How I've Become Lame

I bought this nightgown yesterday.

My sister wrote a brilliant article about the mechanics of becoming lame.  I have noticed that it is happening to me at a much more accelerated rate than I thought possible.

I'm lame! I wear smock aprons in vintage fabrics when I cook. At first I bought them because they evoked a bygone era and seemed retro-chic. I'll just hang these in my kitchen for decoration, I thought.  But I wear them to keep the tomato sauce off my no-iron pinpoint shirts.

I wear them when I say, in a sing-songy voice, "I went to San Francisco on MY choir tour!!!" to the poor high-schoolers who come collecting money for their choir tour. I've become THAT kind of mom.  A sing-songy voice mom who thinks she is funny but makes people uncomfortable.

One time when I was in junior high I was watching "Top Gun" with my friend, Amy. "Highway to the Danger Zone" by Kenny Loggins was playing. Amy's mom came into the room and sang"danejah zooone" in a dramatic voice while bobbing her head and dancing a little bit. We thought we would die of the lameness.  A few weeks later, the same movie was on and the same song was playing, only this time it was my mom who came into the room and sang "danejah zooone" in a dramatic voice while bobbing her head and dancing a little bit. It must be a mom thing, I thought at the time. A LAME mom thing. Now I go around singing and bobbing my head while dancing a little bit all the time! My kids have to ask me to stop.

What's the dealio? All evidence to the contrary, I don't think I'm lame. I think I'm funny.

I thought the Lanz of Salzburg nightgown I bought yesterday was funny and evoked a bygone era. My mom had the same one. My husband's mom had the same one. Their moms probably had the same one.  I'll just wear this as a joke to tease Mike, I thought.  I slept in it all night and it was like having an extra blanket just on me. I don't think it's so funny anymore--I think it's wonderful and am wondering how lame it might seem for me to wear thick leggings underneath it because it is a little cold on my legs when I walk around the house wearing just my Lanz of Salzburg and my LL Bean slippers.

I've been obsessed with chicken pot pie lately. I mean really good chicken pot pie.  My family doesn't understand. They like it well enough, but they don't emote over it like I do. I've been discussing rice pudding and may cook up a batch, just for me, since nobody else in my family would touch it. Bygone era evocation, or just a gradual decent into lameness? You be the judge.

I think it's all right to be a lame mom. My kids would probably think I am lame no matter what, right? I mean, the short hair, the cat-eye glasses, the Lanz of Salzburg, the smocks, the singing, the comfort food--those things could be replaced with long hair, contacts, silky PJS, ordering out, dignified silence, and sushi and my kids would probably still roll their eyes when I do dances while bobbing my head a little bit.