There was a time I used to consider myself rather intelligent. I have official documentation that proves that I’m no slouch when it comes having “smarticle particles,” as my girls like to call it. I had good report cards, won awards for academic achievement and even went on to earn a Master’s degree in education. Two states even saw fit to give me a teaching license so I could pass on my wisdom and vast experience to future generations.

Then, I had kids of my own and everything changed.

I don’t recall taking my collective knowledge and heaving it in the trash along with the countless diapers I changed in my girls’ early years. Yet, somehow, as my kids get older, I get more clueless.

My kids think I’m smart — but, only when it’s convenient for them. Their opinion of my intelligence changes as often as the wind blows. Sadly, there is no forecaster who can help me predict what my girls will think of me on a particular day: will it be sunny and bright or dark and gloomy for mom? Who knows?

It’s a system that works perfectly for them and drives me absolutely insane! There is no logic or reason to this system.  In many ways, my girls expect me to know everything. They quiz me with a wide range of questions:

“Mom! Where are my socks?”

“Mom!  What time does dance rehearsal start?”

“Mom! Can you help me with my homework?”

I have all the answers. Mom is brilliant!

In the next breath, though, when they ask me what I think about something, whether it’s their homework or how they cleaned their room or even how to do something they’ve never done before, I suddenly become the dumbest person on Earth! I give them an educated opinion and they question me in a whole new way:

“What do you mean I made a mistake? Where?”

“I picked up in my room! Can’t you see that?”

“Are you sure that’s how you do that?”

I wonder how they got so smart so quickly.

But, then they flip it again and ask me these crazy questions they think I know because they somehow mistake me for a walking encyclopedia.  At the school bus stop the other day, my 9-year-old asked me why it is when she turns her head in one direction, her eyes moves the opposite way.

Huh?

She looked at me with absolute confidence I had the answer. Meanwhile, I stood there looking up toward the heavens, longing for the days when she asked “why is the sky blue?” At least, I had a decent answer for that one.

I stammered for a few seconds, trying to bluff talk through a reasonable answer to this medical marvel my daughter randomly asked me about. Her look of confidence quickly changed to a blank expression and she folded her arms in front of her chest.

“You don’t know, do you, Mom?”

“Nope,” I confessed. “Guess we’ll have to look it up when you get home.”

Sometimes being smart is admitting you don’t know something. That’s when some of the best learning happens—for both parent and child.

 Maybe as my kids get older, I get smarter, too. It will just take them a while to figure that out.  

“Mom Gets Real” is a weekly column by Marie Rossiter. She is married and the mom of two girls — a teen and a tween, and they live in Liberty Twp.. Rossiter publishes online family websites, Macaroni Kid West Chester-Mason and Macaroni Kid Cinci-Metro. Connect with Marie via marierossiter@gmail.com.