Cooler than me...

The other day, I had a half an hour to myself. This is rare. I sat in my very “un-cool” mini-van and decided to celebrate my 30 minutes of freedom by getting an iced coffee and listening to my iPod while driving.

This sounds lame. Even as I type it, I recognize that it is not remotely exciting. But, for those of you who have “The Wiggles” on your iPods know, a few minutes here and there away from the preferences and tastes of your children can feel downright luxurious.

However, this 30 minutes was not all “pleasure” — there were the inevitable chores and tasks that needed to be completed before I headed home. So while I was at Mr. Frank’s getting my iced coffee, I decided to fill the minivan with gas. (Better now than when it was on empty and I had to drive to different ends of town, which is how I usually realize, I need to buy gas).

I pulled up to the pump, and rolled down my window. The attendant (most likely in his very late teens or very early twenties) said, “Hello Ma’am, what can I get you?” (Cringe) I sighed and said “just fill it with regular” he nodded, and then the song playing in my minivan caught his attention.” “Um, is that the Pogues, Ma’am?” he asked, clearly very surprised. “I said, “Yes.”  He nodded and sort of laughed, and said, “That’s kind of cool, Ma’am.”

I wanted to snap, “I know its cool you little puke!” And then further it with “What do you even know about the Pogues? Have you ever seen them? Well, I have! I saw the lead singer, Shane McGowan, fall off the damn stage!” But I smiled and said, “Yeah I guess.”

He looked into the van beyond me to see if perhaps I was driving some younger cooler people someplace and shook his head a bit when he realized it was just me. It was just this nerdy mom, and her iced coffee, and car seats and “mustang” sticker on the back windshield. Just this random "mom-esque lady" who cashed in her “cool card” many, many years ago. “If I Should Fall from the Grace of God indeed…”

I don’t like being called “Ma’am.” Well, I almost like it. I appreciate the display of good manners. I acknowledge that the speaker is being polite, respectful.  But, I just also hear “Old lady” when somebody says “Ma’am.” I can’t remember when I transitioned from “Miss” to Ma’am,” but it was some time ago. I do remember clearly the first time I was not carded when I ordered a drink at a restaurant. At first I was happy. I thought — I finally look like a real adult. Now I would love to be carded.  Every time an over-zealous waiter or cashier at liquor store asks for my I.D., I thank them.

The aging process is difficult for all of us, but I think that one of the biggest slights is the loss of “cool.” More so than crow’s feet and “comfortable shoes” losing the “edge” that propelled you through your younger days can be difficult.

Many people who are of “parenting age” who also grew up in Norwood had a very personal brush with the pinnacle of "coolness." Norwood’s own Dicky Barrett of the Mighty Mighty Bosstones was our homegrown king of cool.  My Bosstones story: walking down stairs at my high school graduation party in a Bosstones shirt (it’s a plaid, plaid world) and my mom’s friend Pat, who I had met 100 times started laughing. “You like the Bosstones, Colleen?" she chuckled. I was confused. What did my mom’s friend Pat know about the Bosstones. Well it turns out quite a bit because she is Dicky Barrett's mother. How I never knew until this point is beyond me, but here she was, laughing at me. She said, “I think I have a better present for you.”

Later that summer I was invited to her home to “hang out” with Dicky Barrett as he answered fan mail from his mom’s screened in porch up in the tree streets. He drank a beer, and gave me a can of Pepsi. I was a total dork, but Dicky and his mom never let on that they noticed.  Further, I was put on the guest list at Bosstones shows for the next four years. 

I shared my very intimate brush with celebrity with other fans, and soon became known as “Pepsi girl” to the regulars at all the shows. At one "Hometown Throwdown" I was tossed over the crowd and onto the stage. He looked at me and said “What’s up, Norwood?” I kissed him on the cheek and dove back into the crowd. Pretty cool, huh? Take that gas station kid!

So, many, many thanks to Mrs. Barrett who consistently called her son on my behalf. Thank you Dicky Barrett who indulged his mother’s request to save a spot for this goofy kid. Thank you to Kate, and Julie, and Tina, and Krista who would go to all of these shows with me (Julie even made it into one of the videos). Julie is having her third child in nine days. She can barely walk across a room never mind skip across a stage in Doc Martens and a flannel shirt. What on earth has happened to us?

I can’t imagine going to a “Hometown throwdown.” I can’t imagine jamming into the basement of a club with hundreds of other sweaty, stinky people.  I can’t imagine waiting to see a band go on at 11 p.m. 11 p.m.! I am in bed for a few hours by 11 p.m. on most nights. I’m tired. 

I’ve gone to a few concerts over the past couple of years, and nothing makes a person more aware of their age than being at a concert. For starters, I notice people in my age set looking like complete weenies.  They are wearing running shoes, (“we’ll be doing a lot of walking”) and wearing fanny packs. Sometimes you notice bright-orange plugs jammed in their ears. And they seem confused. I recognize the confusion. Their faces wear an expression that reads "Where am I? What am I doing out in this crowd, with all of these people?" We don’t want to be up late. We don’t want to pay seven dollars for a beer. We are caught wondering what dragged us out of our homes in the first place.

Then I look with further disdain at the younger kids. Darrin and I were at a concert two summers ago at “The Tweeter Center” (Great Woods). We wandered around “the lawn” which is no longer a lawn and eavesdropped on the kids. They were on their phones, texting and calling each other. They were saying things like, "I’m on the lawn near section B." I snorted in their direction. Hah! We didn’t have phones! We would just find out friends. We walk aimlessly through parking lots, or tie balloons to the antenna. We would find each other by utilizing a combination of dumb luck and tenacity. I even found my sister at a Lollapalooza concert in the middle of an abandoned air force base! Now that is cool (It’s actually not, but I thought it was then).

A few of my friends have stayed cool in spite of our age. They are in bands, and wear cool things, and stay up late. My friend, Kate is particularly fabulous. She is in a band, The Full-Time Dreamers, and they are very good... But I never get to see her. She will send me information about a show and it will be a Thursday night at 10:30 p.m. or something like that. I just can’t do it! I try. I will my self to find the energy (and at the very least a non-mom black T-shirt and pair of jeans) and get out to see a show, but I never do…

Our friend John is also in a band, Cousin Jonny. He will send Facebook evites to his shows. Most of them are also crazy times like, 11 p.m. at The Cantab in Cambridge… ummm, no. Even when they play locally and go onstage at a reasonable hour, I still find my self yawning halfway through the set. They talk about 9 p.m. as “early.” Usually I have collapsed into bed by 9 p.m.… I feel like I will turn back into a pumpkin well before midnight. So, although I like seeing live music (especially bands full of my friends) I very rarely get a chance to do it. Most of my live outdoor entertainment falls under the “little league category."

I haven’t completely surrendered, but my attempts have almost comical results. A couple of years ago, Darrin and I went with several of our brothers and sisters in law to U2. Going to U2 concerts was something I used to be good at…

However the next day, which was a Monday, resulted in at least eight really exhausted parents. We also caught a bit of the “Irish Flu” while at the show. One of my sisters in law said, "When will it end!? I’ve been sick for days!" There is an equation that nobody tells you about until after your 30th birthday. It is something like the number of cocktails or greasy food or hours past 9 p.m. that you stay out of your house multiplied by your age resulting in an exponential decrease in productivity for at least double the amount of time that you can spare in your bed. If you combine the three factors, cocktails, greasy food and staying out past 9 p.m., the result multiplies by something like a million…

Maybe music was never your thing. Maybe you are an avid football fan, or like to participate in Civil War reenactments. Whatever it is, most parents can look back on an activity that they once loved and realize that it no longer holds the significance it once did. We all let go a little bit of what once filled our days before our children took center stage in our lives. And we also get to a place where we happily accept it. I don’t have the limitless energy I did before Ben, Max and Grace arrived.

Or maybe I do, it’s just that I expend more energy than I ever have before. The only naps happening in this house are for the baby, and even those don’t happen as consistently as they should. The nights when a babysitter is available, I’d rather go out locally with my husband, and occasionally the groups of girlfriends I never see anymore because they are in their houses exhausted by their children. Instead of following bands we follow our kids. 

I have learned to find a great deal of excitement in sitting on my back deck with my family and watching the kids swim. I have found fellow “groupies” in the gyms at Norwood. I like opportunities to sneak off with the other Moms after a PTO meeting for a glass of wine, and I like driving around in my car alone with nobody else contributing to the music selection while drinking an iced coffee.

As the Bosstones would say, "I guess I really don’t know how to party…"