My son, Fisher, turned 6 years old this week! I don't know where time has gone, but I am so proud of how he is growing and maturing into this little independent creature.
When he was still considered a toddler, I remember telling my Aunt Sandy about wanting to be the cool mom who got silly/dirty/wet and who got down and played and ran around the playground and didn't care about what anyone else thought.
She commented that if I wanted to be known as "cool," then I obviously cared what others thought about me. Maybe I was unclear.
I wanted to be cool to Fisher.
He's truly all that matters. In fact, I think that my idea of being cool to him is often the opposite of being cool to other parents or the general population. My idea being going to his school Halloween party with a Nintendo hat and hoodie and PJ one-up pants and wearing his Mario mustache when he asks me to. Or jumping rope in front of other humans...at all. Or making ridiculous faces for photos. Or letting him make a mess of the kitchen just to "help" as he learns how to bake. Or letting him hit me with water balloons.
I asked Fisher last night if he thought I was cool. He said "yeah." I asked him why.
"Because you help me out and you do some chores with me."
He's way cooler than me.
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