I try very hard to relate to our daughters. Sometimes I try too hard. I find myself examining my teenage life with a microscope, looking for any situation that seems similar to something the girls are going through. And then, before I can stop myself, I say the five words that make my daughters cringe:

“When I was your age….”

My intentions are good. I want them to know that I understand. I get it. I can help. But, for some mysterious reason, all my good intentions fall flat on their you-know-what. I get the glazed over stare and polite silence, sometimes served with a side of eye rolls. This doesn’t happen all the time, but often enough. It usually ends with me feeling pouty and left out. Very mature, I know.

I finally understand that my “When I was your age” doesn’t really connect with my daughters – it invalidates them. I made them feel that I was comparing myself to them, and that they were coming up short. I was taking away their experience and making it all about me.

Ouch.

I have to remind myself often that they are not me. They’re entitled to their own experiences and life lessons. James and I are here to guide, protect, discipline, love, etc., but not to live their lives for them. I still fall into the “When I was your age” trap at times, but I’m working to listen more to what they have to say before I interject.

And sometimes, if I’m very, very quiet, one of them will creep up to my side and softly ask, “Did this ever happen when you were my age?” Ah, Heaven.

Since this is my first blog entry, I thought I would give you a bit of an intro about us. James & I have been married for over 20 years, and our lives have been a real adventure. Our family grew from two (“I do!”), to three (“Congratulations, it’s a girl!”) to five (“You’re having twin girls? !”). Guess we have a thing for prime numbers – glad we didn’t go for 7, 11, etc. If anyone had tried to tell me what life would be like with three itty bitty girls under age 3, I wouldn’t have believed them. And I definitely wouldn’t have believed any predictions about life with three teenage girls!

Our daughters are 16, 14, and 14, and every day is an X-chromosome fest. Makeup, hair paraphernalia, and various & sundry girl-debris litter our house. I know more about their friends’ latest drama than I do about my own. They’ve tried to teach me how to Dougie, Wobble, and Bernie, all to no avail. And don’t get me started on boys — I’ll save that topic for another post.

I’ve logged 1000s of miles in the minivan with the girls, shuttling them to dance classes, basketball games, track meets, study groups, etc. The minivan has been our own little bubble, where we feel safe to fully express ourselves. We’ve had some great conversations, tearful arguments, and moments of profound silliness, all in the van. And I’ve learned SO much about those three marvelous young women I’m blessed to call my daughters and about myself as a mother.

I’m so excited to share my journey with you! I hope you can relate to some of my misadventures, and know that you’re not alone in your minivan tales. And please, feel free to comment and share some of your thoughts!

So…here we go!