My oldest daughter had to fight for everything: getting to see a PG-13 movie before she was thirteen, going to the mall alone with friends, getting a Facebook account. My youngest daughter gets to reap the benefits of the battles her sister fought.
I have repeated the story of the boy who cried wolf so many times that I have become the mother who cried the boy who cried wolf.
At almost a foot shorter than her sibling, it is more than just a metaphor to say that my youngest has grown up in her sister's shadow.
For the most part, I am pretty proud of my teenager's departures from the mommy mold. But there is one area in which we are so different that I'm about to tear my hair out.
Frustrated in my attempts to get my girls to open up, I have found a pretty good intermediary: books. That is why I have undertaken the tactic of reading what my children read.
As far as I'm concerned, there is only one mother that I might consider a worthy role model for my children: Mother Teresa. And even then, I would suggest they question her fashion sense.