The Mom Life Chose Me

This is my entry for the Hardfork: Can You See The Future contest! My young children will all be teenagers in 2029, so I fell to wondering what my life might be like parenting them in the future. Here's what I came up with! Enjoy.

The Mom Life Chose Me

I don’t understand my kids these days. Literally. I can’t even figure out what they’re saying to me. It’s like they speak a whole new language.

My eldest said to me after breakfast, “Mom? Tee bee aitch? I can’t even. Eye dee kay if my bee eff is my bee eff anymore.” She had tears in her eyes.

Yeah. Like, what do I even do with that? What the actual eff did she even say? But she was crying, so I gave her a big hug and said not to worry about it, her college entrance tweets are what she should focus on for now. She posed us for an Instasnap before I could let go and seemed a bit happier. “Tee why, Mom. Eye ell why!”

My middle child is a little easier. He’s always seemed to have an older soul than his sisters. He knows their goofy language too, but he can speak like a real live human, provided we’re on a regular topic, like the weather or cat gifs. He got his learner’s permit for his fifteenth birthday, so lately, every word he says is about cars. I think.

“You see, mom,” he says to me, gesticulating with a banana, “Since this is an urban model, we gotta switch out the autosteer Ess-dee-kay and replace it with an analog Ess-dee-kay. Which wouldn’t be so bad, except we have to route the semiconductors through the airbag system, which is also tied into the autotuner. Plus, I have to jack the intake to recognize Cobol for the analog’s sake, but the injector runs Java, so I’m still working out how to marry that all together. Do you think maybe they’ll pave the roads out here in a couple years? I can sub-root the autosteer back in for the injector, but slave it most of the time so we can drive analog on the gravel.”

I try to be supportive. I nod and smile and tell him he’s so incredibly smart and clever. He’s a sweet boy, not a foolish bone is his body, so I’m pretty sure he didn’t just announce his candidacy for President.

It doesn’t help that his dad understands his gibberish. They stay in the garage all day on Saturday and say words and do things to a machine that is supposedly a car. Since the oldest is gone with her Bee Eff or Bee Eff Eff or whatever the heck most Saturdays, that means I get to spend the day alone with my youngest, who has a newly-minted legal Facebook account as of last month.

She looks at me with these big innocent blue eyes, and says, “Y’all got anymore of that data?” This means she’s used up all the household internet. Again.

“You mad, bro?” she asks, while I authorize the overdraft on our net account.

When I tell her maybe she should cut back a little, “Yeah, if you could just switch to a higher usage plan, that would be great,” is her typical response.

It’s just so hard to relate to them, you know? I think they’re doing ok, but I worry. That’s what makes a good parent, right? If you think you’re doing it right, you’re doing it wrong? I tried to have a coherent conversation with them tonight.

“Mike, is your new flex capacitor working now?”

“Oh em gee, mom,” my eldest groaned. “That’s tee em eye.”

My son laughed. “She meant flux capacitor, ell oh ell!”

“I did? Well, is it working?” Eff my life.

“Yep, I should be able to get Eff-tee-ell out of her now, ell oh ell!”

My youngest looked at him thoughtfully. “Not sure if joking or serious.”

“Me either, tee bee aitch,” the eldest added.

That’s when I started drinking the wine.

I don’t know, but to be honest, parenting in 2029 is effing hard.

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image courtesy of Imgflip

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