I used to be cool.

Four days a week I drive up behind a black Honda Odyssey with a bumper sticker that reads, "I used to be cool." And everyday I laugh. It's like those words scream at me. Me and my mom butt of a van. All vans look like they are dragging along a mom butt behind them. I had to swallow some serious pride when Tim and I took hold of our van keys nearly 3 years ago. It was like a sucker punch to both of our stomachs. And no amount of telling us about all the bells and whistles the van had to offer could lessen the blow. We knew it--we were about to drive around the mom butt for the foreseeable future.

And so yes lady with the black Honda Odssey, I hear you loud and clear. I used to be cool too. ;)

I've always thought the bumper sticker referred to the car and not the person in the car, but tonight as I walked Blue around my dark neighborhood in Tim's saggy, old basketball shorts, no bra, a family reunion shirt and greasy hair, I thought of that bumper sticker again. Have I been wrong all along? Does it refer to me and not my van? I thought of what I must look like to anyone passing by in their car and thought, perhaps it does refer to me and my tired, mom look. Perhaps it does.

I thought about this all the way home as Blue meandered around the dying flower beds and mailboxes. Am I not cool? (To be quite honest, I don't know if I've ever actually been "cool.") But is motherhood equated with being uncool? I'd bet the people at the post office this morning thought motherhood was very uncool when Birdie decided to throw a screaming tantrum with drool falling out of her mouth just because I wouldn't buy her greeting cards we didn't need. (Why does the post card always have that annoying rack?!) And people probably don't think it's cool when I walk around with boogers on the edge of my sleeves because my kids have an endless supply of boogers and I'm always experiencing a tissue shortage. And I bet people really don't think I'm cool when I step on an airplane with 5 kids in tow because all their thinking about is how long the flight is and what amount of time my child/children will be crying during it.

There are so many uncool things about motherhood--like the ones I just listed. I totally get it. I do. I find myself lame more than I can tell you. But do you know who doesn't think I'm lame (unless I'm doling out chores and such)--my kids think I'm cool.

Mya is constantly asking for advice on style, and she's told me a lot that she can't wait to get older to borrow a few of my pieces. Elle begs me to straighten her hair just like mine several times a week. Birdie always mimics the way I talk and what I say. Just today I heard her telling Blue, "Well, cap Boo. Cap." (Cap = crap) And I laughed out loud. Genevieve is just like her daddy, and she usually doesn't want to do anything after school unless she's hugged me first and told me about her day. And Timmy is a human heart-eyed emoji, and he always has those baby blues directed at me.

I am the luckiest. Six people and one dog think I am the coolest thing on the planet. When they're not being stinkers, they often treat me like royalty. They're always wanting to brush my hair, do my makeup, help me bake, help me wash the dishes, read me stories, sing me songs, tell me jokes, do private concerts for me, show me crooked hand stands, hold my hand, and snuggle in bed. The list could really go on forever. I am so loved within these walls that sometimes I don't want to leave; there's a lack of love outside.

So I may be uncool in my Odyssey (I fully recognize that I am), and I may look like a mess 50% of the time, but I don't really care. Someone will always think I'm cool in this house, even if that person is not even 2 years old yet.

1 comment :

  1. After all the clothes I give you... you still walk around in Tim's large basketball shorts and a BYU tee. Shaking my damn head ;)

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