For generations, the poignant discussion of "Now you are a woman" has been followed closely by the decidedly less touching conversation: "Here, shove this up your hootie."

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My husband's face darkens every time my teenage daughter mentions a boy she likes. You see, having been a boy himself, he knows what they're after. So it is my duty to keep my husband from purchasing a 12-gauge as our daughter blossoms.

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My tween just graduated from 5th grade. At her ceremony, I was fairly bursting with joy, although not for all the reasons you assume. Oh sure, I was proud of her accomplishments and filled with the bittersweet realization that my little girl is growing up, et cetera, et cetera. But to be honest, I was equally thrilled with the prospect of her entering a middle school where I am a complete unknown.

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Does this sound familiar? You're at a function -- birthday party, open house, boutique sale -- where other moms in your social circle are likely to be. Expressions of expectant curiosity register on all the faces until someone finally says what's on everybody's mind: "Margaritas?"

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Lately, around my house, the phrase "You're going to regret that!" has been used a lot. By me.

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In high school I was part of the crowd that did all the school plays. We wore Danskin leotards with our jeans and spent lunch periods improvising deeply esoteric skits in the commons. We called ourselves "theatre geeks." The rest of the school called us "those weirdos."

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Anyone who has never been lied to by their teenager, take one step forward. Not so fast, Anyone!

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