It has become quite apparent lately that I am not cool. It’s a possibility that I was never cool, but I’m really not now.
Case in point… Teenage Daughter was invited to a birthday party for a friend on Saturday. As we were driving to Target tonight (yes, I know, I was feeding into my addiction but I really NEEDED to go tonight) I asked her if she wanted to buy the above-referenced friend a gift. “Nah”, she said, “I’ll just give her money.”
Thinking that money seems like a somewhat boring gift I suggested that she buy something cute to add to it, such as a cuddly stuffed animal. The look on her face said it all. “Seriously, mom. She’s. Like. 14.” Ok, I get it. I’m not cool and my ideas stink.
This is not the first time that I’ve been called on the carpet for my silly, uncool ways. Pointed questions, such as, “You’re not going to wear that, right?” or “Do you really like that?” to my mommy faux paus are reminders that I’m not only not “da bomb” but I need supervision as well.
I’m not allowed to sing along to popular music on the radio either. I happen to like the song “So What”? by Pink (So what? I’m still a rock star…) and I like to sing it LOUDLY just to irritate sensitive teens who are riding along with me in my car. Being uncool can be fun sometimes.
Every once in a while my age and experience come in handy to dazzle my kids. Puff Daddy’s “Come With Me”was playing on the radio and I just HAPPENED to have Led Zeppelin’s “Physical Graffiti” CD queued up in my car. I told my kids that “Come With Me” was influenced by the song “Kashmir” and proved it to them by switching back and forth between the radio and my cd player. For just one shining moment, I was hip. Then we went home and I became my old, uncool self again.
I’m going to give it ten years. Maybe by then I’ll be appreciated. And, oh, by the way – woot! I can say that because no one is around to correct me.