I could never hope to aspire to being cool. Or hip. As I’ve mentioned before, I’m a closet Celine Dion fan. But I thought that I was at least “with it.” After all, I know who Lady Gaga is, I can tell the Jonas Brothers apart and I can actively participate in a conversation debating whether or not the new Giant’s pitcher, (who just came up from the minors), looks like an  ugly version of Shia LaBeouf. Just when I thought I could keep up…  I got shot down.

Mark’s friend Neal, (who practically lives at our house) came walking down the driveway one morning sporting a new “do” with gel spiked hair that looked decidedly (to me) like a mohawk. And I said as much. “Look everybody! Neal has a mohawk!” Cheryl rolled her eyes and remarked with derisive disdain, “That’s not a mohawk, that’s a fauxhawk. With a mohawk he would have shaved the sides of his head.” Upon closer inspection, I could see he was indeed, faking it (much to his parent’s eternal joy, I’m sure) and I stood corrected.

Just one more reminder of the gender gap and my children’s lack of hesitation to set me straight.