I’ve never really identified with a particular buzzword that describes my generation. I’m too young to be a Baby Boomer and too old for Generation X. Don’t ask me what Generation Y is … I know they’re out there, but too much talk about Xs and Ys reminds me of science and chromosomes and that stuff makes my head hurt.
At 48 with two kids under the age of 6, I sometimes feel like I’m in a generation of my very own. My values and ideals align with the boomers, but because my children are so young, most of the other moms I interact with are millennials.
Here are 25 telling (and semi-depressing) signs that unlike my parenting peers, I skipped right past the millennial mom stage right to being … the old older mom …
- I have an arsenal of responses to people who ask, “Is that your grand-baby?” about my own kids. Those responses might include smacking someone over the head with a Salt n’ Pepa mixtape … hey, old school never gets old.
- I don’t make a big deal out of potty accidents. Because sneezing and laughing sometimes makes me pee my pants, too.
- I’m semi-illiterate when it comes to technology. And rely heavily on my 2nd-grader to trouble-shoot the iPad and the 7th-grade neighbor kid to teach me “the Twitters.”
- I have no idea what people are talking about when they say “Snapchat.” I’m pretty sure it doesn’t involve snapping fingers but other than that, I’m clueless. I do, however, know all about the bend and snap …
- My favorite clothing style is elastic, and I’m really excited my stretchy pants are now referred to as “yoga pants.” This makes me feel cool and hip (even though I don’t actually do yoga because if I get downward with the dog, chances are I won’t be able to get back up again).
- I remember the days when smoking on airplanes and card catalogs were still a thing. My kids give me the blank stare when I talk about stuff like floppy disks and getting high off the mimeograph fumes.
- I’m still trying to get used to phrases like “helicopter parenting,” and contemporary name spellings, like Jaxsun and Reighnbow.
- I need Urban Dictionary to understand what the other carpool moms are talking about. “Totes adorbs” means a really cute bag, right?
- I smile when the guy at the supermarket calls me Ma’am, because in my day, it was basic politeness.
- People make fun of me for saying stuff like “in my day.”
- I call my fridge an icebox.
- I refer to my junior high boyfriend as my “squeeze.” By the way, he was a total fox.
- My junior high squeeze rocked a macramé vest and feathered hair. So did I.
- I think baloney and cheese on white bread with a side of Cheetos washed down with a nice Hawaiian Punch is a balanced meal. And I don’t understand all the hoopla over organic food. I also don’t know what GMO actually stands for. Besides, there’s real fruit in that punch.
- I appreciate competition and have never seen the glory of the “everyone’s a winner!” way of looking at things.
- I’m admittedly confused by Mommy Wars, sensory play, gender-reveal parties, and selfies.
- See also: selfie stick and duck lips.
- When my kid gets sick, I call the pediatrician. I keep meaning to see what that “essential oils thing” is all about, though.
- I believe presents are for the birthday kid and that this whole goody bag thing has gotten waaaay out of hand.
- I am also known in certain circles as “that mean mom who doesn’t hand out goody bags.”
- I’m skeptical about self-help parenting books. My mom smoked cigarettes while she painted my crib with lead-based paint that I probably licked. I turned out mostly okay.
- I call my playlists a mixtape, and when someone mentions boy bands, I think of the Bee Gees. Or The Bay City Rollers. Dreamy.
- My coolness factor increases exponentially when “’80’s Day” rolls around. Because there’s plenty of stuff in my closet that’s been around that long. Leg warmers will come back.
- To me, dope is drugs, sick means the flu, and off the hook refers to a phone … the kind of phone mounted to the wall.
- I’m secure in the knowledge that certain stuff just doesn’t look good on me, like crop tops and glitter eye makeup. I will, however, occasionally wear sweatpants with “Juicy” bedazzled on the butt because it embarrasses my children and that’s always a good time, no matter how silly those sparklies look on my middle-aged rearend.
Millennial, baby boomer, or Generation X, Y, or Z (is there a Z?) alike, the one thing that stays the same is that we moms all love our kids. At the end of the day, there are more things that bind us together than push us apart.
But, I’ll still never understand duck lip selfies. Ever.More On