Slices of Life... Being cool, the mom way

It's amazing the things that my kids think are cool -when it comes to me, that is. In fact, it's amazing that they think I'm even remotely close to cool in any respect. When I was growing up, I thought my parents were in the tropics when it came to coolness, which somehow makes it even cooler that my kids think I'm cool.

But what makes them think this it what's really... well... cool.

Let's start with Maddie, age 15. She actually helps me attain my coolness. For her, it's all about the clothes. We were out somewhere the other day when she started pulling my undershirt out from behind me.

"What are you doing?" I asked, grabbing backward while thinking my underwear were probably next on her list.

"This is what's cool, Mom," she explained. "The shirt on the bottom hangs down below the shirt on top."

So when it comes to tops, the bottom comes out from under the top top? I think I got it.

It was quite a coincidence, actually. I dressed in layers because I was worried about being cold, not cool. Now, with my undershirt yanked out, I was on the verge of being cool, in a top bottom sort of way.

I begrudgingly allowed Maddie to continue undressing me until I was in a formal state of coolness. With the low-rise pants these days, I know that having my undershirt untucked certainly made my rear area feel "cool."

Twelve-year-old, Jack was on the computer, when I heard him gasp. "You're a Googler!" he exclaimed with blatant surprise.

It seems he'd done an Internet search with my name and I came up as me. Hold your applause. It's impressive, I know. Oh, stop. Now I'm blushing with the coolarity of it all.

(Secret note to readers: Go ahead. Do a Google of yourself. We're all on there. Just don't tell Jack. He thinks I'm cool.)

Then there's Anders. He's 10, and has his own definition of cool. It has to do with me putting his name in a newspaper article.

Anders. Anders. Anders.

Now I'm triply cool, or as they say in Mexico, tres-cool. (According to Anders, speaking Spanish is also very cool.)

That leaves us with Cal, age five. When you are five, your mom is inherently cool in lots of ways. Like when she gives you a juice pouch, lets you watch Nickelodeon, allows you to stay up past 8:00 p.m. or forgets to make you wear underwear.

In Cal's eyes I've always been cool. I will be for another year or two at least. He doesn't know how to read yet, so he doesn't care if his name is in the newspaper. He doesn't try to monopolize my computer by surfing the Internet or doing Google searches. He approves of my clothing and never, ever tries to rearrange my attire.

Best of all, he'll still hold my hand and hug me in public. Now that's cool.

Jill Pertler is a syndicated columnist and freelance writer working with graphic designer, Nikki Willgohs, to provide writing and design and other marketing services to businesses and individuals. She appreciates your comments and can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net .