So Uncool

With a permanent mental age of 15, I worry about how uncool I must seem to the three teenage boys next door. Every time they see me, I'm unloading groceries, dragging garbage cans around, carrying one or more screaming children in my arms, pulling vines that are pulling our fence apart.

Oliver thinks I'm cool because I ride the train to work. But, at 4, he's already trying to enforce a no-singing rule on his parents, because it's so embarrassing.