When I picked up my daughter at dance tonight, her greeting left a little to be desired. Mom, why are you wearing THAT shrug with THAT dress? It's black on black, my 11-year-old Chanel wannabe told me, and the textures are all wrong when worn together. A few moments later she corrected my grammar by pointing out that an intended adverb was missing the "ly.'' She was, indeed, right. But that didn't make me less annoyed. Then, when I asked about her day, she responded with shock that I'd think she would know everything that happened in her Lancaster County school  -- you would have thought she was touring Paris all afternoon and that I made the ridiculous assumption that she would have a clue as to what was happening in North America.

At that point, I demanded quiet in the car. Complete and uninterrupted silence. I like to think of myself as fairly intelligent, and somewhat insightful. But now that my daughter is 11 -- soon to turn 12 -- I'm not so sure. All of sudden, I don't seem to have much on the ball. My sister has a 13-year-old girl. My sister-in-law has two daughters, one who just finished her freshman year of college and another in her late 20s who's about to be a mom herself. My sister and sister-in-law, by their daughters standards, are also significantly flawed.

We enjoy wonderful relationships with our daughters. But what's with the nitpicking?

Perhaps it's a painful rite of passage. Maybe daughters can be occasionally super-critical because when they look at their moms they see themselves. And how about this for a revelation: My mother has noted that all three of us mothers -- my sister, sister-in-law and I -- are too critical of her at times. Ouch!

"A mom forgives us all our faults, not to mention one or two we don't even have,'' wrote freelander Robert Brault.

Maybe that needs to work from a daughter's direction, as well. Meanwhile, I'm thinking about pairing cotton and taffeta tomorrow. Wonder what the resident fashion critic will say about that?