They Call Me Air Mom
The other day I was bemoaning to my 22-year-old how I felt I was lagging a bit in the parenting game now that I going a second round with my 10-year-old nephew.
“Don’t worry, Mom, you’re like Jordan,” my son said. You could almost hear my ego inflate. Air Mom! I would go down in the annals of time as the world’s greatest mom. Unfortunately, the dear child didn’t stop at that.
“Remember,” he continued, “when Jordan came back and played on the Wizards? He was past his prime. Remember when he tried to dunk in the All Stars game and missed?
“What are you trying to say,” I queried?
“Mom, you’re still heck’a good---just don’t try any dunks.”