The World's Third Coolest Mom
The latest ratings are in, and I've apparently fallen in the rankings from World's Coolest to World's Third Coolest Mom. I'm... stunned.
It started this way: I told Olivia if she is really good for a month, she can have a bona fide slumber party with more than one girlfriend over! She got very excited.
Slumber parties were a big part of my childhood. I mostly remember having them at Steph's house in Connecticut. There'd be five or ten girls with sleeping bags strewn about the den. We'd stay up late, try to summon Bloody Mary, and talk about boys.
I think eight is a good age to start having them. The kids are old enough not to miss their mom at night and need to be driven back home. They're old enough to follow directions (mostly) about cleaning up their mess.
But I was very tired when she was eight, because I was working an early morning shift. I needed absolute silence by 7 p.m. when I was lying in bed.
Yes, even on the weekends. The body doesn't get a memo that it's Saturday, you know.
So now she's nine, and I'm off that shift and committed to normalcy for the rest of my life (speaking in terms of work schedule; let's not get too optimistic), and I can do this for her. Olivia is very motivated to earn this reward.
We sat around and planned the event. Food, dessert, activities, sleeping arrangements, guest list. Six or seven girls, I tell her.
And here's where it glitches up. "I can come and tell you ghost stories or we can paint nails together!" I gush.
Olivia paused. "Only if you're invited. We'll have to vote you in."
Invited? Vote? ?!?!?!
"But--? Aren't I-- the coolest-- mommy? You said so-- the other-- night?" I sputtered in pain.
"Jordan's mom teaches fourth grade now, so that's even cooler than a mom who was on TV," she shrugged. The message: delivered so matter-of-factly without any sensitivity!
That's cold, Dawg. She's like a mini Jason Bourne. She kills me.
"What if I were still working on TV? Would that make me the coolest?" I queried.
"No. She has a job at school. That's awesome," insisted Olivia.
OK, relief. I don't have to go get my old job back.
"I'm #2 then?" I confirm.
"Actually, you're #3. Jaycie's mom works in the cafeteria," she corrected.
Oh, my heart. I'm number three. Just like that. Fame is so fickle.
I'm going to work really hard to get back to #1. My idea is to present an ice cream bar to rival the delicious spreads over at those yogurt shops: the many flavors of yogurt, the two dozen toppings.
All the girls will witness my coolness when I unveil this with a flourish at the slumber party and they'll convince Olivia her mom is the coolest. This actually means I'm the one who wants to have the big sleepover now.
I! Will! Return! To! Former! Glory!