Tween

There is a tween in my life.

She is 12, but her body shape could put her at 14. She can be quiet without being sullen. The thought of getting her monthly friend makes her visibly uncomfortable, but she has begun regularly using the razor I stored under her sink. She is still several inches shorter than me, but can wear my shoes. I do not have small feet. She would kill me if she read that.

She loves watching Johnny Quest with her dad before bed, but has seen every episode ever produced of American Idol and Survivor. She can still play up a storm in the basement, her games replete with roles and props and southern accents. Yet she is now found more often in her room watching a downloaded show on her laptop, texting at the same time. With the door closed. Her iTouch holds as many songs as it does games. Last week she finally removed all the stuffed animals from her room to make room for more adult decorations.

She can eat an enormous bowl of ice cream with sprinkles, cherries and cookies on top, but orders caesar salad and ice water at restaurants. Her dreams at night involve shopping with her friends at Target and Old Navy, but she has yet to dream of driving there herself. Well, that's not exactly true. She has practiced driving in our neighborhood with JBL. But car insurance is nothing more than a source of funny commercials on TV.

She wears all manner of earrings, but was horrified by the Avril Lavigne-inspired makeup her cousin sported during her last visit. She has read the Twilight series twice, and thinks one of the vampires (not the main guy, but the other guy) is cute. Yet none of the boys at school remotely interest her. At least not that I know of.

She'll attempt to clean the mud off her own shoes - first by dragging the hose through a bed of irises onto the patio, then upon finding the outside water turned off, she will finish the job in the bathroom recently cleaned for guests. When asked about the wisdom of leaving mud and grass in the sink, her reply was, "Well.....?" (read in and innocent, confused tone).

When I run into her at school and she is with her friends, she won't look at me in the eyes. I'm almost certain she is hoping I won't hug her before we part. When we are home, she still hugs me before going to bed. I realize more and more that when I talk with her I have no idea what she is thinking.

I know this tween time is a gift - a period for me to get used to K becoming an adult. In addition to teaching her about the Rolling Stones, James Brown and Frank Sinatra, I need to listen to her music. As I encourage her to watch the science channel, I should read the chick lit books she is into.

This time, I know, is my last chance to reach out and really build a bridge of a relationship with her. Now that I have promised to stop treating her like a stepdaughter, I try to really look at her. She is a child who is almost a teenager. She wants my respect and unconditional love. She needs down time and healthy food and independence. She wants a good role model and someone who will give her space to blossom. And she doesn't really need much at all.

So I will try to keep seeing her, to not embarrass her, to gain perspective on the teen she has almost become, to protect the child she still is. I will love her. She is the key to the door that locked in all my junk for decades, and I am so thankful to let it all go. Thank you God for K.