My twelve year old, I have been informed, is a bazillion times cooler than me.

Not a million times. Oh no. A bazillion times. (Or so I’ve heard.)

Young Jedi and I are at the point in our relationship where he feels compelled to inform me of my uncoolness WHENEVER THE OPPORTUNITY ARISES. (In case you are wondering, that opportunity arises nearly every five seconds. I must be the most out of touch mother in the entire history of motherhood.)

Phrases I regularly hear these days:

  • “Nobody says that anymore, mom.”
  • “That is soooo 1980.”
  • “Not cool. Really, really, not cool.”
  • “OMG, do NOT put that on Instagram.”
  • “Nobody listens to that music anymore.”
  • “Seriously, mom?”

And on and on it goes.

He thinks I am a dinosaur and I think …. well, I think he needs a hair cut. Not to mention a slight attitude adjustment.

Sigh. I am out of touch. It is official. (But seriously? Regarding the hairdo, we are talking a hair fail of epic Bieber proportions. But I digress…)

Not that my son and I have a bad relationship, au contraire,  it is just that I’ve noticed the hint of a dismissive attitude when it comes to my input. I get the sense that the ‘amazing mom’ title that I used to wear has slowly becoming a thing of the past. Every once in awhile I still manage to knock it out of the park and impress the little stinker but it is more and more challenging as the days go on.

Of course, I remember this very stage with my mom. I don’t know why I thought that I could somehow escape it.

It turns out, I can’t.

I’ve landed firmly in the land of the tragically uncool and unhip. And something tells me I might be here for awhile.