Some mornings when the girls wake up early I let them play on their iPads for a little before-school zoning.It’s a tactical strategy, really. I need time for my coffee to do its magic. Seep into my bloodstream before I can strategize my day.
A couple of days ago as I sipped my brew at the end of my daughters’ bed, I recognized my own voice coming from the speakers of Grace’s shiny, white mini.
It turned out that while filming her most recent Barbie stop action short; I was simultaneously caught in a telephone conversation with my gal pal Monica, a conversation neither sophisticated nor intellectual in regard to the television show The Sons of Anarchy and its male cast….
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A snippet went something like this:
“OMG, Jax Teller…he’s soooo cute!”
“Maybe I should date a biker?”
“I have, like, such a major crush.”
“They shouldn’t have killed off the Prospect.”
“I loved him!”
“Right. Right. Right.”
‘Season 5 is on Netflix!”
To say it’s embarrassing to be taped in a conversation without your knowledge is obvious. Hearing your own voice is weird.
When you’re a tax-paying forty-two year old mother, and big brother catches you acting boy crazy sixteen?
It’s most definitely embarrassing, but also kind of awesome.I may be creeping toward middle age, but girl talk and cute boys are forever.