I want to be as smart as my 14 year old son. Seriously, you guys.
It's a goal that's going to be hard to attain.
For example, I'm trying to figure out business cards for BlogHer. Actual conversation:
Mom: "Hmm, I wonder how I can get this done."
Son: "Duh, Mom. Everyone knows how to get business cards done. It's the easiest thing in the world."
Mom: "Ok, well, I'm not certain if the formatting is correct here."
Son: BIG sigh. "Mom, come on. Surely you know AT LEAST this."
Another example: We are driving home from the allergist, and jamaican music is playing on the radio. I bop around a bit, and playfully poke him in the side. He looks over at me and rolls his eyes.
Son: "Geez, Mom. Grow up already."
Mom: "Well, at least you don't have Mrs. X (an ex neighbor known for being overly strict and no fun with her kids) as your mom. Just think; your name would then be Nikolas blank blank."
Son: "God, Mom! I can't believe that you'd make fun of someone like that! You are always getting on my case about being polite. What a rotten person you are, poking fun at a person like that!"
As well as:
"What made you put those colors together for tie dye? Maybe you should look at a color wheel."
And the always popular, "Geez Mom, I KNOW that. Doesn't everyone?" "Let me set up the iPod/dvd/cable/computer for you. You don't know how to do that." "Don't tell me how to take notes on my mandatory, tested on the first day of school, summer reading. You don't know how to take notes." "Do you think you could cook a meal tonight, instead of sandwiches and fruit and carrots?" This last in spite of the fact that it is eleventy bajillion degrees here, and he is always welcome to cook for himself.
He's developed a habit of looking OVER the top of his glasses at me with raised eyebrows, which drives me batty. It makes me feel condescended to, looked down upon, and as if I don't pass muster. No matter how many times I remind him to look through the glasses, he still goes over them.
Somewhere, I know that anyone who has grown up children is laughing at me, as well as anyone who knew me as a child. It doesn't make me feel better, although I know that misery loves company.
Give me a biting, tantruming toddler any day of the week. This shit is HARD.