The young J. is not old enough to officially date. Our son is, however, allowed to have supervised housedates.

Housedates are a lot like playdates of yesteryear, except now playa flat irons his hair before miss thang comes over to hang (I realize I cannot pull off charming ghettoliciousness and indeed may require professional help).

My son has become a date-i-gator. Gators? Like teens, they are creatures who lack vocal chords and terrify me.

As a mom of teens, I find supervising a date-i-gator’s housedate deeply disturbing. This may be in part due to the fact I am the territorial kind of gator mom, Plus I have anxiety and issues with control.

Sure, it’s good to know exactly what my teenangsters are up to when they are home, but it’s not as if I can casually go about my business with a housedate in progress. Time literally stands still while the wildlife roam. Even with reassurance from Mr. Gator, it’s difficult to quell the worry.

I NEED INFO to stop worrying, but the date-i-gator is tres reticent about DEFINING his relationships (as if I’d broadcast it in print or on the internet or something).

Just who are these female date-i-gators, and what is the nature of their relationship with my gator? A housedate a few weeks back may illustrate my pain:

J. (introducing a cosmetic-lovin’ gator who appears to be 20ish): Mom, this is MaybeIt’sMaybelline.

MAYBEIT’SMAYBELLINE: Nice to meet you.

Me: Hi. What’s on the agenda for you two?

J.: I dunno. We’re hangin’ out.

Super. The gators proceed to mill around the kitchen holding paws. Maybelline says not a word (interesting true tidbit from nature: even without vocal chords, males bellow loudly to attract females).

The gators are clearly crushing, and indeed echoes of bellowing may be heard for miles. My sister happens to be visiting and whispers she feels like crying seeing her little nephew with such a grown woman. I felt a combination of rage and nausea (like after consuming tainted egg salad). Mr. Gator thinks this is all classic Freud stuff.

The following day was J.'s first day of high school, and I was anxious to speak with the gator about his day.

J.: It was ok, but there’s no one in my classes.

Me: None with the girlfriend?

J. (indignant): I don’t have a girlfriend!

Me: What about Maybelline?

J.: She’s a FRIEND.

Me: That girl you held hands with yesterday? You two are not dating?

J.: No. And I won’t tell you if we DO start dating.

It’s all very confusing! His discretion is understandable. To his utter horror last summer, on a housedate I accidentally mixed up a gator girl's name with another gator girl--TWICE! She was a deadringer, and with no vocal chords, there were no auditory clues!

These days it is impossible to determine whether a visiting girl is a friend or an undefined FRIEND-friend.

I am told ‘Generation MySpace’ seems largely unable to commit to short-term relationships or even dates. Hmmmmm. Comparing them to gators is maybe being generous since the latest science on alligators reveals a monogamy bias. (interesting tidbit #2: Frisky males chomp at a mate’s neck with deadly gnarly jaws.)

All I know is my son is not yet technically DATINGdating, and I can’t keep all the ‘itneys and ‘anas who bare their fleshy necks here straight.

J. and Maybelline were an item for a few weeks before a new female appeared on the scene. A special goth gator at school whom we’ll call EMO-OF-THE-FALLEN-LEAVES. EMO hung out and bounced upon our trampoline for a season before disappearing back into the wild. Now it’s SOUTHERN BELLE with the neck hanging out.

She remains ‘undefined.’

Michele has a husband, two children, a master's in counseling and a blog at cheekychicmama.blogspot.com.