If it's the internet is it snooping? If you're a Mom is snooping wrong?

When I was about 13 or 14 I kept a diary. Like many things I did at 13 or 14 I did it mainly because I thought it was the thing I was spposse to do. I am pretty sure Marcia on the Brady Bunch had a diary and that's what cool, teen girls did.

It was really more of a notebook than a diary, there was no lock on it. I did  take to hiding in my room, under some pillows or in boots I never wore. I wrote the heck out of the diary. 

I told that diary everything for a while. I told that diary things I never dared tell my friends or, God forbide, my mother.

And I will admit now having a daughter who is two years away from being a legal adult if I found a diary where she wrote many, ok any, of the same things I wrote when I was 13 or 14 I would  be concerned.

So.....my Mom found my diary all those  years ago. That's the way I remember it. She didn't even come right out and say "I read about your escapades and, boy, you are in deep trouble." No, she alluded to and tried to get me into counseling. 

Looking back it was a reasonable, measured response focused on my well-being. Then the reading of the diary was a massive invasion of my privacy.
I was furious. In fact, I was so mad that, employing the logic of a teen girl, that I burned the damn thing. 

Yes, if you are going to read my deepest, darkest thoughts and replace it in my room and try to get me to talk to someone I am going to show you...... 

And, here's the other thing, I rarely after that kept any kind of diary. I rarely wrote something like this blog that talked about how I looked at things or what I was doing. What I felt was a betrayal at that age colored my behavior for a long time. 

Anyway, so here I am a Menopausal Mom who once had a diary I tucked under my pillow and in my boots and my daughter has the diary-equivilent of a Twitter account or Instagram or Facebook. (If you are a Menopausal Mom you laughed at the last part because no teen is really still on Facebook,)

So if I seek out the words and pictures she shares with the world am I snooping unnecessarily? Hypothetically, say, I happened mostly by accident on an unlocked version of those account that she thinks she's sharing with 249 of her closet friends would that make it a worse kind of snooping?
Fundamentally, is it wrong for a mom to snoop or is it a job requirement?
Over the summer at a family gathering my daughter broke the news to me in front of a crowd that she and her friends and then boyfriend had plans to go camping. Adults I trust were going to be along and there would be separate tents for boys and girls. Still, I was hesitant. My family joined in and I got a very unexpected piece of advice from my 84-year-old Mom. "What are you afraid of?" she said, "Are you afraid they are going to have sex? If they wanted to have sex they can do it your drive way. At some point you have to trust you raise them to make good decisions." This was my internal response mostly to the thought of anyone, especially my daughter, having sex in my driveway.

But when I thought it about my Mom had a point.
I feel like that logic extends to snooping. I should just say no to snooping unless there is a real reason for concern about her health and safety. Even then probably the right thing to do is  try to talk with her first You know, act like a mature responsible adult and create channels for meaningful, supportive communication.
Still, snooping seems a lot easier.
What do you think? Is it snooping and is it wrong?
Shout out to France. Yes, France. We have a reader or readers who have checked out Menopausal Moms. It just goes to show that Menopause and Moms are Universal.

Ok, now I believe you. There's a stretch when you won't recognize your teen.

There are certain things that we Moms, menopausal or not, simply don't share willingly with each other. Did someone, anyone, come to you when you were pregnant and tell you that your feet would never been the same size again? Did your best friend or sister let you know that the shoes in your closet would forever be a reminder of your pre-pregnancy glass slipper size as your newly evil step-sister sized feet will never again squeeze into.
No.
No one tells you.
I've never told anyone.
I don't have the heart. The baby-making mammas are so excited. I can't stand to point out any of  the downside.
They'll find out soon enough.
 Giant feet. Raw nipples. Lack-of-sleep psychosis. They'll find out.
Along the same vein, no one tells you while you are growing a human that someday that interloper will think you are an idiot and actively show their disdain for you. Eyes will roll so far back into their head you aren't sure they will ever unroll. This may be because you suggest, perhaps, wearing a coat to a high school football game because with the windchill factor of -15 degrees.
Apparently it is a part of the developmental process. The paperwork given to me by my mental health counselor -- if  you don't have one you should totally get one -- shows that it is a child's job to separate from their parents. My personal experience is that it is especially painful or dramatic between mothers and daughters and compounded exponentially between Menopausal Moms and hormonal teen.
No one told me.
Ok, that is not true. A couple of people told me and I didn't believe them. One of the them was the sweetest, kindest, most Christian woman I know. She swore her daughters were terrible as teens. She didn't recognized them. The got better when they were young adults. I didn't believe her. Her family was so adorable it couldn't be true. They looked like the families that come in pictures frames when
you buy them at fancy stores.
My fellow Menopausal Mom, Kim, told me of the Dark Times with her now grown, and awesome, children. She also said it will fade and my girl will come back to me.
I'm not sure I believed that either.
So, I have been taking two informal polls in the last few weeks. One is of mothers whose daughter's recently travailed adolescence. I don't even have to really know you. I just have to know you have a young adult child. I just say something like: My daughter and I are at that stage where she acts like she hates me.
They nod and look sympathetic.
The other is among any unfortunate young woman who I encounter between the ages of 20 and 35. Did you hate your mother at 15? I ask. They all say yes.
What about now?
Generally, it's something like "Oh, I totally love her, I talk to her every day. She's in Bolivia and we FaceTime every night."
So I take some solace.
This being the holiday season every sitcom I watched this week seemed to have an over reaching mother shaming, begging, manipulating their children to spend time with them And, sitcoms being what they may, in each instance the child, often grudgingly but most genuinely as a sitcom can manage will see -- gosh darn it-- I love my Mom too much not to spend an evening
around the Christmas tree with her if that's her hearts desire.
Oh, if life were wrapped up like a sitcom.
But I realize I have to adjust my thinking. This developmental stage isn't personal.
When my girl was a baby and she cried I didn't think "that cry is a indictment of my skills as a
mother". No, I tried to help her. I tried to figure it out. I put myself second and worked for the better of both of us. And that's what I need to do now.
I never thought of myself as one of those moms who saw herself first as her kid's friend. But maybe it slipped that way. Maybe I thought I was protecting her by letting of some things I need her to do ...like chores or listening or being respectful because overall she is a great kid.
But, apparently, according to my mental health professional, she needs something to push against.
That is me.
So here is my job. She pushes, I stay firm. She hurts me and I let it go.
I set a rule and I stick to it.
It is a little trickier because part of this for me is saying no, setting boundaries and making her accountable so she can be an accountable adult. I was really good at setting boundaries for her when she was little. Even when she would push. Because I could see it clearly. Don't touch the stove you will get burned. No matter how much you want to touch the stove the answer is still no.
And now it is the same. The lines are just more involved. But I will figure it out although I could use some suggestions.
And I know, and I should have known all along, we are family and we will work it out. It might be a couple of years, apparently, but it will work out.
Polls don't lie.