I thought I was the cool mom. I thought wrong.
Sure, I’m a tad strict and I sometimes over-react. But still. I wear the coolest t-shirts around. I can dab. I can kinda/sorta floss. Oh yeah – and I’m hilarious.
Lately, I’ve discovered just how un-cool I am. In fact, I’m apparently a downright, straight-up embarrassment. And not just in a general sense – there is a detailed laundry list that goes along with this pronouncement.
Here’s a taste:
- I laugh like a hyena (or a cackling witch – depending on the day)
- I have a hideous nose
- My sense of humour is often inappropriate – thus embarrassing
- I’m old
- I have grey hair
- I drive a mini-van (even I can admit – this is mortifying!)
I can’t bear to go on — just too embarrassing. But I’m sure you get the gist.
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My 15-year-old snowflake continually attempts to melt my ice. Thank goodness I’m a bona fide ice queen. She belittles and begrudges; she’s snippy and rude. She’s generally embarrassed to be seen with me – unless I’m driving her somewhere and/or about to spend money on her. In either of these scenarios she is inexplicably capable of tolerating my embarrassing presence.
I’m okay with being an embarrassment. I’ve come to terms with it. Because I think it means I’m doing something right. Show me a teenager NOT openly embarrassed to be around their parents, and I’ll show you a teenager who rolls their eyes behind their clueless parents’ back. And this goes for the kids of all the coolest people I can think of. The kids of Paul Rudd; the kids of Michelle Obama; even the kids of Tom Brady – who is the god of cool in a certain somebody’s eyes. In this respect, all parents are equals. Big, fat, embarrassing equals.
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Are your kids embarrassed by you? Congratulations! You’re doing something right.
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In order to take ownership of my inadvertent embarrassing qualities, I am sometimes deliberately embarrassing. Case in point: when driving with my daughter in the car, I sometimes honk the horn and wave to kids she knows as they walk down the street. I have even been known to start up random conversations with grocery store cashiers she attends high school with.
What my crabby little snowflake doesn’t understand is that I’m not doing it so much to embarrass her as to actually be the one at the helm of my embarrassing qualities. If this is what I must do in order to take back a bit of control, then I’ll do it.
I don’t know how sensitive individuals who embarked on parenthood handle this particular aspect of parenting life. Honestly, my daughter’s thoughtless and insensitive comments could bring a softer, kinder person to their knees. If I listened to her words – actually internalized them – then I’d be curled up on the kitchen floor in a fetal position at this very moment – and probably for the next few years.
Luckily, I don’t have a thin skin when it comes to this sort of thing. Fortunately, I see it for what it is: an attempt to assert her independence; a way to separate herself from me – her mother; a method of developing her own unique identity. And I cannot forget about the crazy amount of hormones undoubtedly coursing through her veins – most likely adding to her heightened and as I see it, inflated sense of embarrassment.
I overheard my 13-year-old daughter say this to my 9-year-old son the other morning. The three of us were walking to school and my son mentioned the fact that as of next year, he’d like me to stop accompanying him on the morning (and afternoon) walk to (and from) school. Which is fine by me. I’d be willing to let him walk solo this year if he preferred. But I won’t lie – I’ll miss it.
Anyway, my daughter turned to my son and said: “Remember when we were really little and we wanted mom to walk us to school every day? Well – then you go through a phase where you don’t want to be seen walking with her. But a few years later, you’ll want her to walk with you again. Because she has great stories.”
So that’ll be my trick.
I’ll have a bit of fun embarrassing them in high school. Then I’ll rope ‘em back with my amazingly hilarious stories.
And so the cycle will continue.
Sticks and stones may break my bones – but words will never hurt this cool mom.