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The Coolest Mom?
By Gwen Morrison
Arriving at the store, I parked away from the front doors, so that I could make a huge entrance. My hips swayed a little more than usual as the heels clicked the pavement, announcing my arrival to Wal-Mart shoppers. I held my head high, shoulders back, eyes wide open and smiled.
As I strode the isles, for just a brief moment in time, I wasn't just the mom of four children; I was a woman a very cool woman. Just as I rounded the corner by the Kotex, I fell. Yes, I fell. It seemed to happen in slow motion, my daughter tried to tell me between breaths as she convulsed in laughter. I fell my ankle twisting inward in the too-high black shoes and down I went on my knees. People were staring at me. I just couldn't believe that I fell in the middle of Wal-Mart. This was not cool.
Eventually, I rose and recovered. I dusted off my tight black jeans and limped away. My tiny fling with being cool was over. It was fun while it lasted, but it was definitely over. It was destiny, or so it seemed. Sweatshirts and tennis shoes are me, but I am still cool ... in a mommy kind of way. I know, because my kids tell me that I'm cool. Well, all except for my teenage daughter who now refuses to be seen with me in public!
