Please raise your hands out there if you have teenagers.

Thank you.

And how many of those teenagers enjoy your company?

And how many of them give you a verbal lashing on a daily basis?

All of you?

Lovely.

So, here’s the current state of my five-and-a-half-year-old:

[Hands on hips, squinty eyes, erect posture] “I am NOT happy and you are NOT making me happy so that means I will never be happy!” Oh, the daggers.

And I can just feel teenage-hood knocking on my door, coming in for a glass of iced tea, and staying for awhile, right until this wicked-tongued kindergartner has her car keys and is dating a dude named Armando with 17 tatooes.

Please tell me that is not in my future.

Yes, I will be honest with you - it’s a brand new year and my little girl is springing up before my eyes; reading, playing the piano, understanding stuff, and developing a serious ‘tude, which is a grand precursor to her formidable teenage years when she will be destined to despise her parents but still require money and transportation so she can exist in her suburban euphoria while her deadbeat rents hope that one day she starts to like them again.

Please tell me it’s not that bad.

Please tell me that the boys will be polite and they will actually be studying when they say, and that Facebook really isn’t such a mindsuck and dangerous online jungle…please oh please.

But I know that my teenage premonitions are real.

Which is why I am so thrilled when I get a hug and a kiss and a swift ride down the mountain on the sled, clutching my dear daughter as the cold flakes shower down onto us, and I just want us to be frozen right there, forever, until we tumble off sideways, laughing, perfectly.

I don’t want to lose that.

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