So Jeff has recently replaced me as the cool parent. I'm not bitter. I'm not sad. I knew he couldn't last.
And like all good mothers, I just sat back and waited.
For the past few weeks, they've been chattering in their code, talking about the Beatles and other rock music that I can't remember now. He let her watch Pulp Fiction. Super cool dad stuff.
So when she casually mentioned to him that she wanted to see the Dead Pool -- the newest Marvel movie that comes out next week, she was naturally thinking he'd be fine with it. And when our Jasheway friends said they were screening it, he thought we'd all go.
Then he heard a little bit more about it. We agreed that he should go to the screening and see if we were OK with her seeing it. While Ali and I were waxing poetic about deep-dish pizza, he went to the movie.
Ten minutes in, Duane leaned over and said to Jeff, "No f-ing way (should Ali see it.)"
He gave her the news on the way to school Friday. She was less than pleased.
"I'm afraid I lost my cool status," he told me.
"Oh, yeah," she confirmed later.
I did give her the spiel of how "Dad and I just want to be sure it's something you're ready for and as he described it to me, I agree that you're just not ready for it."
I'm ready to see it, but should anyone with a shred of innocence? Nope.
I didn't actually beat a path to tell him that he'd fallen from the pedestal, but I didn't hesitate to confirm it when he questioned it.
And damned if he didn't start to build that damn pedestal back up. He and Grandpa have a habit of breaking into Monty Python bits from time to time. They crack themselves up with phrases that lead to soliloquies. He mentioned that the skits are on Spotify and she might want to check them out.
So she's been singing "I'm a lumberjack and I don't care," all day.
I had a hair appointment and he took her to a choir performance today, giving me full warning that he was going to remind her that I'd chosen to cover my gray over hearing her sing. (She and I had had a long talk -- she agreed with my decision, as neither of us want me to look like Barbara Bush.)
After she and her choir group won gold - seriously - he suggested they do something to celebrate. "We're already on the west side, how about we ditch your mom and go to Jungle Jim's?" he asked.
She looked at him. "Or, or, or," she said. "Instead of a two-hour drive, we could go see Dead Pool."
It was easy to nix the movie. It's not out yet. They settled for lunch in town. When we finally got back together and I got the scoop on the choir competition and the aftermath, I asked her how he was doing climbing out of his hole.
"Well, Monty Python helped," she said. "But he's got a ways to go."