A few days ago, my son and I were in the middle of a conversation when he put his hand in front of my face and said, “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

I rolled my eyes, shut my mouth and started counting silently.

I hadn’t even made it to 20 when he said, “Fine, I’ll talk to you.”

“That’s okay,” I told him, and turned up the music. “We don’t have to talk.”

He didn’t even last five seconds before he started up again: “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“No problem,” I assured him, holding my breath in fear that maybe I was pushing it too far.

I lucked out.

“I really want to tell you something,” he conceded.

I graciously said, “Go ahead,” taking care not to let on that I was doing a victory dance in my head. He wanted to talk to me!

These days, that kind of admission is practically worthy of a Sally Field speech. Seriously, parenting a ‘tween is tricky. They’re sensitive and surly, sassy and sarcastic and heaven help you if they start to suspect you think they’re silly.

It’s the unpredictability that’s maddening. There’s no rulebook or list of topics not to broach, and while I’m more careful in initiating topics of conversation — or at least more careful about how I bring them up — I’m always surprised when a seemingly safe subject blows up in my face.

Case in point: Last week I had to order him more uniform shirts for an upcoming Mainland trip and figured I might as well buy ones that will fit him next year, too. The school had decided not to order youth extra-large shirts, so I told him I was ordering him adult shirts, in size small. I’m still not sure if he was offended by the suggestion that he was extra-large or super-small. All I know is that he didn’t like it. If you can’t have a civilized conversation about a school uniform shirt, what can you talk about? (Heh. Who’s being overly-sensitive now?)

Over the weekend, my son gave me a guilt-trip with a sticky sweet center: “How come you’re hardly our mom anymore?” he demanded when work kept me from picking him up from his father’s on time. Since playing games at with his dad hardly constitutes neglect, I didn’t really feel inclined to apologize, but I understood what he was trying to communicate.

He may not want to admit it, but he still wants his mom around.

After two days of covering Bill and Hillary Clinton’s daughter’s trip to Honolulu, it was a relief to be able to settle into a seat at the Blaisdell Arena for a concert for some music loud enough to drown out way too many hours of work last week.

Of course it was the Police concert – and it was excellent – but when I got home, I didn’t feel like listening to the Police. Instead I looked up the opening band, Fictionplane, and discovered that it’s Sting’s son’s band.

I thought they were pretty good… or maybe the refrain “We hate everybody” just resonated with me after a stressful work week.

When I first got journalism almost *gasp* nine years ago, I remember feeling that I had to prove myself because everyone would compare me to my father, who at the time was the managing editor of the newspaper that hired me.

That seems pretty trivial when I consider the other “kids” I saw this weekend.

Imagine being the daughter of a former president and a U.S. Senator who aspires to be president?

Imagine being the son of a musician who can still sell out arenas with a band that had been broken up for a couple decades.

Chelsea Clinton and Joe Sumner are both impressive on their own, but if you know who their parents are, can you stop yourself from doing a comparison?

OMG! I just got my very own Hello Kitty email address! LOL

Okay, so maybe I’m not the Sanrio Town demographic. Maybe I’m not even sure who the Sanrio Town demographic even is. Still, like just about every other female alive — and many males — I have a fondness in my heart Hello Kitty, Keroppi and Badtz Maru.

If only they’d bring back Pekkle.

As soon as I heard there was going to be a Hello Kitty MMORPG (massively multiplayer online role playing game) I had to go check it out. Me and 30,000 other people. I’m not going to hold my breath waiting to find out if I get to be part of the closed beta test.

I hung out on the site long enough to figure out that I am way way way too old for this game and way way way way way to old to use the site for social networking, but the draw is irresistible.

Even my 11-year-old son, who is practically allergic to Hello Kitty, was intrigued when I called him over to look at the screenshots. “Okay, I’ll play it,” he said grudgingly, even though I hadn’t actually asked him.

Somehow I doubt my son and I will bond over Hello Kitty the way we have over Runescape, but if it takes off, I have a little girl that might have inherited some gamer genes.

Yesterday my son asked me why Valentine’s Day is only for adults.

At first I thought it was a weird question.

The kids always get valentines and chocolate. They get love and hugs. They’ve never been forgotten.

When I thought about it more, though, I realized they also get left behind.

Valentine’s Day has never been a favorite of mine, except that it’s always been an excuse to go out, and for a mommy, that’s reason to celebrate… even in years it’s meant going out with other single friends in defiance of Valentine’s Day (which can be a lot less pressure and a lot more fun).

This year, I don’t really feel compelled to go out just for the sake of it, so I think I’ll surprise my son by making Valentine’s Day just for kids.

Next year, I’m sure he’ll be begging me to start going out again.

Happy Valentine’s Day!!!

Since I’ve already bachi’d myself by laughing at the question in Beth Whitehouse’s Parental Guidance column this week, I figure I might as well point you all to the Newsday website.

Here’s a taste of Whitehouse’s problem:

Without my knowledge, my 8-year-old daughter signed up for eBay and bid $700 for Hannah Montana paraphernalia. Worse yet, she won her bids! I e-mailed the seller explaining the situation, and he was furious. Am I legally responsible for this payment?

What a headache! But you can probably relax, said Craig Delsack, an Internet and technology lawyer in Manhattan.

“Nothing has been shipped; no harm, no foul, and the seller can relist his goods,” Delsack said. “Generally, I wouldn’t say the parent is responsible for a contract entered into by an 8-year-old.”

— Beth Whitehouse, Newsday

When I consider the trouble my son can get himself into on the Internet, I think of inappropriate material, viruses, identity theft and predators. I doubt I have to worry about him getting caught up in a Hannah Montana auction, but I’m sure he could come up with something equally ridiculous if he realized all the things that are up for sale on eBay.

If I’m lucky, he won’t find out until he’s actually old enough to create an account AND employed.