fyp

I went to a friend’s house the other morning. There in her sun room on a beautiful spring morning three of us sat with coffee and watched the birds. I was birding. I am now a 42 year old woman with a teenager that sets aside time in her morning for birding.

In my defense, I was there more for the company than the birds but, still. We got on the subject of cool moms. I swore with all of my being that I was a cool mom. Turns out I’m not. My son declared it to be fact. Ridiculous.

The signs were there. My son doesn’t allow me to play my music on a volume any higher than a whisper. All windows must be up and sunroof closed. I can’t talk to any of his friends because I ask too many questions.

The for you page on Tik Tok really drives it home. Thanks for that, Tik Tok. Apparently, Tik Tok fees like I enjoy over 40 beauty, cleaning tips, random history and dog videos. The algorithm is not wrong.

I’m now taking lessons from friends on how not to embarrass myself in front of the kids which I apparently do on the daily.

In the wise words of Samuel L. Jackson, “Be cool, bitch.”