The 14-year-old hippie surfer son and I had a date two days ago. With lunch and the mall on the agenda, I was over-enthusiastic since these outings are infrequent. He was uncharacteristically shy accompanying me in public, lagged ten paces behind, and became catatonic when asked the simplest question in Hot Topic.

“Do you like this thing with the skulls?”

Eyes grow wide with no response.

“Hey—aren’t these skulls way cute? And look, it’s your size.”

Eyes grow crazy terrified and jaw tenses as he scans Hot Topic for hiding places.

“How ‘bout this studded belt…?”

Ditches me for Urban Outfitters.

When I catch up, he whispers “I’ve NEVER liked skulls. YOU like them. Plus they’re green. I will NEVER wear green skulls.”

His rolling eyes never fail to catch me off guard. Internally, all kinds of questions bubble up.

Did I ditch MY mother when shopping at 14? Did I cruelly treat her like toxic waste for favoring skulls? When did I become the completely obnoxious mom limping past Cinnabon in beaded Indian platforms with untreated scoliosis and a pedicure wound? When did the kids begin to be disgusted by the "sexy rose” lip stain which now strangely stripes my front teeth 90% of the time? And when did I morph into this suffocating nag, bribing her kids for their time?

Maybe the metamorphosis occurred around the time we discovered my parental love language. It is “smothering control freak.”

"Where would you like to eat, sweetie?”

“I don’t care.”

“Panera it is then.”

“Not Panera.”

“It’s your pick – what sounds good?”

“I’m hooked on Crunchwrap-Supremes.”

“Dude, that is so unhealthy. How badly is your heart set on a Crunchwrap?”

“Panera is fine. Whatev’.”

“No, Taco Bell’s okay. We’ll have more time to shop.”

I concede to live dangerously so it’s Crunchwraps all around. We listen to Bless the Fall while devouring over-sized grilled envelopes of processed cheese, and I feel better about how our date is going.

We head out for more shopping, and I become a hero when I say yes to new headphones he cannot live without at T. J. Maxx. Though I am still limping with the pedicure lesion, I swear he is glaring less. Then it happens.

It bears mentioning my son is pretty von pretty like Rob Lowe in St. Elmo’s Fire. He has shoulder length hair he tosses for dramatic effect. As we approach the fitting rooms to try on jeans, I make it a point to say "HE would like to try these," stressing HEEEE to the fitting room attendant. She misses the gender identification entirely and leads him to the ladies’side.

Mortified, the eighth grader doubles back to the men’s area as I shout “Boy! He needs a boy room!” The poor woman’s perplexed expression told us she remained unconvinced.

The jeans he selects are not my favorite, but I graciously give them the green light. I say “graciously” since I agreed to them without ever having seen them modeled which is breaking momcode as far as I am concerned. In addition to being fatally frugal, it is difficult for me to agree to any apparel purchase without a virtual fashion show. I need the catwalk, some Zoolander blue steel, and a few spins before I am convinced.

Last on our “to do” list was a Target run for underwear. We throw boxers and Bandaids into the cart since the bloody skater goes through bandages quicker than grass through a goose. We nearly escape without issue.

Ahead of us in line, a petite 60ish blonde smiles then flings an arm around my sons' shoulders, sneaking a peek into the cart. “Look who we have here!” Ambushed by his Honors English teacher, the surfer immediately regrets ever leaving the house.

I am a slow study, but some parenting wisdom is taking root. For example, there appears NOT to be a no-fail formula for bonding with adolescents. Who knew this?

One-on-one time? An admirable concept ON PAPER, but mano-a-mano in public places without disguises? At your own risk for non-sadist types.

I am no parenting expert, but I will leave you with one more lesson learned. Teenagers prefer expensive techie gadgets, new headphones, smoking weed, and even decapitation to a public drive-by parent-teacher conference in the express lane at Target.

You're welcome.

Michele Ranard loves shopping online. She has a husband, two sons, and a master’s in counseling. Visit her at hellolovelychild.blogspot.com.