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Thursday, May 12, 2016

But...But...I'm The COOL Mom! I Am!

I always knew that someday, I'd be the cool mom.

You know the type. The type that shares clothes with her teen daughter not just because they fit but because she's hip and trendy and fits right in. The type that knows every song on the radio and can rattle of a Nicki Minaj rap right in time with her kid. I was going to be the mom that all my kids' friends adored. Yeah, baby.

Well, two out of three ain't bad.

My daughter's friends love me. And I love them right back. But I doubt any of them would be caught dead in my favorite jeans or be able to keep up with me when I'm singing along with the Spin Doctors at the top of my lungs. 

My daughter has always been indulgent of my overly geekish ways and love of "old" music (Cyndi Lauper will never be old. Never.) but lately she's been letting me know, more and more, that I'm just not as cool as I wish I was.

For instance....a few weeks back we were in Washington DC taking in the Smithsonian museums, and my daughter insisted on wearing these cute little boots with a three inch heel. You guessed it, by late afternoon, her feet were seriously unhappy with her. Luckily for her, she and I wear the same size shoe, and I was wearing brand new sneakers (because I know how much walking you do in DC).

As she collapsed on a bench and moaned about her feet, I sat down next to her and said, "I'll make you a deal. You take my sneakers, and I'll wear your boots. That's how much I love you."

She glanced down at my sneakers in abject horror. 

"Clearly, you don't," she replied.

Oh, come on....they were brand new. And even a name brand, not some Target knock-off or something! They were nice! Even if they did have bright green laces. But she would not budge. She'd rather go lame and feel like her feet were being run through a meat grinder than be seen in public in my Mom sneakers.

A few days ago we were in the car on our way out to the movies and she started rifling through my purse looking for lip color. I directed her to the proper compartment and she pulled it out, looking at it skeptically. 

"This is all you have?"
"It's nice," I reassure her. "Not as dark as it looks - it goes on more like a tint. And it lasts all day - you have to use the special gloss that's in there with it."
She pulled the gloss out and made a face, but decided to give it a try. A few seconds later she was looking at herself with disgust in the mirror.
"This is awful!" She said, trying in vain to scrub it from her lips. "Why would you wear this?"
"It looks good! And I like it!" I defended.
"It's good enough for you," she said, rolling her eyes.

She rolls the eyes a lot these days. 

But I will go on. I will stand proudly in my Mom sneakers and sing "The End of the World" by REM and not miss a word that flows across my Tahitian Coral lips. I am the Mom formerly known as Cool.

Fear me.

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