Despite my fervent warnings, my 13 year old daughter is going to see her first scary movie today. I suppose I’ll need to make some room in my bed tonight.

It’s possible she will be like her father, who has no problem sitting in a dark house in the wee hours of the night while the TV flashes images unfit for my psyche. cough…Saw…cough. Popcorn and Paranormal Activity are not my idea of a good time.

My guess is that she’ll be more like me and won’t be able to wash the dishes without thinking someone is walking up behind her. Note: Always wash the steak knives last, so they’re within easy reach for a quick stabbing.

Maybe she will walk past a window and be startled by her own reflection, or feel the need to look in her closet and under her bed before she goes to sleep. Maybe she’ll be scared to go in the basement, or take a shower, or walk anywhere after dark. Where’s my Zoloft?

Though, I suppose it would be a good thing for this movie to scare her in the way Amityville Horror did me. I am cautious, aware, and I know how to wield a crucifix.

Not to mention that the last time my husband and I went to the shooting range, I was a way better shot.

If you’ve been here before, you likely know that my nine year old son is one of a kind. For real. That thing about breaking the mold? He cracked that sucker straight in half.

When other kids would rather shuffle from classroom to classroom without making eye contact, I’ve been told that every time my kid sees his music teacher in the hallway, he greets her with, “La, la, la, la, la!”

He has no problem telling strangers that he thinks they’re pretty, he can convince anyone that he shouldn’t get punished for something and he has a way of wiggling into situations in which he has no business. Last week, when we went to get his new glasses, he got the technician to let him adjust his own glasses with that little heater they use.

He’s a nine year old used-car salesman in the body of a five year old.

Last night at his Cub Scout meeting, the boys played a game where they blew a ping-pong ball across a table. If they let the ball fall onto the floor, they were out. My son lost round after round.

When we were heading to the car after the meeting he said, “That game was fun, but I lost every time!”

I replied, “Well, somebody had to lose. As long as you had fun while you were playing and you tried your best, it doesn’t really matter.”

For a moment he considered my philosophy. Then he said, “Yeah, but I don’t think I could blow the ball across the table because I don’t have enough hot air.”

Really? Because I think you’re pretty full of it.

My 13 year old daughter is wicked smart. I know that sounds conceited, because it is.

I never have to tell her to study or do her homework, she just does it. She reads so much (12 books so far this month) that I sometimes have to tell her to stop. She makes the parent/student relationship very, very easy.

As I’ve always said, if her brother hadn’t been born, I would think I was the best parent on the face of the earth. Thank goodness he came along to set me straight. And, oh boy, did he ever. I found out that my daughter isn’t intelligent from anything I’ve done, just as I can’t be held responsible for my son’s wrong answers.

I make mistakes just like any other mother, but this latest misstep of mine was quite a doozy. *head desk*

I told the super-smart, natural-braniac daughter of mine that she could get a hamster if she got straight A’s for the entire school year. We’re halfway through…

I have never wished so hard for a “B”.

My nine year old son got upset last night watching his 13 year old sister use the calculator on her cell phone. That’s right, my kids fight over math. You can’t touch this kind of brilliance. Or, geekdom.

My son was complaining because he wants a cell phone and telling him he had to wait until he was 13 apparently came across as, “You have to wait an eternity! Mwah ha ha!” Then I waved my wand and threw some eye of newt on his pizza.

So, I made a deal with him. I said, “If you get good grades and are well-behaved, you can get a cell phone when you’re 12.”

To which he replied, “Okay, so if I’m not well-behaved then I can get one when I’m 13?”