I just want to be a cool adult to my kids because this mothering thing is killing me. Though I don’t mind that love for them pours spontaneously from deep in my soul every morning to noon and the whole day through, I’m tired of waiting for my Millennials to see this all too familiar face as someone worth knowing, not just a middle-aged, out of touch worrywart.

It’s as if they already know what I’m selling and have figured out how to skip the commercial. My 21-year-old son, a little critter no more, sees me as a patronizing ignoramus most of the time. How dare I expect a return phone call, let alone a response to my email? I’m going to be there on the other end until the end, bothering him anyway, he figures, so why let me into his life whenever I want? And don’t even think about asking him his friends’ names or what his weekend plans are anymore, because, in his mind, how could I relate? To him, I’m good for a pair of shoes, 20 bucks in the mail and underwear.

My 19-year-old daughter might sometimes view me as an honest to goodness person with something to contribute, especially if what I’m wearing is passably modern in her opinion. I get lucky every now and then when I have boots she wants to borrow or a bag to steal; she’ll chummy up and we’re like-minded giggling girls for a blissful moment or two. But I’ll never be hip enough to pick out items for her to wear. “It’s office wear,” she says with her nose curled in the air. Well I’ve had it with the ‘I wants’ and ‘why can’t I haves’ instead of ‘let’s go do’ this or that together, much less ‘what do you think about’ something or another.

Cool adults are role models, the people emerging adults look to for both clues and tricks to finding their own niche. They have the traditional stages of life all figured out and quip short answers in pop lingo. Mostly they don’t ask stupid questions. Me, well I’m out here in motherland still lying in hope of some defiant behavior, like: “I can’t wait to see the mold growing under that wet towel you left on the floor” or “I love to crunch the disposable contacts you throw on the rug at night.”