So. Not. Cool.

That’s me.  I have been forced to confront the harsh fact that I am no longer cool in my 12-year-old’s eyes.  Even though I can do a mean dance to 80’s music…and even though I attempt to sing along with Lady Gaga…and even though I try really hard not to embarrass her on Facebook…I have been branded with the uncool status.

A couple of weeks ago, I picked Micaela up after practice on a Saturday, and we had a nice girls’ afternoon out.  We picked out her dress for the dance (a cute little number in a size 5…a size I don’t believe I have ever owned), and we got all the accessories.  Cute matching shoes.  Some trendy bling with which to accessorize.

At the end of the day, I felt proud that we had agreed on the entire ensemble, and we’d had FUN in the process.  Yeah!  What a good mom/daughter bonding day.  She was looking forward to the dance, and I was excited to help her get ready for her first big middle school shindig.

Until yesterday.  Yesterday, as soon as I walked in the door from work, she asked, “Hey Mom, is it ok if I go to Alli’s house to get ready for the dance?”

What?  Noooooo, I was screaming in my head, but outwardly I showed none of the signs of a middle-aged breakdown.  Instead I smiled, breathed deeply, and remembered the days when my parents were uncool.  I suppose this is one of the hazards of the job.

I said to her, “Sure, just as long as I get to take pictures.”  And that was that.

I didn’t realize how quickly the days would go.  It doesn’t seem like that long ago that I was helping her with her hair and putting cute little bows in her pigtails. I wonder if—just this once—she’d wear pigtails to the dance so I wouldn’t feel so uncool.

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