock was a bomb proper bomb-in-the-building procedure? Aren’t you supposed to evacuate the building, bring in a bomb squad, or something?

The police or school administration did not contact this boy’s parents before dragging him to the police station. Really? I get called when my daughter bumps her head on the playground. Are you telling me that the police coming to search a kid for a bomb and arresting him does not warrant a phone call to mom and dad? I’m sure there is a legal answer, but isn’t there a school discipline answer, too?  

Who in this school was on the kid’s side? Where was that science teacher or the school counselor who watched him walk past in handcuffs? Not one teacher stood up, because obviously the Principal didn’t, and say “Hey, the kid said it’s a clock, let’s talk this thing through.”  Not one? So is this kid, and all the others, in a school where not one teacher is on his side? Maybe I don’t want to test the theory, but I’d like to think that if one of my kids was being walked out of the school in handcuffs, some teacher, counselor, lunch aide – somebody – would say, “Hey, what’s going on here? Let’s call his/her parents and figure this out.”

Okay. Let’s say, for a moment, that he was making a bomb.  Just for a moment, let’s side on the police. Let’s say it was a bomb. Because, yes, unfortunately and heart-breakingly, there are kids who make bombs and shoot up schools and pose a threat to their fellow students, and when these terrible things happen, everyone says, “Hey, why weren’t his parents paying attention” and “Why didn’t the science teacher tell somebody he was practicing building bombs.” Got it, yes, that’s all true.  So, I don’t know what a real bomb, or even a hoax bomb, looks like versus the inside of a clock.  But I suspect that there are probably some smart bomb squad people who do. Apparently, the teacher doesn’t, so let’s not even mention him. (And for the record – I like teachers, I respect teachers, but I acknowledge, from even my own experience, they are sometimes wrong.) I trust that there is someone in the state of Texas who can look at the thing and say “nope, it’s a clock.” Right? Wouldn’t that kinda settle this whole thing?

Going to meet my lawyer. pic.twitter.com/YCxOOeOz3Z

— Ahmed Mohamed (@IStandWithAhmed) September 16, 2015

Am I stepping around the big brown elephant in the room? That glowering suspicion that if this boy was paler and his name was “John Miller” and his parents were born-Americans, that his teacher would’ve said “nice, save it for the science fair” and we all would be none the wiser.  Yes, maybe I am, a little bit. Because some of the things that are wrong with this story, the part that came after the adults in his school thought he had made a bomb, aren’t right for any kid. Every kid should have adults in his or her school who believe in them, who sees the good in them. Actually, every kid should have this person outside of school, too, but the reality is, all don’t.  Every kid should have someone who will say “hey, this kid is in some kind of trouble, how can I help this kid.” And it didn’t seem like that person was in this school.

So, now, let’s look at that big brown elephant. I wish there was enough space and breathe to talk about race and culture and religion and all the entwined prejudices and injustices and fears and perpetuated wrongs. Because if I could capture all those nuances, we could solve this thing.  But let’s try to narrow it down to this one piece of the puzzle, this young brown boy who was arrested for bringing a home-made clock to show his science teacher.

There’s a lot of things wrong with this story. But probably the worst part (and it’s hard to really rank these things) is what things like this can do to a kid’s inventiveness, creativity, pride, and self-esteem.

Instead of the “great thinking & inventiveness” message this boy is getting the “this is surely some illegal thing you’ve got going on here” message.  This is another example, further “proof,” for Black and brown kids that no matter what you do, no matter how smart you are, the first thought is you are up to something suspicious.  This isn’t the direction that we are supposed to be taking this country. This isn’t the world I want for my own Black children or for anyone else’s.

Its this – crushing the spirit of our kids – that’s the worst part of this whole story.

Grab a cup of coffee and join the conversation at www.slackermomof4.blogspot.com

I am grateful for all that I have: amazing kids, wonderful husband, rewarding career, outstanding community. And I don’t regret things in my life. But I know if I could, I would go back and do some things a little differently.

As a mother of a 15-year-old boy and a 12-year-old girl, I would love to learn some wisdom from parents who have already sent their teenagers off to college, so maybe I can avoid a few of their mistakes in my quest to be an overachieving, working mom.

Photo Credit: Nicole Blades.

I'm talking about the kinds of thoughts that follow a sigh and the oft-repeated phrase, "If I only knew then, what I know now.”

In the meantime, while I am raising kids in junior high and high school, I will share some of the insights I have as I look back on my parenting years when my kids were in elementary school.

Things I Would Have Done Differently With My Young Children

1. Wait longer (until my oldest child was at least 8) to allow a game console into my home, and wait longer (until my oldest child was at least 16) to allow mature-rated games into my home.
2. Be more aware of how much I yell in front of my children.
3. Be more aware of how much I criticize my husband in front of my children.
4. Be more courteous to customer service agents who frustrate me in front of my children.
5. Take my child on a "magical" vacation while she still believes in magic (before she turns 7) even if I have to go into debt to do it.
6. Keep reading to my children every night even after they are regularly reading their own novels (after age 9).
7. Never let my child fall asleep crying because of a disagreement at bedtime.
8. Encourage my children to invite friends over spontaneously more often, even if only for a short time on a busy day.
9. Start earlier (at age 5) to teach my children how to answer a home phone and take a message.
10. Start earlier (at age 5) to insist my children set the table before every meal and bring their plates to the sink after every meal.
11. Bring my children to my job or another workplace on Take Our Daughters and Sons to Work Day at least once.
12. Hug my children more often for no reason.

Do you have any more to add to this list?

If your kids are out of the house, can you share one thing you would have done differently when they were teenagers?

As parents, we've all been blessed with some wisdom from others who crossed the road we're embarking on. Let's pay it forward!

You may or may not know that I'm a proud mum of three, but if you were to flick back through some of my old blog posts you'd be forgiven for thinking there were only two special boys in my life. As well Tween and Baby R, I'm also a mum to a camera shy teenager who, in my eyes, is growing up too quickly.

Photo Credit: Mum in a Nutshell.

It only seems like yesterday he was a cheeky, chatty, lively toddler. We'd happily spend our days out and about or snuggled up on the sofa, catching up on Teletubbies. It was just the two of us during the day for four years, and he was the best company a mum could wish for.

My inquisitive boy, my little friend, my best cuddler. We did everything together and nothing apart. He was my first stab at motherhood and ignited something in me that I never knew I had: a love I'd never knew existed. I could be anywhere in the world, just as long as I had my boy.

Now he's morphing into a man, the teenage years like a chrysalis. Cocooning your baby and changing them into something new and beautiful (if you've done the early years thing right.) So much now goes on behind closed doors, inside the cocoon.

The little boy, full of questions and in need of your persistent protection, now questions your word, only reveals what he wants you to know, and buffers your attempts to protect him. Conversations are reduced to instructions: do your homework, tidy your room, get off the computer. His bedroom's become his cocoon and you have to wait patiently for the butterfly to emerge, (will he be a butterfly or maybe a moth? No one really likes moths, do they? I'm crossing everything for a butterfly.)

Yet every now and then I get a reminder of my little boy, the moments of disorganisation where its clear he still needs my guidance or when we chill on the sofa, resting his foot on my knee. Our roles have switched, he's now the one to reach things from high places for ME.

My little boy's helping ME. It's a change I have to accept. He still needs me, I know, but for more practical things -- lifts, money, food. I guess, though, I'm still his protector of sorts.

So, my boy is growing up. Okay, I accept it. He'll be someone else's soon, but to me he'll always be my little caterpillar.

My Teenager. My boy.

My daughter A just turned 13. Even as a newborn, she embodied a quiet strength that seemed to float in her hazel eyes as she watched the world around her. It's a strength that, over the years, has been tested often and morphed into a stunning sense of courage and capability.

She announced recently, as a newly arrived teenager, that she's ready to venture out on her own and explore her city by metro bus and train (light rail, here in Seattle), hang out at a café and do homework or just read. She wants the independence.

Image: Comedy Central.

Her 16-year-old brother has been riding public transportation, going to cafés, concerts, bookstores, and clothing stores on his own since he was 12, and clearly his comfort (not to mention the distance he gets to travel, by himself!) has rubbed off on her.

I'm ready for this urban teenage milestone. But the truth is that this city-kid stage smacks up against the introduction of another common experience for girls her age: street harassment. I want her to continue to embody the bravery that seems as natural to her as breathing, but I'm not about to let her tackle that world without being prepared.

I remember back to when A was a fat, squishy baby, clear-eyed, and smiley. My mother announced, "The world is a dangerous place, especially for girls." It frustrated me. I know my mother meant well, and she's right. The worldcan be dangerous for girls. But I don't want my daughter to feel like she's a victim. I don’t want her to experience the world afraid.

Still, I can't ignore all-too-common experiences for women and girls as I consider what it means for A to grow more independent and face the world on her own.

The majority of young women experience their first street harassment when they hit puberty. In fact, most girls are 14 years old or younger. Street harassment, sadly, is an experience shared by many marginalized groups of people.

According to a recent study on sexual harassment, a full two-thirds of females in the United States have been street harassed  --  this includes being followed, "sexually touched or grabbed in a sexual way" by a stranger, and being assaulted.

That makes me angry as hell, but knowing this is also helpful as I think about A and her newfound independence. I want to feel comfortable with my daughter's leap into this new phase. She's 13 years old; why shouldn't she claim these public spaces, without fear? This is her city, too. These are her streets as much as anyone's.

The bus stop at which she and her dad waited every morning under sun and rain, his big hands gripping her chubby little ones, to hop the crowded bus to preschool. The path we'd walk when she was a little older, on our way to the playground, past the public golf course, she and my son racing to collect little white balls that made it over the sky-high nets around the driving range. The street that houses the hipster café next to our family's favorite Mexican restaurant. Why should she need to consider the possibility of being harassed by strangers as she walks these same streets and rides these same buses, as a teenager?

When my children were old enough, my husband and I shared age-appropriate information about self-defense. Of the two of them, it was my daughter who took to the physicality of the lessons. She loved it. "Kick them in the shins. Scream as loud as you can." My husband stood in front of her, when she was 7 years old, reaching no higher than his waist, with his palms facing forward up by his abdomen. He'd say to her, "Hit my hands as hard as you can." She'd shape her hands into strong fists and punch, her curly-hair bouncing with each blow.

I'm thinking of those days when I knock on A's bedroom door one evening, just days after she turns 13 years old. She tells me to come in. She's in her bed reading. She tells me to hop into "the cloud" with her. We call her bed "the cloud" because it's all white: sheets, puffy comforter, pillows, nestled into the corner of her room where the windows meet and the sky frames it all. The only thing that isn't white is the caramel colored teddy bear that looks tossed at the foot of the bed. She tells me she wants to ride the city bus by herself after school tomorrow so that she can do homework at the café. I am immensely proud that she feels comfortable on her own, ready to rely on herself. But my chest tightens. I say, "OK. These are your streets."

But I also tell her, "I hate that I have to talk to you about this, but I do. You may get harassed on the street, on the bus or train. You may have males of different ages telling you to smile. Or commenting on your body. Teenage boys or men may yell things at you that you do not want to hear  --  from anyone, let alone a stranger on the street. You don't have to respond. Even if they ask you why you're not responding or why you're not engaging. You can ignore them. You can cross the street or go into a store. Or you can respond. You can tell them to stop. You can loudly let them know they need to leave you alone. It's up to you."

But then I get nervous. I remember recent stories in the news. A young woman in New York City had her throat slashed after she turned down a man who was "pestering her" to go on a date with him. Another woman in Detroit was shot to death after refusing to give a man her phone number, on the street. I don't tell my daughter about these stories but they weigh on my heart as we speak, as I consider how to counsel her.

On the other hand, and to my relief, A brings up a scene from one of our favorite TV shows, Broad City. It's the episode where Abbi and Ilana respond with middle fingers positioning their "smiles" when a man they pass on the streets of New York City tells them how pretty they are so they "should smile."

It's funny, badass, and maybe perfectly illustrates where A is at with this whole street harassment thing, compared to how it was for me, as a teenager and beyond. I, like most young women, was taught from a young age, to be seen above all else. I remember thinking as I walked down the city streets: "I want to be invisible yet you're supposed to notice me and think I'm beautiful." I was taught it's a "compliment" to be told I'm gorgeous by random men and boys on the street. And if I say anything it should be, "Thank you." with a smile.

But my daughter has been gifted by the voices, art, and activism of a host of women who speak out against street harassment: from those behind the magazine Rookie to the organization Hollaback.

I introduce her to the work of artist Tatyana Fazlalizadeh whose art addresses street harassment through posters she creates using the words and images of the many women she interviews about their own experience with street harassment. The posters are then plastered along the streets where these women live and work and offer a real-time mirror of how harassment looks and feels to girls and women of color, everyday.

We talk about how men and boys who engage in harassment do not own these streets. They do not own her body or smile or eyes. I tell her, "your shorts (or jeans or dress or skirt) are on your body because you want them there. If you want to bare your midriff, it does not mean you expect to be harassed by strangers on the street. You do not owe prettiness to anyone," as blogger Erin McKean declares. If you want to cover your body in baggy pants and a T-shirt, or wear a tight-fitting or low-cut shirt, that's your choice and not an invitation to be catcalled, cursed, and yelled at.

I remind her: If someone harasses you, fight back however youfeel most comfortable and most safe   in the moment with your words, or by crossing the street. Make art that expresses your thoughts and feelings. Write it down. Educate people. Talk to your friends. Talk to me.

When I sense she's done, I tell her I love her and that I am excited for her next day's adventure on the city bus, on her own. I'm worried she feels like I'm sending her out into a war zone, but if she's worried she doesn't show it. I kiss her on the forehead and say goodnight.

I want her --  and all teenage girls --  to know that street harassment is not about them: It's about the boys and men who have been taught by society that the bodies of girls and women are for public display and public consumption.

And to my daughter: If someone tells you to smile because "you're so pretty," you have my permission to respond, "Broad City” style.

I don't want to scare anyone yet to reach this wonderful phase of childhood or rein doom and gloom on the world of being the proud owner of a teenager, but I think that it's time there was some honesty between us, we're friends right?

Okay, some of you I've never met and the odds are that we never will, but just by the sheer notion that you're reading this, I'm rewarding you by sharing a little known secret that other parents of teenagers have been keeping from you.

Photo Credit: Mum in a nutshell.

If you've already passed this intrepid journey into adulthood with your nearest and dearest, then it's a gentle reminder of what you survived. Feel free to toast yourself that these years have passed, you survived (albeit a little battle-scarred), and can spare a thought for others still paddling through.

This is what you no one ever told you about living with teenagers:

• Doors will be slammed, things will be broken, your kitchen work tops will never be clean. Teenagers suddenly become incredibly clumsy, simple tasks that they'd mastered throughout childhood become difficult again. Their limbs take on a life of their own which prevents them from shutting cupboard doors, picking up dirty clothes and putting things in the dishwasher. Some male teenagers never get those skills back.
• You'll have one room in the house where the door is always shut on the off-chance you have visitors. The teenager's bedroom. They are blind to anything below waist height, meaning the sea of clothes, wet towels and school work strewn across the floor are completely and utterly beyond their sight line. As nagging no longer works (they build up an immunity to it, you see) the only thing you have left to do is to shut the door and pretend everything's okay.
• You have to learn a new language if you want to know what they did at school/where they're going/who they're going with. It's not easy though as this new language is incomprehensible to anyone else who is not a teenager. Moving their lips becomes hard work so they evolve into a mumble dialect. Hearing is also a problem so the safest and easiest way to let them know dinner's ready is to text.
• You'll have to up your "family days out" agendas as it's now optional as to whether they join you, and always throw in the offer of a Maccy D's to be on the safe side (that's teen speak for McDonald's, I think, or it was last week anyway). Spending time with their parents is physically painful and any request for their company is met with fright, anger, disgust or treated as just plain weird.
• The kitchen cupboards will empty within hours of being refilled. These guys have an insatiable hunger that only crisps, cereal and their brother's/sister's favourite snack will quench. Fruit is no longer an acceptable option, along with bread sticks, diluted fruit juice and homemade fairy cakes.
• They grow in foot high spurts. In the blink of an eye every pair of trousers they own will hang around their shins. You'll sometimes wonder if you've accidentally slept for a month as you're sure that yesterday everything fit.
• You will no longer be the fountain of all knowledge. In fact, you're so unknowing and out-of-date that they will stop asking you any questions and will disagree with almost everything you say, with one exception (see below)
• Despite you now being the household dunce (in their eyes only; you're not really. Don't worry; one day they'll even admit this to you) you are expected to know the whereabouts of their school bus pass/mobile phone/homework.
• You'll get no sympathy from your parents when you need to moan about them. It's considered payback and they've been waiting a very long time for you to get your comeuppance. Revenge is a dish best served cold and as your own parents knew more than you, back when you were a teenager, they knew these days would come.
• You will take on a second job as personal chauffeur with a zero hour contract, no pay and no holiday allowance but you'll do it for the pleasure of knowing they're safe and because you love them and know that one day they'll look back and remember all the nice things you did for them. (And because it's a lot bloody cheaper than paying a taxi fare.)

For my mum and dad, who always knew more than me: Sorry.

As I'm walking down the street, I witness a young couple getting into a verbal altercation and screaming match. They stop walking as the boy is trying to get the girls attention by holding on to her. As I approach where they are, I see a young girl no older than 17, trying to push the boy off of her as he wraps her up into a big bear hug. While she is squirming to get free of his grip, I realize that he is pushing in on her stomach and yelling that he was going to “kill the baby”. I stop dead in my tracks and ask if everything was okay. While the girl is screaming for him to let him go of her, a teenage boy and girl comes up to us. In a very nonchalant matter, as if they had witnessed this display a thousand times before, they assure me that everything is fine and that they have it in under control. Not convinced, I walk a couple paces ahead and stand watch.  The boy, also no older than 17 himself, is screaming at the girl about all of the guys that she has had sex with and gotten pregnant by; while she is trying to get away from his wrath.  The more he yells, the angrier and more aggressive he becomes.  In my mind I am trying to determine if I need to call the police, while silently wishing that he would just stop. However, I knew that I could not walk away.

He begins charging at her, while his friends are trying to hold him back. At this point, I begin dialing 911, because I realize that he is not going to stop, but my phone keeps saying that my service is unavailable.  Not exactly sure of what to do, I slowly approach them, and he hits her. As she is falling down on the ground, he tries to kick her in the face, but his friend grabs him in just enough time for his feet to miss her forehead by an inch.  While she is screaming, coughing and rolling around on the ground; he yells, “I hope she cough up that baby”. By this time he comes up to me and says, “What, you calling the police?”. I tell him that this is their business and he agrees and proceeds to tell me what’s going on.  I allow him to express his concerns and afterwards I tell him that he has no right to put his hands on her.  I ask about his mother, if he has sisters and whether or not he would want someone to put their hands on them. He shakes his head and says, “Naw”. He then goes back towards the girl and is still yelling and trying to hit her. As I am witnessing this and trying to break it up, I am fearful of and for this young man who has lost complete control over his emotions. Even as he tried to talk to me, I could see in eyes that he was detached from reality. It was as if a demon was trapped in his soul and hurting her was the only way to free it. But I was even more fearful for her had I had left. 

By this time an older black lady in her bathrobe comes out and tries to help diffuse the situation. She walks with the young man.“The police are coming, you need to leave," she tells him. "We got too many black boys locked up already”.

My stomach, which is already on the floor drops even lower. I was taken back by the fact that this woman was so quick to simply excuse this boys behavior because she feared him being caught up in the system. She didn’t see the emptiness in his eyes, just another black boy that we needed to keep protected by any means necessary. At this time, the young lady gets up off the ground and I am trying to walk with her to safety. We can all hear the police sirens in the background, but the young man refuses to let it go. And as the girl and I are walking, and I’m trying to figure out how to get her home, we see him running towards her with a vengeance.  She starts running and is screaming and I follow after them into the street.  He catches her and I stand in between them. I am trying to tell him to calm down and to chill out.  I have no idea what he is going to do to her, or if he may turn his anger towards me, and I would not have been surprised if he did.  But as I’m thinking this, the police finally arrive.

When the two officers get out of the truck, the young man very brazenly walks up to them and tries to explain the situation.  One officer tells him to step to the side with him, while the other officer approaches the young lady and I.  He asks us what happened.  The girl explains how the father of her unborn child has been hitting her since before they left the train. She goes on to say how there were witnesses at the train station who saw the commotion and someone reported it.  He asks her if she has a police report, she then tells him “no, the guy wouldn’t take a report, he told me to call some 555 number.”  The officer goes on to say how that number is for a “protective order” and asks again if she has a police report. For a second time, she states, “no, he didn’t want to take one and told us to just leave.  He looks back at the boy and asks very accusingly, “well how did his pants get ripped”, she tells him that she didn’t know.  The condescending manner in which he is speaking to her, gives way to his thoughts that she was just as guilty as he. Her friends finally walk up and the officer begins asking them what happened.  The boy speaks up and paints this nice picture of a couple having an argument and nothing more.  All the while, the girl is repeatedly stating, “I’m tired of him hitting me”. Her guy friend lies to the police officer and tells him that the boy did not hit her.  She yells “he did hit me”, at which time the office very coldly asks her “is his your friend, because your friend is not going to lie to me”.  I look the friend dead in his eye and say,  “you all are wrong and you know that he hit her”.  He rolls his eyes and to protect his friend says again, “he did not hit her”, with the female friend cosigning in the background.  The officer then tells me, “Miss, you can leave now, we have it under control”. I walked away feeling defeated and no less reassured than when her friends told me the same thing before he hit her. 

Every Halloween, there are blog posts and memes begging people not to turn someone else’s culture into a costume. You know… the Indian squaw, the geisha, the terrorist, the pimp or “ho”… really, pretty much anything that portrays an entire group of people in a worn-out stereotype. Well, one elementary school — Rosa Parks Elementary, a public science magnet school in Berkeley, of course— is taking the guesswork out by banning ethnic costumes altogether.

I know what some people are thinking.

They’re taking away our freedom!

Can’t kids have fun anymore?

The PC crowd finds a way to ruin EVERYthing.

But what if we turned our thinking around and looked at this ban on ethnic costumes as a way to teach children to teach how to get along in our increasingly diverse society?

In an ideal world, kids would be able to have fun, get a little wild (but not too wild), exercise their creativity — without demeaning their classmates or perpetuating stereotypes, even if it’s unintended. As parents and educators, it’s part of our responsibility to show children the how to get along with others. In elementary school, where there are already plenty of rules in place: raise your hand before you speak, share your supplies, wait your turn. We have expectations of how students should treat one another, such as not using put-downs or picking on other kids based on their appearance or ethnicity. October is also National Bullying Prevention Month. While dressing up in a racial costume doesn’t exactly equal bullying, it does falls into the category of microaggressions… those little slights that seem like not a big deal individually, but together chip away at one’s self-esteem — especially for a young child who is already outside of society’s beauty standards. It's the elementary school version of a hostile workplace.

At most campuses, there are already guidelines about clothing: take off your hats indoors, cover your belly button, don’t flaunt gang insignia or alcohol logos. And even on Halloween, elementary schools generally have some rules against wearing masks, overly scary or gory costumes, or realistic-looking weapons. And in general, these rules make sense. They keep people safe, help minimize distractions from learning, and they teach kids how to be respectful of one another.

Take a moment and watch this BuzzFeed video that shows actual Native American trying on “Indian Brave” and “Hottie Body” costumes.

And this BuzzFeed video that shows Japanese American women trying on “Geisha” costumes.

And this BuzzFeed video of Mexicans trying on “Amigo” and “Tequila Girl” costumes.

But is it going too far to ban all ethnic costumes? For people who are earnestly trying to understand what makes one costume in good fun and another one inappropriate, where does homage or satire cross the line into offensiveness? Is it against the rules to dress up as an Greek goddess or a Swiss milkmaid? And what about favorite cartoon characters? Can a child masquerade as Princess Jasmine or Mulan? What if you want to wear ethnic garb that reflects your own race?

A school flyer that was posted on San Francisco based KRON-TV’s website explains that children can dress is as a particular person or character who is not their same race or ethnicity, parents should find ways to do so without things like ethnic wigs, face paint or makeup that changes the eye shape, but with “props and costumes to capture the spirit of that character or person.”

Makes sense to me.

As a child, every costume I had was of a person of a different race, usually white. Whether I was dressed up as Cinderella or a flapper girl, it never occurred to me to paint my face or alter my features. My mother always tried to steer me towards wearing one of her old Chinese dresses for a costume. Whether that was out of frugality or to instill cultural pride, I didn’t want to. To dress up as something I already was seemed to be missing the spirit of Halloween.

A poll on the KRON website shows that 67% of readers don’t think the costume policy is going too far.

What do you think about school rules surrounding ethnic Halloween costumes? Does your children’s school have any guidelines?

News and Politics Editor Grace Hwang Lynch blogs about raising an Asian mixed-race family at HapaMama.

I see you: finger hesitant on my doorbell and costume half-hearted.

I see you: never alone, the safety in numbers, fearing a monster much different than that which scares ghouls a full head or more smaller than you.

Image: Freaks and Geeks.

I see you: your apologetic eyes looking at the ground, your oversized sneakers kicking at my door mat.

I see you, jockeying for a position in the back of your group instead of elbowing your way to my door.

I see you. You're too old to trick-or-treat.

You're scared of being judged. You're scared that one time, one of these houses, one of these doors will open and you'll be greeted with a hearty, "GET OFF MY LAWN!" You weren't going to go this year. You're too old. Your mom told you so. Your dad told you it's for kids. Then, one of your friends called. Came over. Texted you.

"Wanna go get candy?"

And you are relieved for that because you really want to go, and now you're less embarrassed that one of your friends wants to, too.

But what do you wear?

You dig out your football uniform. It's disgusting. It reeks. But who cares? You'll be outside.

Thirty minutes later, you're at my door, being too old to trick-or-treat.

Except at my house, you'll never hear that. Ever. You'll prowl our neighborhood on this night and you'll have the same sense of responsibility to look out for the younger kids as you do in the day. I depend on you to lead my kids by example, even when it means letting your guard down to have measured and imaginative fun.

The boys especially. We put such pressure on you to grow up, act mature, be tough. You end up hearing that dress-up is for babies. Girls seem to look for any excuse to gather in herds in get-ups. They put so much effort into looking like someone they're not every day that what's one more night among 364 others? It's not fair that they get a pass in this deal.

Please let these years linger on as long as you can. The day will come when you'll be stuck in a Halloween waiting room, done making the rounds in a giggling crowd for chocolate, but not old enough to hit the over-21 Halloween parties, heaving with terrible wigs and thighs squishing between the strings of fishnet stockings and men in ever-escalating competitive offensiveness. The saddest of those will refuse to dress up for that party too, always fearing the "costume party" portion of the invite is a trick, a joke that they refuse to be the butt of.

Knocking on my door is not about the candy to you. You could shove enough down your gullet to put you in a sugar coma if you just stayed home and ate it out of your mom's bowl destined for tonight's tiny revelers. No, this is about a part of your heart that's not ready to let go of this one night that you can be what you want, roam the streets after dark, and despite your lack of Celtic/Pagan roots, your soul longs to ring in the official end to summer and embrace the new day coming in November.

One of my kids asked from the way-back of the car how old was too old to trick-or-treat. My heart sank a little. They can't possibly be thinking of this yet. My plan is to make them take their little brother when they start feeling like they are (since I have to stay home to give you candy) and to suggest that while they're taking him, they might as well make it fun and dress up, too.

This weekend, I will send them out the door as a trio, two lumberjacks and a pine tree, along with their dad for the first leg, and I will listen dutifully for the ding-dong of the doorbell and the thump-thump-thump of little feet racing along the path to our step, eager for treats. I will be sure that the thump-thump-thump of the big shoes, bigger than your mom's now even, are met at my door with kind eyes and enthusiasm for your participation.

It's in your eyes that I see my own shorties in a few painfully quick years, and I only hope that others will treat them gently as they awkwardly navigate their own teenage purgatory.

I will also do this so that you're not pissed at me and smash my pumpkins in retaliation. But mostly it's the first thing.

We are not those folks.

Those folks who are divorced and who have kids and who can actually mumble a "hello" to each other and actually mean it.

Those folks who are divorced, remarried and invite each other over to the kids birthday parties.

We are not those folks.

Photo Credit: Caitlin Childs via Flickr.

What happens when you are divorced with kids and must have a relationship with your ex, knowing that you will never be those folks?

You're probably expecting me to say that co-parenting is the solution. Co-parenting is a parenting partnership that should occur when the parents are no longer married or were never married. This is the type of partnership where the parents consult each other on things regarding the child. No one parent makes decisions unless the other parent has given them the "okay." In other words, both parents can see past who is right/wrong; the kids are their only concern. They work together to raise their kids.

I knew of a divorced couple with kids. They both remarried. The woman became pregnant and her ex husband and his wife were at the hospital to support the birth of her new baby.

Whoa!

We are not those folks. And I am fine with that. It has taken me seven years to be fine with that. During this time, I have looked for different ways to have a co-parenting relationship with my ex. I stumbled upon an article over at the Huffington Post that introduced me to a new term: Parallel Parenting. The author, Virginia Gilbert, explains that there are situations when co-parenting doesn't work. Everyone's situation is different and each person has to decide what's right for them.

For me, co-parenting made me feel like I had to have a mask on around MC. I was afraid to voice my own opinion about our daughter for fear of being seen as incapable. In other words, I had to "play nice." Why did I have to play anyway? Why couldn't I just be myself?

According to Psychology Today, parallel parenting is defined as "an arrangement in which divorced parents are able to co-parent by means of disengaging from each other."

Once I accepted that I could and needed to be myself, I no longer desired for my ex to see me as right. It no longer mattered. I had to let go trying to control every situation, because the ultimate goal of parallel parenting is reducing conflict and moving forward, with each parent parenting the child.

Photo Credit: Unrehearsed Tiff.

Although there was no physical violence in our relationship, MC and I were unable to communicate in a respectful manner and were in constant competition for who was the better parent. This led me to choose parallel parenting over co-parenting. And here are five reasons why:

1. It allows minimal interaction.

In the beginning, I would invite MC and his family to Tween Girl's birthday parties or other activities, only to have the invites refused or declined. Honestly, I was relieved because I felt that if they showed up, they would be so critical of everything! If we were all ever in the same space, the tension would be so thick. At the time, I felt these were things I had to do, I wanted Tween Girl to have parents who got along.

After many "keyboard confidence" emails received, I realized that the anxiety of forcefully interacting with each other was not yielding a result to which Tween Girl reaped good benefits. Once I adapted parallel parenting, we were able to agree on a visitation meeting location. If Tween Girl has events to attend, I provide the information to MC. The decision to attend is his own. Any interaction between visitation is based on his decision to do so.

2. We communicate via email only.

When face to face and phone conversations involve much yelling, it's time to find a better way to "communicate". Yelling and arguing reminded me too much of when we were married. Emails, in this situation, allow for individuals to state the facts without emotion.

A great reference, Crucial Conversations, helped me to learn how to state the facts; facts are what matter. Facts without emotion allow you to eliminate emotions that will prompt the other person to respond with more emotion. Somehow, all the facts get tossed out the window and you're left with a room full of emotions.

Emails can also be a form of proof. So, just as you wouldn't (hopefully) type a crazy email to your boss or anyone else that you may respect, you would not want to do so in this situation either.

Also, I had to get over the keyboard confidence MC gets from time to time.

3. There is no interference.

Since we were having trouble agreeing over even the simplest things, we definitely had trouble with each other's parenting styles. The world is comprised of many different types of people who do things, um ... differently. This "no interference" eliminates phones calls of "why did you allow ...".

I know that MC has Tween Girl's best interest at heart, and I hope that he knows the same for me. As the full custodial parent, I keep him updated on her latest activities and grades at school, all via email. If it's an urgent issue, there may be a phone call or discussion during drop-off.

No interference also means letting go of trying to control how MC parents Tween Girl. If he decides to let her stay up all night -- not my house, not my rules. As a good friend said to me, "MC is an adult. Whatever happens to the children while they are in his care is on him." Letting go is key to making parallel parenting work.

4. It's more of a business arrangement.

High-performing employees show up at work and perform without spreading gossip, slacking off or discussing their latest wild escapades. When they interact with their co-workers, it is on a business level not an after-work, happy-hour friendship. Parallel parenting allows for parents to not get overly involved in each other's lives, worrying about how late he's letting her stay up at night or him not liking any decisions you make. Your child is your business.

5. It reduces stress.

This is a biggie for me. Before parallel parenting, I always had anxiety whenever MC's name showed up on my phone or email. Answering those calls or opening those emails meant stress. Since I've adopted parallel parenting, my correspondence has been crafted as such. As a result, MC has adapted to crafting his correspondence as well (with a li'l bit of keyboard confidence every now and then).

My five reasons for choosing parallel parenting over co-parenting may seem harsh and may not work for everyone. But if you are divorced or in a "shared" parenting relationship, you know that parenting with an ex is not always a bed of roses. Some of us struggle with it but still want to love and support our kids.

I chose this method because it helps me to remove my emotions with my ex and focus on the love, support and care for Tween Girl. Her needs should never be overshadowed.

Have you ever been in a situation where you had to make a painful decision concerning your tween?