By Susanne Lewis

As many of you know, I am attempting to raise two teenagers with all the goodwill and good humor I can muster. Most days, I am able to hazard my way through the adolescent minefield that my two children lay out for me with a calculated cunning far beyond their years. Some days, their utter lack of experience and inability to perceive the world around them beyond the scope of their own being is downright hilarious.

Case in point:

While I won’t bore you with details for the first thirty minutes of animated conversation with my sixteen year-old daughter, her final parting shot over the bow is just too decadent to keep to myself. With a precisely executed roll of the eyes, and a sigh that propels the notion of haughtiness to new heights, my darling daughter said to me, “OH-MY-GAWD, Mom. You just have NO IDEA what SEX is all about!”

Really. Hmm. I tried to remain rational and motherly, but I just couldn’t help myself. “If I have no idea what sex is all about, how exactly is it that you think you and your brother got here???”

Another eye roll. Then, The Look. You probably know the one. It’s this odd expression somewhere between the impatience that comes with perceived personal superiority, and compassion for the Village Idiot who gave you life.

Later in the evening, it occurred to me that maybe she is right. If nothing else, maybe it’s just the clarity of hindsight. If I had known at 22 years old that the romantic evening in a posh suite at the Sierra-Cascade Logging Conference was going to lead to me becoming the world’s most clueless woman, a giant albatross for my precious daughter to bear, maybe I would have made different choices.

I could have joined the ranks of my many childless friends. The ones I envy from time to time for their superfluous amounts of free time, their massive arsenal of toys, and the fact that they have fewer gray hairs and worry lines.

But then again, I would have missed so much. Opened bananas stuffed in my purse by sticky toddler hands. Cartwheels in the grass. Mother’s Day breakfast in bed — seriously, IN BED — without the plate. Reading at bedtime. The breathtaking ride the first time a child climbs behind the wheel of a car.

Maybe it’s something like the chicken and the egg. If you really knew what it was all about beforehand, would you dive right in and become a parent?

Upon receipt of this epiphany, I went and crawled into my daughter’s bed and stroked her hair as she hugged my neck. I told her, “I know I’m clueless sometimes. Bear with me. Some day, you’ll see the benefit.”

Susanne Lewis lives in Redding. She is a mother, wife, freelance writer and ardent promoter of the sunny side of life.

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