You know how you know when you’re cool?
When you hang out in foggy basements of clubs sitting on red couches listening to electronica - you’re wearing giant scarves around your neck, ballet slippers, and ordering crantinis - and having meaningless NONversation with the lifetime students studying world affairs.
OH FART. That’s not me. It wasn’t me 15 years ago when I DID go, and it’s not me now, when I WON’T go.
Here’s my idea of cool. Or “rockstar”, or “wicked tight”…or whatever you kids call it these days.
I like to call it “being a mom”. Here's a few reasons why.
I get to read to my kids. EVERY DAY. Sometimes it’s the same book over and over. Sometimes its not. I read Twilight just cuz my eleven year old recommended it to me. Turns out it was awesome. I mean radtacular.
I do a pretty rad ape impression and will do so on command. My kids love it and squeal in delight when I chase them around the house arms swinging and head bobbing. You should all try it. I learned it from SuperKewl Dad.
My boyo likes to go on the escalator again and again… and I let him. Because “it’s just like a ride, Mommy!”
I get to see the first joys of winning a hockey game, riding on an airplane, seeing
I have kids who will alarmingly look for days into the corners and crevices of the earth (or the Emerson Skating Rink), when Mommy loses her lucky pocket ninja. We never found him, but who needs him when you have two little lucky charms by your side anyways?
And the biggest reason I’m cool?
I get to dance with these two.
