Susan Borowitz - When Were in Public, Pretend You Dont Know Me: Surviving Your Daughters Adolescence So You Dont Look Like an Idiot and She Still Talks to You

Copyright 2003 by Susan Borowitz

All rights reserved.

Warner Books, Inc.,
Hachette Book Group, 237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

Visit our Web site at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

The Warner Books name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

First eBook Edition: April 2003

ISBN: 978-0-446-55450-3

Text design by Meryl Sussman Levavi/Digitext

Cover design by Brigid Pearson

Cover illustration by Mary Lynn Blasutta

SHE NEEDS: BLUE HAIR, A BELLY BUTTON RING, A CELL PHONE, A THREE A.M. CURFEW, AND A WARDROBE LIKE HER FAVORITE ROCK STARS.
YOU NEED: HELP!!!

Packed full of hands-on tips, tricks, and practical advice from other mothers in the trenches with their daughters adolescence, this invaluable guide explains why it is vital to:

Accept that your daughter is a distinct personnot a little version of you

Not be afraid to be hated, because you will befor at least an hour

Learn how to answer the inevitable question: But Mom, dont you trust me?

Understand that just because you breastfed her doesnt mean you're bosom buddies

Be true to yourself, and do not change your looks, your opinions, and your lifestyle to suit you daughters ever-changing whims

Realize that its a normal phase when she tells you

WHEN WE'RE IN PUBLIC, PRETEND YOU DONT KNOW ME

To Alexandra, the wonderful reason
why Im both a mom and uncool.

and

To Max, my sweet pumpkin,
who some day will be my next teen.

I love you both, forever and always,
and theres nothing you can do about it.

And finally
To Momthanks.

First and foremost, Id like to thank Dr. Ava L. Siegler, who in lending her wisdom and expertise to this project has provided invaluable words of guidance and support to many moms of teens, especially me. Also, thanks go to Dr. David Eger for steering me toward Dr. SieglerI am forever indebted; my agents Coleen OShea, Marilyn Allen, and Bob Diforio for believing in me and this book; all my Uncool Moms, especially L. and N., who gave me many stories, and G., who gave me her wonderful words and equally wonderful support; Nora Krug, the editor at the New York Times who got the whole Uncool ball rolling, and Candy Lee, who knew exactly what to do with that ball; Dr. John J. Stine for everything; and very special thanks to my editor, Beth de Guzman, who with the patience of Job supported me through thick and thin. As for my at-home support group, thanks go to my husband, Andy Borowitz, for all his encouragement and the cooking and single fathering he had to do while I was stuck in front of a computer; to Polly Hunt, nanny extraordinaire, master tea-maker, occasional typist, chauffeur, general helpmate, and valued friend; and especially to my children, Alexandra and Max, who understood the inherent contradiction of me working like crazy and sometimes being a lousy mom to write a book about being a good mom.

You know, Mom, you're hardly a perfect mother.

my daughter, 12

In the Beginning

It all starts when we read our baby daughters the childhood classic, The Runaway Bunny. The fantasy of that ubiquitous mommy, who transforms into everything from a gardener to a weather condition just so she can always be with her little bunny, is so seductive and heartwarming that we quickly adopt as our own dream the notion of being forever close to our little girls. Theres only one problem: They grow up. There comes a time in your daughters life when hanging out with Mom is as appealing to her as discussing gastric problems with your own elderly mother is to you.

The question is: When is that time? Just a good look around any shopping mall with a Gap, and you will come to a disturbing conclusion. Not only do few women know the answer to that question, an appallingly small number even know that the question exists.

This book not only poses the question, but also attempts to give the answer, as well as describing the pitfalls that emerge when a woman tries to be her daughters best bud. The worst of these is the middle-aged compulsion to become as hip or cool as a teen at a time when it is most important for us to be uncool. In fact, it is our responsibility to be uncool in the eyes of our daughters, whose fledgling identities do not need the threat of a premenopausal mother in a belly shirt lip-synching Britney Spears.

The two worst times in a womans life are when she is thirteen and when her daughter is thirteen is a maxim well known in psychology circles (to be completely accurate, add ages nine, ten, eleven, twelve, fourteen, fifteenyou get the point). During those years of being a mother of an adolescentthe bewilderness yearswomen are often at a loss as to how to handle their kids, as well as how they should handle themselves vis--vis their kids.

Ignorance Is Bliss

If anyone cornered the bright-eyed young women who dream of the day when a sweet little soul calls them Mommy and told them the realities of parenting a teenager, the species would abruptly come to an end.

None of us went into this with our eyes open. We were intoxicated by the sweet smell of an infants head, as well as inundated with all the nuts and bolts of baby-rearing, which, although difficult and time-consuming, was still a task we knew we could master. After all, we hear of very few cases in which babies need to go to a doctor simply because of a loving parents sheer lack of diapering technique; however, psychiatrists couches are filled with people whose loving parents just screwed up during their childrens adolescence because they subconsciously didnt want them to grow up and leave them.

Feeding her, changing her, burping her, even pacing the floor to calm her colicky tummy is, well, childs play compared to sending her to sleep-away camp, letting her go on her first date, dealing with the subsequent breakup, and especially pacing the floor after handing her the keys to the car. The challenges of teen-rearing are so much more exhausting and enervating than anyone ever told you they would be. Or maybe they did tell you, and you just werent listening because you had your nose pressed onto your babys head.

How do we manage to survive the anxieties, the heartache, the worry, and the exasperation? Well, Ive repeatedly asked my husband to knock me out with a blunt, heavy object and then wake me when its all over, but he refuses. And Ive surfed the Internet trying to find a cost-effective portable Percodan drip, but Ive come up empty there too. So I guess, like all of us, Im stuck living it.

Shes Right

The comment that opens this chapter (You know, Mom, you're hardly a perfect mother) was hurled at me when I told my daughter that I was writing this book. Beyond being an example of the continual job assessment she considers her duty to perform, first and foremost it expresses the truth. Im not. But none of us are. We're learning as we're going, and we're going to goof.

Its easy to think you're the only one goofing if you're parenting in a vacuum, so it is extremely important to get together and talk (and talk honestlydont take it as an opportunity to brag) to other women who are going through the same daily crises as you are. Its nice to know that your daughter isnt the only one who wants to dye her hair a color found only on exotic butterflies, and its comforting to find out that your kid isnt the only one who seems to have paranoid fantasies about the popular kids, and even more comforting to find out that they're neither paranoid nor fantasies.