When Did I Become Potsy?

When did I become so uncool?  I remember when I knew the latest music,
the coolest music, the hottest trends… and in an instant it all
disappears in a *poof* related to a simple equation such as this:  #
of birthdays X (# of children X combined ages of said children).

In other words, unless you are a famous rock star, we will never be as
cool as we would like with our children.  We will never look hip
wearing the same style clothing they do even if it is simply an
updated version of what we wore in high school.  (Perfect example:  We
looked like geeks in bell bottoms in the 70's and we look like geeks
now if we try to wear them now.)

It is also humbling that my teens are more knowledgeable about
Facebook and Myspace accounts.  After some deep thought and much
prodding from y conscious, I decided to create accounts so I could
stay in contact with my children's lives.  In other words, I wanted to
spy on them.  With much diligence and half a bottle of Tylenol, I
finally figured out that I had to create a password that met the
parameters of the websites.  That task accomplished in a mere record
three hours, I proceeded to create my profile.  It was a breeze, and
within a week I was ready to network.

I searched out my children's profiles and asked to be added as a
friend.  To my amazement, I was denied!  Me… the mother their friends
think is cool!  I promptly called a family meeting to discuss this
apparent oversight on behalf of my teens.  After explaining my
position as cool mom and the need to keep tabs on them, I realized
that my teens were either having seizures or they were rolling their
eyes at me.  My daughter, after releasing a deep sigh, explained to me
that it was not cool to have your mom listed as a friend with her
middle-aged mug for all to see.

Okay, I corrected this problem by creating a stealth profile with an
appropriately cool anime pic chosen by democratic process (in other
words, the teens picked it out for me).  I was allowed to join their
networks under the following conditions:  that I do not embarrass them
in the cyber world like I do in real life by not posting anything at
all and that if anything bothers me about their profiles I will
discuss it with them in the privacy of our home.

That brings me back to my real profiles.  Too uncool to be useful as
covert teen spying tools, I decided to see if I could reconnect with
old friends.  But old friends were not the only ones to try to connect
with me!

I had not thought about privacy settings and the like because, after
all, I am an adult.  Now I know that was a mistake, and I am not above
admitting mistakes… sometimes… but only if someone else has caught me.
 Anyway, I opened my friend request box thingy to find that an odd
assortment of sociopaths and psychopaths were also contacting me.
From across the land, strange creatures were lifting their tentacles
to keyboard and informing me that my life would be much more rewarding
if I would add them as a friend and become a part of their select,
worthy people.  I was amazed by the gamut of pictures, ranging from
the not so scary to the "MY God!  I saw him on America's Most Wanted!"

Now this is the embarrassing part for me.  After searching through the
different tools and functions of the websites, I had to ask my
daughter how to limit the functions for people whom I did not know.
She looked at me as if she was about to help a small child learn to
write the alphabet and then proceeded to show me where each tool was
located.  And then it hit me… I know how my mother felt when I was a
teen and how she must feel now that she is a senior citizen.

I didn't really pay attention to Kat's instructions because my mind
wandered to my relationship with my mother.  My mother has a computer
at home, but she has some problems using it even to just email.  She
was a bank vice president, a highly competent woman and yet I still
fight the urge to just push her out of the way and show my command of
the internet world.  But I truly have no command… because there I sat
with my daughter tutoring me and I was not getting it.  And instead of
asking her to repeat it, I shrugged my shoulder's like Fonzie did in
the episode where Ritchie offered to help him get his GED and… I got a
handle on it.

But I don't.  I am still self-teaching on how to get rid of the
weirdos online.  I am muddling through expansive Google results on how
to use the tools effectively.  And I am still trying to hold on to the
last shred of coolness I have:  my 9 year old still thinks mommy is
awesome no matter what his brother and sister say.