Rumor has it that when my children reach adolescence, they will believe that their father and I are the stupidest, most uncool, people to have ever walked the earth.
Reportedly they will believe:
-We don’t know anything.
-We aren’t doing anything that everyone else’s parents do or allow their kids to do.
-We don’t know how to dress.
-We don’t know how to behave normally.
-We don’t know how to be cool.
-We don’t understand anything about anything, much less what it’s like to be them.
My daughter is ten and my son is seven, and I am already beginning to see the paradigm shift. My ‘shake yo’ booty’ dances that used to foster participation and giggling now bring disdain and eye rolling. Also, when I sing, my daughter begs me to stop. Before she seemed blissfully ignorant of the fact that I’m tone deaf and can not properly recall the words to a single song.
I used to think this was all about adolescent perception, but after this week I’m starting to worry that it’s less rumor and more fact. Maybe the reason adolescent children think their parents are uncool idiots is because by the time we reach their adolescence we are uncool idiots.
I often reminisce over the days I formulated intelligent thoughts without even breaking a sweat. Like, remember that organic chemistry class I took in college, and ACED?! Oh, man, those were the days. Or how about that sociology of deviance class I took that everyone failed, but I got a B because I totally nailed Master’s Theory! Or what about getting an A on that final in grad school two days after giving birth to my second child? Oh, ya…my brain was on fire!
…Back in the day. Now my brain is on fire extinguisher.
This morning I got up at the crack of dawn. Got my daughter up. Got her lunch. Got her breakfast. Got my son up. Got him lunch. Got him breakfast. Got me up. Barely got me dressed. I’m too freaking tired to get myself breakfast. Normally I grab my purse (item 1) and laptop (item 2), and I’m out the door to work. However, this week I’m taking my son to camp. So I get my purse (item 1) and his camp bag (item 2), and I’m out the door. I drop him off. I drive to work. I pull in to the parking lot at work. I reach for my purse (item 1) and my…………SON OF A BITCH! For the second time this week I have left my laptop at home. Why? Because my brain is so compensated by parenthood that I can’t think “grab purse, grab laptop.” Apparently, I can only muster, “grab item 1, grab item 2,” and if item 2 isn’t the laptop (for instance, if item 2 is my son’s camp bag), that’s just too damn bad. “I have two things, doe-de-doe, here I go.”
I followed that up with a series of facebook posts that sounded like an emergent reader/writer porn star stole my phone:
“Pull into parking lot at work, park, reach for laptop…fuuuuudge. I’m at work, it’s at home. Second time this week. LOST: MY MIND. IF FOUND, PLEASE CALL OT TEXT.”
“The fact that I’m not at McDonald’s drinking directly out of the come slicker shows real will power and growth on my part.”
“LOL! Um not the come slicker…that was supposed to be SPICKET.”
I ask you… If you read this, would you ever guess that I was a teaching assistant in college who taught and reinforced professional writing skills.? Nope.
Seriously, I have no hope of being even moderately intelligent by the time these two are teens.