Am I Really Cool or Do I Just Think I Am????

I’m so beaten down by my kids telling me how embarrassing I am and rolling their eyes at me 24/7. I know it’s part of the mommy gig and all but there are times I want to just smack them and say, “Are you freaking kidding me? My level of awesomeness is immeasurable!”  I have decided this is my current rage-against-the-machine: maybe if I just keep forcing myself into their little worlds, and constantly pointing out my talents, they will see how cool and fun I am….they have no idea how much endurance I have when I make my mind up to do something —I am the Forest Gump of Mommies. 

Recently my husband and I threw a 16^th birthday party for our twin godsons and I really saw this as my opportunity to shine and dazzle the teens with my abilities to relate…..I had the focus of a Jedi.

As soon as we got to the party, my switch flipped on.  I liked my outfit, felt hip with the current slang, and knew my dance moves were white hot.  I tried to ease in slowly by floating around, eaves-dropping on private conversations, and picking out those attendees I thought were most likely to let me chillax with them. Unfortunately, my subtle moves were getting me nowhere so I decided to go full-throttle the rest of the party and just cram my big Gladys Kravitz  mug smack in the middle of things…I was running out of time.

I sat down with six girls and said, “What it is ladies.  This party rolls deep, doesn’t it? It’s a real banger.”  All I heard were crickets. Whatever.  I decided just to stay seated and listen to their chit chat—maybe I could just hang with them. One by one and two by two they left the table as I sat alone munching my chips. WTF?

I decided to head to the ping pong table where one boy was dominating the game and after watching him school his opponents I offered, “You’re killing it, shorty! You are fresh to death.”  Again nothing.  (Insert sound of Chinese gong here) 

I was starting to sweat.  My last chance was going to be the dance floor and I had to represent.  I went in the bathroom, looked in the mirror, and told myself how awesome I was.  Right on!  I’m ready.

When I came back outside the dancing had begun. I muscled my way through the crowd to the middle of the circle and began to Roger Rabbit.  I was on fire until my wedge heel turned and I almost broke my ankle.  Dammit!  I closed my eyes and decided just to free dance…puhleeze, I could keep a beat better than these posers.  When I opened my eyes, I was on the outside of the circle. I had been pushed and shoved and squeezed out while grooving and hadn’t even felt it.  I had never felt so defeated in my life.  This was such bullshit.  I left feeling like a loser.  And every bit of 42 years old.

Later that night, after icing my ankle and taking a buttload of Tylenol, I received a text from my godsons that read: “Aunt Kelly and Uncle Brett, thank you so much for the party—it was off-the hook…… And Aunt Kelly, everyone thought you were so cool!”

That night I slept better than I had in weeks……