I’m starting to wonder if millennials are smarter than the rest of us.  Part of me says this in jest, in that I birthed one and, of course, recognize that parents are always smarter than their kids.  More life, more experience – must be smarter.

Yet the other part of me seriously wonders.  My daughter told me a few years ago that she and her people think Facebook is ridiculous and that is exactly why many of them no longer even have accounts. And here I thought it was just taking her a while to confirm our “relationship” status.  I’m going to divulge an embarrassing inner secret:  for at least a week, I was hurt that she did not validate me on a social media site as her “Mom.”

Ok – ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?

I am the one who read that child Are You My Mother? every night before bed circa 1998-2005.

I am the one who has never been able to nap and thus, functioned on 72-hours of daylight straight when she had her days and nights mixed up the first year of her life.

I am the one who rode the bus to school with her on the first day of kindergarten – 1.56 miles away – to ease her fear.

I may also be the one who took her to the bus stop about 5 years later when it was raining and almost ran her over because I was late for work.

And… fifteen+ more years of Mom’ing after that.

So, again, I ask:  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

What was I even thinking letting what I absolutely know with every ounce of my being to be true be questioned by Facebook?

Please.

You know what’s the first thing I read most mornings when I have my coffee?

Facebook.

Yeah…my non-approved, non-validating daughter is definitely smarter.

I’d like think she got those genes from me, but  it’s 5:52 am and I’m writing this before I head out the door to run 18 miles.

Maybe when I get back I’ll take a Facebook IQ test.

*****

Glennon Doyle Melton says that in order to be an actual writer, your butt needs to be in the chair every morning.  I think I may have forgotten that.  (In my defense, I was up at 3:30am Monday of this week so I could drive 5 hours and move my “daughter” out of her apartment by noon.)  Whatever, Facebook.

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