Tag Archive | bj sheldon

I Am an Uncool Parent

I’m not sure when I became the uncool parent. There had to be a specific moment where I lost my touch; although, I’m at a loss to know exactly when that was. Once upon a time, my kids thought I was the hippest chick on the planet. Everything I did made them laugh. Everything I said was funny. They wanted to hang out with me 24/7 and couldn’t imagine ever growing up and leaving me. I swear, I’m not making this up. They told me that themselves.

Let’s flash forward a few years. My children no longer want to be seen with me in public. If I go to the mall with my two youngest daughters these days (twenty and thirteen-years-old respectively), they walk two paces behind me pretending not to know me…unless of course there’s something they want. Then suddenly they run toward me in slow motion, as if in a bad movie montage, hands outreached toward me as they reach for my wallet. Typically, that is the moment when they tell me they love me. But five minutes later, they’re back to trailing behind like they’ve never even met me.

 

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Me and my 3 daughters. I’m the incredibly lame one, 2nd from the left.

Now, there are times where I say something incredibly witty and charming, something that most people would find humorous and potentially life-altering. Something an adult would slap me on the back for and say, “You’re so funny. I think I peed a little!” But instead of realizing my potential as a possible stand-up comic, able to humor the masses and cause people to piddle themselves, my children will turn to me and say, with a deadpanned expression, “You’re not funny. Don’t do that.”

It’s a no-win situation.

I’d like to think it’s because they’re not cool and out of touch with the rest of mankind. But I’m fairly certain it’s because I’m not Angelina Jolie or Sarah Jessica Parker, instead stuck with a boring woman who wears nothing but sweat pants every day, doing nothing but typing on a laptop all day. I’m not glamorous or exciting.

Or maybe it’s just that I’m not nearly as funny as I think I am

…..Nah

But I digress.

At some point, I lost the title of “cool mom”. Apparently, I walk too loud. I talk too much. And I say certain words wrong. (In my defense, I grew up thinking there was an R in the middle of the word “wash”.) But I don’t even have to say anything anymore. Even a sideways glance from me can be a potential deal breaker when we’re in public, with one of the girls mumbling under her breath, “Stop embarrassing us.”

 

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Birthday dinner for the one on the right. I believe after this photo was taken, one of them threatened to flush my phone if I took one more picture.

I wonder if Madonna’s kids are embarrassed by her past antics? Do you think Jennifer Garner’s children roll their eyes every time they see her on one of those credit card commercials? I’d bet money that Tina Fey’s kids will eventually be mortified whenever they accidentally come across one of her old SNL skits. I’m thinking (and hoping) that I’m not alone in this personal hell. I have to assume that all parents go through this eventually.

I remember the good old days when all I had to do was talk like a duck and cross my eyes, and my daughters would nearly pee themselves from laughter. And those moments where I was able to spread peanut butter evenly without ripping the slice of bread or fixing a broken zipper? I never felt more accomplished than when my children looked up at me, mouth wide in awe, utterly impressed at my obvious superhuman abilities. But the stakes have now been raised to an impossible level. Nothing I do is impressive or funny. I could shoot lightning out of my fingers to start a fire or fart a rainbow, and my daughters would shrug and go back to staring at their phones, completely indifferent to my personal achievements.

 

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I wanted to take professional mother/daughter photos a few years ago. They were incredibly embarrassed, but I still managed to get them to smile for the camera.

It’s my own fault, really. I was lulled into a false sense of security over the years, my children constantly showing me affection, saying cute little things like, “You funny mama” or “You the best mama ever.” Turns out, children are fickle things, only seeing their parents as amusing playthings until they’re old enough to see through our lame façade. Truth is, in their eyes, I’ve turned into old gum that’s lost it flavor, spit out and stuck to someone’s shoe.

Okay…maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but you get the picture.

And no matter what I do, I can’t seem to get the cool-factor back. It doesn’t matter how many books I publish, who I know, or what I’ve done. I doubt there’s anything I could do to impress my offspring these days. My husband and I often joke that even if I manage to pull off the dream of all dreams and write something that ends up on the big screen and am invited to the red-carpet premiere, I’d still manage to barely find myself a blip on their radar of “cool”. Unless, of course, I somehow managed to get them photos with their Hollywood faves…someone like Andy Samburg, Charlie Hunnam, or Gal Gadot. Then, my status as greatest-mom-ever would rise to its highest ranking in years…at least until the next day when I say something amusing while strolling down the Hollywood Walk of Fame. They would ultimately roll their eyes and fall-in behind me, two paces back, and pretend as if they don’t know me. And even then, if I remind them I was the one responsible for them meeting Andy, Charlie, and Gal, they’d reply with, “Well, that was yesterday. This is now.”

Recently, I thought back to my own adolescence, remembering how embarrassing my mother was on a daily basis. Was I judging her too harshly? Was she actually cool, and was I just too hypercritical to see it? But then I look at old photos of us and remember how she tried to dress me like a fifty-year-old woman and forced me to tuck my shirts into my underwear. And let’s not forget the time she forced me to dress like a pumpkin when I was thirteen-years-old for a Halloween party. I’ll never forget the horror of cute boys talking to every girl there…except me. Or the multiple times she dressed me as Uncle Sam to sing patriotic tunes to the elderly at retirement centers…and I realize I was justified at my embarrassment.

 

Embarassing 4th

You thought I was kidding…

But I’m much cooler, right? Right? Am I delusional?

Probably.

The only satisfaction I gain from all of this is that one day, my children’s own children will repay the favor. One day, they’ll be flying high, thinking they’re the best parent in the world, their child worshipping the ground they walk on. The next, their teenager will stare at their handheld holo-phone and mutter, “You’re not funny. Don’t do that.”

A girl can dream.

*Disclaimer: This post was written tongue-in-cheek. My kids are great…the ungrateful brats.

 

 

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Be Ceaseless – The Blog Series

Ceaseless. The dictionary loosely defines it as “without pause or stop; unending”; however, I define it as “a person who is unstoppable; a way of being; the attitude a person takes when they do not allow people or circumstances to stop them from achieving their full potential”. It’s a word that defines who I am to the core of my being. I can’t go anywhere without being identified as “that ceaseless author”, a moniker I wear with pride.

But I have gone beyond that. Ceaseless is tattooed on my forearm for all the world to see – a constant reminder of how my children see me and a way to remind myself just how strong I truly am. Over time, it’s evolved into the hashtag #BeCeaseless – encouraging others to view their own circumstances in a different way. BeCeaseless is on t-shirts, bracelets, and even has its own Facebook page. It’s taken on a life of its own, and I’m proud to say that my own failures gave birth to this movement.

Yep. Failures.

For me, being ceaseless is a state of mind. A few years ago, I finally realized I was far stronger than I’d ever given myself credit for, and without that sudden clarity I hate to think where I’d be right now. My only regret in life is that I didn’t realize it all sooner. The fact that I was 43-years-old before I saw myself through my children’s eyes…as someone who is relentless…pushes me to do better and be better every single day. But I’m not doing it for them per say. While I want to set a good example, and be a role model to my kids, I’ve had to learn it’s okay to be a bit selfish about my own wellbeing and my life’s goals. No one is going to hand me the success I want out of life. I have to work hard and earn it. And now more than I ever, I know it’s within my grasp simply because I believe it.

That may seem like hokum and new-age thinking. But even quantum physics has a theory about the law of attraction. By thinking positively and expecting good things to happen, positive and good things will happen. Perhaps that is oversimplifying its definition, but you get the gist of it.

I wasted far too many years on self-pity parties, pessimism, and blaming others for my problems. Everyone has their own demons – a past they’d like to forget and an uncertain future that seems doomed for failure. Skeletons hang in closets like neatly organized bedlam where we hope they’ll stay hidden from the curious eyes of society. I planned to keep my own skeletons hidden from everyone I knew for fear of being judged. But I recently discovered that by keeping my struggles buried, embarrassed to let others discover my failures and pain, no one would ever know the real me or why I am who I am.

There are incidents from my past I wish I could forget, but every traumatic event shaped the person I was to become. Through the tears, the hardships, and the pain, I am now someone that my younger self would be proud to know. Toxic people, fear, blame, and self-loathing will only stand in the way of letting you become the person you always thought you could be. Happiness is up to you. No one, not even me, can motivate you to become who you were always meant to be. That, my dear, is entirely up to you.

This is the first of many blog posts – a series that will ultimately make you see you’re not alone. My ultimate goal is to make you understand just how strong you are. Life is hard, yet you are made of harder stuff…but only if you believe it. As the days, weeks, and months go by, you will discover how broken I once was and how I was able to fight my way back to become the person I am today. I’m not perfect, and I am nowhere close to where I want to be in life…yet. But the point is this…through self-belief, ambition, perseverance, optimism, and planning, I know without a doubt one day I will succeed in everything I want to achieve because I am allowing it to happen.

You can achieve anything.

My hope for this blog series is this: that you discover the hero inside yourself. By figuring out how to let go of the past and embrace your future, you will find that you are free to become the champion of your own story.

As for me…I am ceaseless. I am strong. I am the she I always meant to be.

Who are you?