Zen and the Art of Motherhood

Today the Little Stinker had a friend over to play.  There they were playing with Legos, catching moths and engaging in other boy-like endeavors when the friend made a profound statement.

"Your mom's not cool."

Truer words were never spoken. I passed cool a long time ago on my way to frumpy and fugly.  No big surprise, here.

But what did take me back was the fact that this enlightened phrase came from a four-year-old boy.  My other kids were at least seven or eight before they started noticing mom's fashion sense wasn't exactly trendy.  And they were probably nine or ten when they decided I was an embarrassment of epic proportions.

Kids are certainly growing up faster these days.  But four?  Don't you think that's a bit young?

When I look back, I've never been the popular type.  I was an all-out dork in elementary school, which morphed into a nerdy, smart kid in middle school, to a bit of a misfit in high school.  But my secret was tucked away safely -- along with my old school photos and yearbooks -- until I was exposed by a preschooler with the insight of that kid in Sixth Sense.

The gig is officially up.  I'm doomed to live the rest of my life as pitifully uncool.  Very sad. Very sad.

I think I'll need a trip to the mall to cheer me up.

Touching up my image,

P.S.  Mr. Shyamalan, if you happen to be reading...your career can use a good boost and this kid's got a real gift.  You may want to check him out.