I drive a used minivan with sticky floorboards and a trunk full of random stuff.
I know all the Disney Jr. theme songs from 2012 to present day but a second-grader had to tell me who Marshmellow is.
I can easily rock the same leggings for an entire weekend.
Also, I wear my 'good pants' about two-inches higher waisted than I did at twenty-five.
I use room spray as perfume and wear a ball cap more than I style my hair.
I embarrass my kids dancing in toy aisles at Targets and making silly faces at restaurants.
I am 'that mom.'
And by 'that mom,' I mean the one I thought I'd never be because I was just way too cool.
Once, as a teenager, I told my mom I'd rather die than grow up to be the type of woman who read Good Housekeeping magazine. (Yes, I really said that!)
I now read it front to back.
At 18, I thought all the suburban moms pushing strollers were inauthentic and bored.
I was wrong.
Everything visible on the surface - the messy buns and diaper bags, the HGTV watching and Pinterest groups, the appointments and store lists - it's not what defines mom life.
My floorboards are sticky because God trusted me with two children to raise.
So, I watch cartoons with them.
I buy them new clothes and not myself.
I read about how to make their house a home to grow up in.
I plan play-dates instead of scheduling hair appointments.
I dance in public and act like a goofball to make them laugh.
"Stop it, mom,' my 6-year-old says. "That isn't cool."
I just smile and keep on dancing.