There is a time for everything, a season for every activity under heaven. A time to be born and a time to die. A time to plant and a time to harvest. A time to kill and a time to heal. A time to tear down and a time to rebuild. A time to cry and a time to laugh. A time to grieve and a time to dance. Ecclesiastes 3:1-4
And so it begins. Thinking back, I can actually still remember the one revealing sentence my son dared utter in his seventh grade year. I was getting dressed to go to science fair at his school. With obvious concern in his voice, he raised a question. “You aren’t going to wear those shoes, are you?” The unarticulated translation was clear. Please don’t stand next to me or my science fair project in those shoes or I will die of embarrassment. Clearly, they were not cool enough. From that moment and forward he has been my most reliable wardrobe consultant, keeping me from making tragic fashion errors which would prove to everyone that I really am a constituent of the generation to which I was born.
It seems the reverse has happened with my daughter. It is a shame too, because after 45 years I’m finally comfortable in my coolness. Enter Aubrey . For some reason, the new rule is that I am no longer to attempt coolness, in fact I should shun any appearance of said coolness and act my age.
My first infraction occurred yesterday at the doctor’s office. I was waiting to be called back to see the doctor and Aubrey was reading a book next to me. I was perusing a nursing journal in which several nurse-novelties were being sold. She leaned over to admire one of the flashy nurse accessories and remarked, “I should be a nurse so I could wear that.” I told her, “It has too much bling for me.” She stared at me with a deadpan look. “Mom, you shouldn’t say that word.” (As though I had spoken something excruciatingly foul.) “Bling?” I asked, somewhat incredulous. “I’m sure I must have used the word bling before you were even born.” (Some research since has negated my former view as clearly this is a word heretofore unknown to Webster.) She considered my response and with a continuing look of sincerity she advised, “Well, I’m born now so you should stop using it.” Ha! After more than eleven years of correcting my daughter about what to say and not say, she has begun to correct me! I was amazed and more than a little amused.
Driving to school this morning she was practicing a new piece of Bible memory work. She kept using the word ‘that’ instead of ‘who.’ I corrected her countless times. Trying to inject some humor into an otherwise cheerless situation, I exclaimed, “Who-That!” which came out sounding more like “Who-Dat!” Her response was serious and immediate. “Mom….You should never say Who-Dat again.” I had to laugh. Twice in less than 24 hours I had crossed some invisible line dividing those who are allowed to make up stupid words, and those who should just behave themselves and speak the accepted language.
By the time we were pulling onto school property, she had mastered the memory verses and was reciting them flawlessly to me. I was pleased, and trying to show my enthusiasm for her accomplishment, I said “Wow! You burned up this page! You were hot!” A heavy sigh from the back seat was unmistakable. “Mom…..” I put a halt to the rest of her sage advice as it was now clear that I was also supposed to go through the rest of my life without speaking the word ‘hot’ unless I am referring to a bathroom spigot or a chili pepper.
I apparently did not respond with enough thankfulness for her knowledgeable assistance as was evidenced by the tears of laughter rolling down my cheeks and the uncontrollable hilarity which left me barely able to breathe. The ‘hot’ episode just put me over the edge! Along with concerns about my misuse of dialogue I think she now has serious
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