Ice, Ice, Baby

Although Roar will never admit it, I'm a cool mom.  I base this assessment almost solely on the fact that, much to his chagrin, we like the same music.  I am secretly giddy (because to be outwardly giddy would be, like, so not cool) when I see him picking through my CDs or downloading music that I listened to in high school and college.

After I returned to the car after filling it up with gas the other night, I found him playing my old Vanilla Ice CD.  There's something cathartic...and surreal...about driving down the street on a cool night whilst rapping with your teenaged son, especially when you have def lyrics such as "cookin' MCs like a pound of bacon."

As he's grown older, I've learned to accept as fact that connecting with him will no longer be as easy as pulling out Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?  But music may help keep the tie that binds us from becoming too painfully long.  And that, my friends, is a very comforting thought.

Word to your mutha.