And So We Dance.

Life with two fifth grade girls can be... well... complicated.

My ten-year old twins are in Limboland. They're stuck between being little kids and pre-teens. They still love to play Barbies, but also dance around the house listening to Ke$ha and asking to wear makeup. (Uh, no.)

They flip-flop between extreme neediness and a fierce quest for independence. One minute, they're laying their heads in my lap and calling me Mommy and the next they're sulking around the house, purposely drowning me out with their headphones.

It's a veritable minefield of moodiness around here.

I try to remember what it was like to be ten and a half. How it felt to think my parents were brilliant one minute, and then total idiots the next. What it was like to crave security and comfort while fighting tooth and nail for little bits of independence.

What I remember most about my own tweenage years, is being told to watch my tone of voice. I never understood how my mom could get so mad when I really didn't say anything wrong.

"It's not what you said, it's how you said it," she'd say. And then she'd ground me for a week.

I try to keep my own tweenage lack of self-awareness in mind with my kids today. They don't know they're being irrational. They have no clue their moodiness is hormonal -- and they won't for some time.

It wasn't until my first pregnancy that I recognized my own crazy hormonal mood swings and wondered "what the hell was that?!?" Once, looking at a little stuffed lamb in the baby aisle, I began sobbing uncontrollably.

I couldn't stop.

I was alternately overcome by excited anticipation and sheer panic at the prospect of becoming a mother. I stepped outside of my head like some sort of out-of-body experience and watched myself act and feel crazy. I knew I was being nuts, but was powerless to stop it. I could only apologize when it was over.

I guess that kind of presence of mind comes with age. I can't expect my girls to realize they're acting out anymore than I could when I was in the fifth grade.

And so we do the dance.

I pirouette around the emotionally charged landmines and try to avoid parenting pitfalls that'll only make them feel alienated and angry. I use my "because I said so's" sparingly and instead try to explain the reason for my rules. I want them to know I'm not arbitrarily making up rules to piss them off, but and am instead acting in their best interest.

My efforts, however, are probably futile. Getting pissed off at parents is like a national past time for tweens everywhere. It's what they do and they're good at it.

I read once that kids have to challenge their parents otherwise, they'd never be able to think independently. They have to resist letting someone make decisions for them so they may begin to make their own.

This angst-driven conflict is normal. It's natural. And it makes sense. Eventually, you've got to want to leave the nest, otherwise you'll never bother spreading your wings.

And unless I want to experience the tears and drama associated with housing 35-year old sisters, I'd better just learn to go with the flow.