Another observation I made when my daughter was four: There was a time when I found myself vicariously shopping through my daughter as a way of making up for the way I dressed as a child. OK, maybe I did this again last week. But I always look for sales and I try not to spoil her – I just don’t want her to be caught in a polyester pantsuit on picture day. I realize that doing this will never make my own 1970’s bell-bottom disasters disappear, but it hopefully will give my daughter some sense of reasoning when she gets older and starts making fashion decisions on her own. I think she’s naturally talented, actually. At three, she’d turn a t-shirt into a night skirt and a tank top into a belt, without even thinking about it. It’s been fun to watch. She pairs polka dots with stripes and drapes herself in beaded necklaces – think Mrs. Roper meets Fancy Nancy. I look forward to seeing what she can do in her teens – on the other hand, let me just enjoy this time, soak it up, and stay in denial a little longer.

In my 30’s I watched Dawson’s Creek. NONE of my friends watched it. And I mean none. But guess who is married to Tom Cruise? That’s right, one of the show’s biggest stars, Katie Holmes. I also watched Melrose Place and 90210. OK, I confessed. Now it’s your turn

What happens when your child doesn’t care if you volunteer anymore?

Last year, my son was in the 4^th grade. I had signed up for winter recess duty for the umpteenth time. I walked out to school playground, proudly wearing a new colorful scarf I found a few weeks before. I was trying to not look like I was trying too hard. This was a new school for my son, less than a mile from where he attended K-3^rd. I wanted to make a good impression. To the other kids? The teachers? My son? I haven’t a clue. This is where I get a little nuts when I get a little nervous. But I was excited to see him. That’s one of the reasons I like to volunteer. Not to become PTO president (not that there’s anything wrong with that) but to take a breather from work and see my kids in their element. I glanced around the sports court and monkey bars. I finally spotted my son at the edge of the field playing tag and giggling with a group of boys. I smiled. There were so many kids this year. Girls taller than me, boys that looked like teenagers, and students I’d never seen who were obviously from the other neighborhood elementary schools. There were so many girl cliques, it was stressing me out. Was I in high school again? I was smiling at students I didn’t know; meeting new mothers who obviously volunteer more than I do and saying hello to kids I knew since they were in kindergarten but not so sure they remember me now. A hollow feeling came over me. Like Pepto on an empty stomach. I looked right at my son. He was running back and forth, chasing other kids. I waved. He didn’t wave back. Maybe he didn’t see me? I waited another few minutes. He didn’t acknowledge me.  I swallowed my gum. I realized that I would remember this day for as long as I live. The day my kid became a tween. I cried in my husband’s arms that night.