Cool Moms

So this childless friend of mine, Eleuthera, and I were talking and she was like, “Yeah I know most of the people you hang with these days are moms but I bet they’re the cool moms.”

“The cool moms?” I asked, wondering — legitimately wondering — what a cool mom was supposed to be and why Eleuthera would think that I would be hanging out with them — or they with me.  Me, older, sober, bed-by-eight, grouch-by-seven, black-legging trapped, comfortable shoes, no-makeup, no-insta, fairly serious eco party-pooper, full-time conscious parenting junkie, recovering advice-giving addict, why in the world the cool moms, whoever they were, would wanna hang out with me.

“You’re so cool.  I bet the moms you hang out with are really cool too and think you are so cool.”

“I dunno, all moms are pretty cool.”

“No, come on, not the Donnas and the Stephanies and the Paulas.”

“Well, I kinda think all moms are cool, once they let you get to know them.”

“Ok, I get that.”

“And by the way judge-y judgerson miss all-the-time-in-the-world-for- everything if I hear you throwing shade on any moms ever again I’m gonna send a toddler over to bite you.  For reals.”

But I didn’t actually say that last part, or even think it for very long, because I’m so freaking kewl like that.  I’m gonna keep going. 

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