Welcome to the Rest of My Life
You know, I like to think I’m a cool mom. I’m fairly strict, but not totally overbearing. I’m not a card-carrying member of the food police, and I know how to have a good time. I like good music, I play the Wii like nobody’s business, and I dress normally and occasionally brush my hair. I thought I was good to go.
So when I took the Munchkin and his friend to the park the other day, I was simply looking forward to some time reading my book on a bench as they played their little hearts out on the playground.
There was a lot of that, but also a lot of Munchkin whispering stuff into his friend’s ear, all the while looking at me to see if I was looking. Then he started addressing me by some sort of made-up moniker. It wasn’t “Mom” it was “Mummer-machine” or some other six year old gobbledygook that sounded good to him at the time.
And even as I gave them the cookies I had brought, and then a special candy treat, I was still being regarded as this large, embarassing creature from Mars that the Munchkin had the misfortune of having to interact with. You know, so he could get home. I decided not to publicly berate him, as it annoyed the crap out of me, but I tried not to show it. It is a skill I have honed throughout the years that has proved invaluable.
Then in the car on the way home, more whispers, totally about me. And no, I wasn’t being paranoid because the Munchkin piped up from the backseat with, “We’re talking about you.” Yeah, uh, thanks for the honesty kid.
When the friend was safely dropped off at home, the Munchkin and I had a very long discussion about how I am to be treated while out in public with his friends.
All the same, it has struck me that even at the ripe old age of six, Mom is so not cool.
I can’t stand the whispering! My daughter is not really a whisperer, it’s probably physically impossible for her not to be loud. She’s had friends though who were. Totally not appropriate and we’d talk about how it’s rude. It’s hard to realize your kids don’t think you are cool, but eventually, they come around. Cuz duh, we are cool. My kids realize it, I’m still strict, but I let them know every now and again, that I am not a shrewish hag.
Maybe the Munchkin’s friend is sweet on you and he didn’t know how to express it. Boys are like that.
Kids go through a phase where, no matter who their parents are, their parents are SO. NOT. COOL. You’re just lucky he’s getting it out of his system while he’s still too young to steal your car keys and joyride.
As a teenager, I’ll tell you, while some parents are genuinely geeky/nerdy/creepy jut like some kids are geeky/nerdy/creepy, most of the embarassment comes from the simple fact that WE FEEL LIKE ADULTS, dammit, and we want to be treated like one! (Very much regardless of our actual age or maturity level.) When a twelve year old girl is beginning to feel very important and adult, a parent is just an infuriating reminder that they aren’t really grown up. It makes us angry having to depend on someone else.
Limespark- thank you for your perspective. I have to say it’s been a very long time since I myself was a twelve year old girl, but I sort of do remember wanting to be more independent.
I don’t ever remember treating my father poorly, though, no matter how independent I wanted to be. He was the one that always took my friends and I places and I was always happy to have him as transportation.
Not that I’m saying you treat your parents poorly, but I wonder if there is a big difference between being a twelve year old when I was one, and being one now. My parents were overprotective, but I could still ride my bike alone to my friend’s houses, and I was a latchkey kid from the time I was in sixth grade.