Dear Daughter

Dear Daughter,

I know I’m a drag on your wish to be fully independent right now. And that 18th birthday that looms ahead has you thinking that the whole world will change on December 30th and that suddenly you will make your own rules and live your life solely as you want to. As the woman who squeezed you from my womb and nurtured you the last eighteen years, I have to tell you in the sweetest, most loving way I know….that’s not going to happen. Not just yet. Why? You see, my job is not to make you happy. My job is to turn you into a loving, compassionate, productive citizen, and my job isn’t done. You think it is. And we’re getting close to that point, but we’re not quite there yet. And sometimes my job requires me to make and enforce rules that you don’t like.

Oh, I know you think I’m holding on too tight. I thought my parents did too when I was your age. I know you curse me under your breath when I tell you that you can’t stay out until 2am or that a certain boy is not coming anywhere near our house. I know you sometimes count the hours until you’re living in your own dorm room or apartment and you don’t have to worry about me or your dad enforcing a curfew or asking where you’ve been all evening. And I know that you think we’re stricter than everyone else’s parents. I know because I was once there too. And while I hate that it makes you angry, I know that one day several years from now, you will understand that I was right. Seriously, you will, and you'll thank me for nixing the tattoo. It doesn’t make any sense now, but one day it will.

You’re strong. You’re smart, and you’re very independent. But there are still those times when I see glimmers of a middle schooler or a young girl who doesn’t always know how to handle herself. God gives me signs these days that for a little while longer your dad and I need to keep shaping you and molding you into the person YOU want to be. My love for you is big enough to withstand your anger over the boundaries we set for you because I know that one day when you’re about thirty; you’ll be glad that we kept you from turning into one of THOSE girls. Rest assured, the day when I put my foot against your tail feathers and shove you out of the nest is rapidly coming, and more freedoms are just around the corner. But for now, my wings are still wrapped around your stubborn little being with the knowledge that one day you will understand. And be glad.

PS-You can have the iPod back tonight.

Love, Mom

iheartfaces photo challenge-"Celebrating Teens"

Photo Friday Challenge-"Pleasure"

Nothing like getting that driver's license.

Oh Boy!

Romance is in the air at the Hula-gen house. Teen Angel has a new fella in her life, and boy, is she smitten. They’ve been on two dates in the last seven days, and you can practically hear the birds singing when they walk out the door. It’s J. this and J. that and text, text, TEXT. I can pick out his ring tone from across the house. I’m not complaining. He’s a very nice boy. And handsome, too. He is 13,000% better than the last boy she dragged home, and for that, her dad and I am extremely grateful. We like New Boy a lot. We’re just amused at the way they moon over each other. It sure brings back some memories; memories which make me feel a little old.

Teen Angel’s only been allowed to date for the past year, and most of that time was spent pining over a boy who treated her poorly. He stood her up more than once, didn’t keep his word and generally mistreated her. It got to the point that her dad and I finally told her he couldn’t call or pick her up for dates anymore. It took her a while to figure out that it was okay to expect some respect in a relationship, and she finally ended that romance last summer. She coasted through the first of this school year, determined to find a decent boy. She hung out with girlfriends and didn’t worry about a relationship, which thrilled me to no end. And then two weeks ago, she drifted home on a cloud of pheromones with the news about her first date with New Boy. We all anxiously waited for Friday night for the big first date. Which ended up being postponed because of snow covered roads. Oh, the gnashing of the teeth and wailing over the weather. We were relieved when Saturday came and the sun melted enough of the snow for the big date to take place.

He was polite when he arrived, shaking hands and saying all of the right things. Bless his heart; he even tried to take his shoes off at the front door until Teen Angel explained that we have hardwood so we don’t have to worry about that kind of thing. He opened the door for her as they left, and we watched them pull out of the driveway, trying not to let them see us peering from the dining room window. And that’s when the memories came flooding back.

Being a teenager and waiting for that special boy to pick you up. Praying to God that your parents didn’t say or do anything embarrassing while he was there, and trying to get out the door fast enough to prevent dad’s Great Inquisition or Mom’s nosey questions. Hoping that he doesn’t notice your grade school photo on the wall. Feeling like you’re on top of the world while you’re sitting in the car with that boy, and thinking that time has never passed so quickly. There’s shyness, laughs and that first kiss that stops your heart.

For a long time after they left that night, Hubby and I talked about those teenage dates. He gave me the boy’s perspective, which I had never thought about. Nerves, worrying about whether that special girl would actually say yes to his invitation to dinner and a movie, tentatively knocking on her front door, enduring her dad’s stare and trying to get out of the house with that girl as fast as possible without being rude. One time, he picked up a girl for a date, and her dad never said a word to him the whole time Hubby was in their house. He never responded to anything Hubby said and to this day has never spoken to him. The man had four daughters. It’s easy to understand why he was protective.

This past Saturday night was Homecoming, so we went through the whole special dress, matching shoes, pictures in the living room experience that I remember doing so many years ago. Her red dress was lovely. His matching tie was elegant, and the warmth radiating from their big smiles almost required sunscreen. They were cute, cute, cute, and I nearly laughed out loud when I remembered that all of us girls wore knickers to Homecoming my senior year of high school.

I remember those times well, and it’s fun watching Teen Angel go through them, too. It will be a long time before she realizes that this was probably just one of several big dates in her life, that there will be other fancy dresses and other kisses. I’m just glad she seems to have figured out now that stepping out that door with a boy who is nice and caring and respectful is the most important part of the evening.

Things Hula Likes

1. Smooth, brown hardwood flooring that brings nature inside.
2. Tumbled tile that adds warmth to a room.
3. Pretty pendant lights that make a great accent. (And yes, I will be removing the tags and dust eventually.)
4. Electricians who don’t freak when they’ve just finished the job but you call them anyway the next day to say, “Hey, about these cool pendant lights I bought on a whim at Lowes last night. They sure would look great over the snack bar.”
5. Teenage daughters who go to the Homecoming dance with her buddy and dance the night away with friends when the boy in her life turns out recently to be a real doo doo head.

She's a Big Girl Now

Have I mentioned lately how proud I am of this one? Besides being an "A" student and working hard at her job, she's a great help to her grandparents, a pretty cool cousin to her nephew and a right mature young lady given some of the tragedy she's had to deal with in the last few years. She's also very empathetic to others. My baby's growing up, but she's growing up to be a good girl. Growing way too fast, though. Way too fast. Oh, and she's just like her mama. She can't keep her mouth shut, even when I tell her to.

Pretty Baby

Teen Angel and Special Delivery

Oh, that girl loves her new cousin. It seems like just yesterday she was the baby, and we were blowing bubbles on her belly and kissing her ear. As I look at this photo, I have one overriding thought: My baby isn't a baby anymore. In fact, everywhere I look these days is a reminder that she's growing up. That she has tossed aside childish things and is well on her way to becoming a young woman.

For example, the last two years she has earned money during the summer by babysitting several days a week and mowing. This summer, she’ll have her first real job where she’ll earn minimum wage and fill out a time card. She’ll be working at our favorite bakery in town. The job market for teens is pretty tight around here, so we were afraid she might have trouble finding something, but she got a call this week from the bakery owner asking her to “be a part of their team”. She goes in next weekend to work out her schedule. She is excited, and so are we because it was probably the hard volunteer work she did in the church kitchen during the ice storm that earned her the recommendation for the job. For that, I’m very proud. She’s a good worker, and I know she’ll do well.

She continues to practice driving, so she can take her driver’s test this June and hopefully, earn her license. And can I just say I think I’ve done a remarkable job of being calm and not grabbing the dashboard or stomping my imaginary brake pedal while giving those lessons from the passenger’s side of the car?. If all goes well, she’ll be driving solo with the sun roof open in two months. Her first summer of independence. And she has had a couple of dates recently. Aye, yi, yi. Is that ever tough to watch her walk out the door on the arm of a boy who thinks he’s Dale Earnhardt, Junior.

In the last month she has received solicitations from four colleges. It’s time for us to start looking at campuses and weighing the options. From what I understand, now is the time to get on waiting lists because it’s getting harder to get accepted just about anywhere these days. She’s already giving me and Hubby a taste of the empty nest syndrome we’ll feel when she goes to college in a couple of years. She was out of town last weekend on a school trip and will be gone again this weekend. We survived last weekend okay, but it was strange. Not bad. We always spend a lot of time together, so we’re not like those couples who don’t know what to say when they are alone together. You know, the folks who drift apart over the years, held together only by their children. But we are used to being a trio, not a duo, so it felt a little odd to be without her. Like we were missing a limb or something. I’m sure she loved it. It was the first time she took a school trip that one of us did not chaperon. It was time for us to take that step, too. To let her be on the road without us, making her own decisions about responsibility and safety.

There comes a time when you have to start giving them some freedom, to stand back and hope they remember what you’ve taught them, remember what you stand for and make the right choices. You know they’ll make some wrong ones along the way, and that’s what is tough. These are some difficult years, but I know we’ll get through it, and this stage will fly by faster than we expected. We’ll have much grayer hair than when we started. On the positive side, she’s a good kid, a really good kid who will probably do great things and make us proud. And I just might score that amaretto scone recipe I’ve been trying to worm out of that bakery for the last year.

On Tour

The countdown is on for Teen Angel, me and her best bud-27 days until we attend the Blue October concert in St. Louis.

Blue October

They’re very excited. I’m pretty revved up myself. I love live musical performances, especially at a venue I’ve never been to before. I had Teen Angel burn me a CD of some of their songs, and I’ve decided I really like this group. I expect to enjoy the show, and all of this concert talk is providing me some entertainment between now and then….and memories.

It has gotten me all nostalgic and forced me to pull up this picture.I think this is 1982. M., C. and I about to head out to an REO Speedwagon concert about an hour away from home. I'm in the middle. Look at us in all of our Calvin Klein jean and oxford shirt glory. You can smell the Love’s Baby Soft just looking at that picture. And the hair. Oh, the big hair. Believe it or not, we’ve all registered higher marks on the big hair meter than seen in this photo. God, I loved the 80’s.

M. sent me this picture after our reunion last year, and immediately the memories of that night flood back. The giggly drive there. The purchase of counterfeit T-shirts. The loudness of the band. Waving only one cigarette lighter in the air, because none of us smoked and that’s all we had. Sigh. Good times.

Remember what it was like to be a teenager and to be SOOOO into the music of your time? I came of age at a time when everything about live shows was big. Big sounds, big hair, big pyrotechnics. Kiss, Def Leppard, Van Halen ruled the tours, and the Rolling Stones weren’t old yet, although they were working on it. I saw the Police on their Synchronicity tour, and thought I’d died and gone to heaven. I know what Teen Angel is going to experience in a few weeks, and I’m excited for her. So, to mark the occasion dear readers, I’m asking you to tell me in three lines or less about your first or best concert experience as a teen. Come on. Break out your oxford shirt or your poodle skirt and divulge.

A Shout Out to M.'s Mom

The other day when I posted the answers to Jason's interview questions I wrote this response to the question about the fastest I've ever gone in a car:

"I’m not sure. I was afraid to open my eyes and look. I was seventeen years old and my friend M. was driving us across a rickety bridge in her boyfriend’s Trans Am. Let’s just say I was constipated for about a week because my butt was puckered so tightly."

You met M. back in September when I wrote about our elementary school reunion. She's the one on the right. Her mother always seemed to know what we were up to when we were kids. It was hard to pull anything over on her. Apparently, it still is. You see, I didn't realize that she reads this blog regularly, and the night I published the interview post she called M. up and asked if it was HER that was with me in that car and if we were going over the ---- Bridge. It was. And we were. And just like that, I had ratted out my buddy. Even though I hadn't print her name, and I left out the names of the boyfriend and the bridge. It didn't matter. After all these years, her mama still has that super sonic mischief detecting radar that we tried to fly under during our teenaged years. It hasn't weakened one bit.

I hear they had a good laugh about the whole thing, and how you really don't want to know all the things your kids did behind your back when they were young. What a relief!

And it's fun to know M.'s mom is stopping by here on a regular basis. Howdy, M.'s mom! I'll try not to reveal any more old memories that might give you a heart attack. Besides, we didn't pull much over on you all those years ago. Well, there WAS that trip to the college town about an hour away from home on a Friday night......

Say A Prayer And Pass The Tylenol

Teen Angel turned sixteen yesterday. Boys and cars, oh my! Dating and driving, my, my, my! I'm not ready for this. For years, I've told her, "You can date when you're sixteen." And it seemed so far away. Like I had forever to prepare myself for this terrifying stage of her life. Terrifying for me. Thrilling for her. For weeks, she's been counting down the days until her birthday. And it finally happened. Against my desperate prayers for the good Lord to make her twelve again. Well, maybe not twelve. That was kind of a sucky age. Ten, perhaps. I am soooo not ready for this. It seems like only yesterday we were celebrating her first birthday, and she was flinging cake in the floor.

She was such a good baby. Except for that short phase of reflux when she had a habit of projectile vomiting on anyone within a five foot radius. She was so much fun. Always clowning around.For the longest time her favorite thing in the whole wide world was a "boon". For a dollar we could buy a balloon at the grocery store and keep her occupied for a week. She loved a good birthday cake. Still does.

And even though she's kind of a tomboy now, she had her princess stage.

And then it was back to the clowning around stage.

She has always loved to swim. For a long time she never swam without goggles of some kind.And she's always been adventurous. She'll ride any roller coaster you put in front of her. I was especially proud of the time we took her out of school for a trip to Las Vegas, and she wowed a room full of people by climbing a very tall rock wall.

She was pretty proud of herself, too.

There have been many other proud moments too, for academics and achievements, but most of all I'm proud of her compassion for her fellow man, her kindness to those in need and her love of laughter. She's a devoted friend and a very principled person. She's growing into a wonderful young woman. I just hope my heart can hold out during these next few years while she's finding her way and clipping the apron strings. She's ready for it. I don't think me and her dad are. Her first date is bound to show up on the door any day, now, and her driving permit test looms next week. Oy vey! Someone pass the Tylenol.

Freeze Frame

You know, a surprise is around every corner when you have teenagers. Whenever I start downloading pictures from the camera I often find myself picturing Forrest Gump and his box of chocolates because ya' just never know what you're gonna' get. I expect the Washington Monument, I get this.Or street shots from Washington, D.C. and I find this.

How about that baby giraffe at the zoo? Nope. Just this.

That beautiful view from the patio of our rental house in Florida?

Or a family picture from our shopping trip to Nashville?

And I'm really not sure where this came from.The mind of a fifteen year old is a vacation destination of its own.

The Haunting

Poltergeist: (from German poltern, meaning to rumble or make noise, and Geist, meaning "ghost", "spirit", or "embodiment") denotes a spirit or ghost that manifests itself by moving and influencing objects.

The Hula-gen’s have a ghost in their house, specifically, the bathroom. I’m sure of it. Otherwise, there is no explanation for this since NO ONE in the house seems to know how this happens on a regular basis.

This ghost must be the same spirit that left a towel on the bathroom floor Wednesday night, empty hangers on the shower door, a book in the floor, and an iPod stand and half empty bottle of club soda on the counter. Anyone know a good exorcist or should I wait and see if this poltergeist’s mischief tapers off in about three years?

Like It's the Best Evah

Like Teen Angel got like this new cell phone yesterday. Oh my God! It's like the best evah. Like no one else has the same phone 'cause it's so new, and like it slides and everything. She had to call her BFF's Allison and Sarah right away to share the news 'cause it's just the best thing to happen to her during spring break and all. Oh, and because she's been like so responsible she now has unlimited texting, so like if she uses more than the 998 texts she like used last month she won't get in TRBL with her parents and have to pay extra on the phone bill. And like she Bluetoothed her old ring tones so Feels Like Teen Spirit plays when a certain someone calls and Back on Black plays when her mom calls and like...well....like it's just too exciting for words. OH MY GOD!!!

Parenting Method #3861

Disciplining your children is tough. Each child is different, and you have to find the technique that works for each child. For instance, hanging Child A by his toes from a large tree may not work for Child B. Child B may respond better to water boarding or sleep deprivation. I have found that you have to get more creative with discipline as your children get older, and they get more creative in their ways to circumvent your rules. I found a new technique this week and thought I'd share it since we parents have to stick together if we're ever going to get out of this thing alive, right?

Teen Angel has always been a very stubborn child (gets it from her father, of course), and standard punishments didn't really work well with her. She laughed at "time outs". She had the stamina of a POW and could sit in the corner for hours without batting an eye....when she was four. Solitary confinement in her room didn't bother her at all, and spankings were only mildly effective. Over the years I had to resort to drastic measures....house work. She hates cleaning as much as I do. Making her do it yielded better behavior from her, and eliminated a backlog of chores for me. It was a Eureka! moment when I discovered this tactic, and I rode that wave for....well, I still am. When she was six she had to scrub toilets because of her smart alecky mouth. When she was ten she had to clean the kitchen floor with a toothbrush because of her smart alecky mouth. When she was twelve she had to do laundry because of her smart alecky mouth. Now she does laundry to earn her weekly allowance and Hubby does some of the cleaning because he's retired, so I'm running out of chores for her to do when she acts like a heathen. I've been searching for new techniques.


We still have several effective methods for bad behavior in public. We have been known to sing or dance in the middle of Wal-Mart to get her to stop acting surly and mouthy. Or if she's acting really ugly, I just lay a big juicy kiss on her dad. Parental PDA stops her in her tracks every time. But at home, we were still lacking a really good method for zipping her mouth when it's out of control...until last Monday. I accidentally stumbled upon some parental shock and awe, the stealth fighter of teenage discipline, the mother of all weapons of mass attitude destruction.......parental nudity.

Remember how appalling it is to see your parents naked when you're a teenager? For some time now, I've been hollering out "nekked alert" to Teen Angel if such a moment arises on my way to the shower, but Monday she walked into the dressing room ahead of me, and I started changing clothes while her back was turned. I was standing there mostly in my birthday suit when she turned back around. Feeling sassy, I raised my arms and shouted "boo"! She screamed and ran, shouting, "My retinas. My retinas. Call a doctor! I'm blind!" Oh, it was great. I ran after her, and she ran harder, hollering for me to get away. At that moment she would have agreed to any of my demands just so I would have put on some clothes. Oh, yeah. She was putty in my hands. It was sweet. And the good part about this method parents, is that you don't have to be completely nekked. Apparently, just seeing your parent's partially clad, wrinkling body is enough to send a teenager into convulsions. Now, I wouldn't do this to a son, and I wouldn't want Hubby to do it to our daughter, but giving your teenager a glance at what he or she will look like in about thirty years shuts them up. I'm sure Dr. Phil would have something to say about all of this, but desperate times call for desperate measures, so if you find yourself in a pickle and can't get your teenager under control, I say show 'em some skin. I'm tellin' you. It will leave them speechless.

Baby Love

Teen Angel celebrated her fifteenth birthday yesterday? When did I get so old...um..I mean, when did she get so grown up? Can she really be fifteen? In one more year, will she actually be dating and driving a car? Lord help us all when she gets on the highway. Lord help her dad when she starts dating. Actually, you should probably pray for any boy who has to get past her dad in order to take the girl on a date. She's so ready for all of this and I am sooooo not ready. Am I the only one who feels like parenting a teenager is like riding an out of control Amtrak train in the middle of Siberia? It's all moving so fast.

She moved quickly from the very beginning with labor pains that started ten minutes apart and burst through my pelvis at what felt like 90 miles per hour. She was birthed so fast I didn't even get my prepaid epidural. And yes, I WAS disappointed about the lack of pain medication. Don't believe any of that hocus pocus about natural birth not being that bad. It freakin' hurts. Two and a half hours of labor, and we were done! In no time at all she was washed and swaddled and I was being rolled over and checked for hemorrhoids. Ah, the humiliation that comes with pregnancy and childbirth. There are so many people who look at your hoo hoo and backside before, during and after childbirth that you start to feel like a display at the Smithsonian. I thought then that the really hard work was over. Little did I know that giving birth is the easiest part of parenting.

The freight train we dubbed Teen Angel zipped through those first few months with early milestones. Tossing her pacifier at six months, walking at nine months. She never really crawled very much. Once she figured out she could move, she stood up and walked. Well, she didn't walk much either, she ran everywhere. She had more speed than balance, bouncing off of walls and door frames like a drunk in a fun house. That girl was in a hurry. In no time at all, she was hopping on a school bus with a big bow in her hair and a gap toothed grin. She lost her teeth early, too. Elementary school brought friends, books and boys. Her first crush was in second grade. Puberty and middle school weren't far behind, and suddenly we arrived at high school. She is a freshman now. How did that happen? It's all moving way too fast.

In three and a half years she will head off to college to get a degree, become wildly successful and support her poor old aging parents who had to sell everything they own for her college education and Big Star jeans. She will likely leave our home in...just..three..and..a..half..years. Gulp. Could someone please slow down this train...just a little bit? I want her to love high school as much as I did and to enjoy college (not in the party like a rock star with every frat boy in sight way), so I will try to hide my "Oh my God my baby isn't a baby" angst and smile and cheer through the next few years. But Lordy this is hard. This really is tougher than the whole, no epidural, hemorrhoid part.

Once Upon A Time....

Hansel and Gretel are living in my house. That's the only explanation I can find for the trail of crumbs and other stuff that is strewn from room to room because Teen Angel won't take the blame for it. I asked her if she was afraid of getting lost in her own home. In just the last couple of days I have found a banana peel in the living room, dirty socks in the kitchen and bits and pieces of craft yarn all over the house. On the computer table was a library book, a bag of coin wrappers, some candy and a hairbrush full of hair. On the bathroom vanity I turned up a half empty Subway cup, a bag of cosmetics that still hasn't been unpacked from vacation and iPod speakers. This is not a complete list. I could go on and on. This is just a small sample of the stuff that she has littered around our cottage this weekend. Now, I don't expect her to be really neat. I'm not. But I would like to keep down the level of stuff that I have to trip over or dig through just to get to the toilet or to find my bed.

It all started in Florida. When this kid goes on vacation, she goes on vacation...from cleaning up after herself. I'm all about promoting self sufficiency, so I spent time each day ragging her butt about picking up stuff. I lost track of the number of times I had to make her get up and pick up trash or personal belongings she left laying around the house. Each time, she acted like she had never heard the rule about picking up after yourself. Hubby says he had to take over where I left off when I flew home. Apparantly, she still thinks she's on vacation from KP duty. It wouldn't bother me so much if she didn't pretend as if none of it was her fault. Well, who else would leave a banana peel on the coffee table? Not her neat freak dad, and not the dog. He likes bananas but hasn't figured out how to peel them with paws yet. Nope, that mess is all hers but she denies it to the end. That's why I brought up the fairy tale characters to her. I figure if she's going to spin a yarn, I can too.

I've decided to start a color code for the level of stuff laying around the house. You know, like the federal government does for terrorism. I noticed at the airport last week, we were at level orange. I think we're at about level yellow on the crap meter around here today. Yesterday was red. And just like the government, I will take the appropriate precautions for the different levels. Yellow prompts nagging. Orange is the loss of privileges (cell phones and iPods are always effective), and red moves us to the Defcon 4 measure of throwing away stuff that isn't in its place. She may not live happily ever after with that method, but I will.

Dressed to Kill

I have decided that the only thing more frustrating than trying on dresses is shopping with a teenaged girl for a party dress. I have previously documented my angst over buying dresses for myself, but I hit an all new level of frustration this past weekend while shopping with Teen Angel for a Homecoming dress. It is Homecoming at the various schools in this area, so the stores were full of moms and daughters duking it out over dresses. Whew! The tension in the mall was as thick as my eyebrows.

Teen Angel is not allowed to date until she’s 16. Well, her dad says 23, but I think that’s a little overboard. He just remembers how hormonal he was at that age, and it scares the bejesus out of him. Anyway, she’ll be going to this dance with a gaggle of girls. I say gaggle because they’re just as loud and vocal as a group of geese. Apparently, they dress up for Homecoming now a little more than we did back in the pioneer days known as the late 70’s. Disco was still in during my freshman year, so I wore a white satin shirt, satin pants, satin ballcap and a green satin purse to my first Homecoming. Oh, and Candies platforms. I wish I had a picture to share because you would all get a huge laugh out of that ensemble. Teen Angel said it’s MUCH different now adays. She didn’t like my idea of a nice fall jacket and gauchos that could be worn throughout the season so off we headed to the dress department for something I hoped might have a slim chance of being worn more than once and wasn’t going to cost as much as a new Harley.



We discovered long lines in dressing rooms and racks and racks of stuff that seemed way too sexy for young teens. Who designs this stuff? Certainly not someone who has a teenaged daughter or else the tops of these dresses would have much more material. And it seems most of these little rags come in teeny, tiny sizes designed to fit only the anorexic. That led to two hours of “I’m fat” when in fact she isn’t, but it sure made her feel that way. Nothing I said made a difference. I’m old and stupid, you know. And some of the prices were downright ridiculous. Just when I was about to pull my hair out, and I had reached the end of my patience, something wonderful happened. I ran to the restroom in the midst of a marathon fitting/debate session and came back to the dressing room to find Teen Angel standing in a perfectly fitting, lovely dress that looks grown up, but not trashy. And she liked it. And it was on sale. Ah. Finally, something we agreed upon. With a $29 shrug (that makes mom happy because it can be worn with many things) and an inexpensive pair of black flats, we were done. And I didn’t have to have a margarita after all. I almost fell to my knees in J.C. Penney’s weeping a Sweet Jesus prayer. I whispered it silently instead. I had already caused Teen Angel enough embarrassment for one day just by walking beside her in public for an extended period of time. My relief was short lived, though. I realized that with an average of four dances a year, and with her entire high school years ahead of us, we will have to go through this FIFTEEN more times. About that margarita…