...I hate you.

those three words...are uttered in total frustration from a teen daughter who thinks her cell phone is her birthright. For me it just signifies the ongoing objectification of relationships. My frustration stems from the "expectation" that she turn it off at 9:00 p.m. weekdays and 11:00 or so on weekends. But the data shows that she has 1) texted all night with friends (then was too tired for school) 2) talked all night with friends 3) texted during school hours 4) goodness knows what else since I can't as easily track her web use.

Shrieks the daughter...I am almost 16 and I pay for my phone. Must be a debt paid in expletives and piles of laundry on the floor of her bedroom or unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink.

Part of me relishes the idea that my punishment will be that she will "hole up" in her bedroom trading tragic stories with her teenaged girlfriends. Part of me longs for the simpler days when homes had but one phone and maybe a long cord for "privacy" and text was something seen in a newspaper, magazine article or a book.

But I am half-way through the tough times with this one if she keeps her promise to vacate the premises on her 18th birthday. But I have a son who will just be entering those volatile and vitriolic years as well. Time will tell. Time will tell.