My Kids Don’t Get Me

Real Parenting

The Generation Gap

My kids are constantly telling me I have the worst sense of humor and to be quiet because I’m embarrassing them. Meanwhile, I’ll laugh at something I just said to the point of tears, while they just shake their heads, which of course only make me laugh harder.

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I have this one friend, Amanda, whom my son loves but says she’s crazy. I love her because she is certifiable. She’s outrageous. For example, one time she parked her car at the grocery store and couldn’t remember where she parked it so she called her son to pick her up. She waited almost a month before she finally went back to the parking lot to locate her car.

We bonded over many hours of boredom watching our sons battle it out during football, lacrosse and hockey games. I guess we clicked over the fact that we both were in total disbelief that other parents really enjoy waking up at 5am and driving 2 hours for an all day tournament in the freezing rain or scorching sun.

After years of our boys playing on the same teams we still don’t know who all their teammates names. I think that’s because the boys all look the same in their identical costumes. Now this is where my son would glare at me and say “uniforms” and I’d start to laugh since I always wore costumes in dance recitals and plays. He’d interrupt my laughter to say, “You’re not funny, mom!” Which would only made me laugh harder. If Amanda were with me she’d laugh, too.

How can my son love an activity where he always has to wear the same outfit for the whole season? I digress… but maybe we could get someone who workouts out in style such as Gene Simmons to design some flashy lax ‘uniforms’ with sequins and neon colors.

And on the topic of uniforms, I think there should be more than one uniform each season. We had a three-day tournament in Baltimore in the heat of July where the boys were expected to wear the same costume for 9 straight games without washing them. Needless to say we went through cases of Febreze that summer and drove home from the tournaments with the air conditioning blasting and the car windows wide open.

Fortunately he’d fall asleep impervious to his odor so I could listen to my mindless chick lit CD’s by Elin Hildenbrand and Candice Bushnell. However, sometimes he’d wake up at the most embarrassing moments in the narration where the reader would say something like “I felt his hard manliness throbbing inside me, sending spasms of ecstasy ripping through my body.” Then I’d hear from the backseat “Aw, mom, what are you listening to? That’s so gross!” And I would be forced to say “I don’t know what this is but it’s disgusting.” I’d quickly turn it off and wait for him to nod off again so I could turn it back on and return to the story.

My daughter thought my taste in driving literature was so trashy she couldn’t stand it. So I went to the library and picked philosophy books to listen during the drive to college. Needless to say my daughter fell asleep within 2 minutes of starting one of her learned CD’s and I was stuck listening to Sartre’s philosophy and existentialism for five hours. My kids may not get me, but my friends do. Amanda would have prefered my choice in CD’s.

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