Adopting the slang of my Gen Alpha kids took me from being an outsider to someone who is in on the joke

• My three kids were speaking with a lingo that I could barely understand at times.
• As a millennial mom, I knew that joining in could help me connect with my Gen Alpha kids.
• Adopting their vocabulary has helped us connect in new ways.

My fellow millennials will likely agree how bizarre it is that generational labels are so prevalent and such a hot topic of discussion these days. Growing up in the 90s, my peers and I were never categorized by birth years. We were just kids living without the constant comparisons or intense debates about generational discourse.

Then came Gen Z and Gen Alpha, with their distinct fashion, digital habits, and, above all, a baffling (at least to me) new lingo. It was then that I realized I wasn't just a person. I was a millennial with a specific set of habits that are now considered, well, vintage.

My three children, ages 12, 9, and 4, are all Generation Alpha. I often find myself living a double life. On one hand, I'm trying to revive 90s trends for my kids, while on the other, I am desperately trying to decode the slang they use every day. Sometimes, it's a lot harder than I think it should be.

I couldn't understand my own kids

Initially, terms like "skibidi' or 'sigma," frequently used by my sons, deeply annoyed me. I didn't know the meanings, and I worried they were forgetting how to speak properly.

The verbal sibling fights were full of "stop the cap" or "you're cooked," and every conversation seemed to end with "period." Even my 4-year-old was chanting memes like "67," which I didn't recognize when I first heard it.

I checked in with my friends, also parents of Gen Alpha kids, and realized I wasn't alone. We were all experiencing the same "brain rot" terms and the resulting sensory overload. To our kids, this wasn't offensive; it was just how they talked. They simply dismissed our confusion with another term: a "skill issue."

These terms literally became their primary mode of communication, and my frustration grew. While we, too, had terms like LOL and OMG back in the day, I don't recall slang taking over 90% of our vocabulary. I feared my kids would lose their emotional depth and the ability to express themselves thoughtfully. I also felt left out, as I always hope to be their cool parent, but this linguistic barrier was making me feel stuck.

I decided to embrace the Gen Alpha lingo to bond with the kids

In an attempt to connect with my kids, I decided to adopt their lingo. I hoped this would have a dual benefit. First, it would make our conversations more relatable. Secondly, I secretly hoped that if I started using the words, they would become "cringe" and my kids might naturally use them less.

The adaptation wasn't easy, but it was certainly fun. Some words, like "aura" (which I learned is one's coolness factor) or "clock it" (noticing or finishing something), were easy to use. But most were terms with little logical connection to their original meanings, like "cap" (lying) or "sus" (suspicious), and I had to look them up.

When I first used their terms, my kids were puzzled. Once, while eating ice cream, I casually told them that the flavor I chose that day was just "mid." They looked at each other, smiling. The other day, I deliberately misused "sigma," and they laughed so hard and said that I'm being desperate to fit in. I immediately snapped back, telling them that making fun of their mom was "not very sigma" and gave them "negative aura." We all ended up in splits.

My plan worked

Eventually, my efforts started showing positive results. My kids even began to guide me through their world. My middle son explained that the "67" meme was just another way of saying something is average, and he taught me to use the word "twin" for best friends.

Now we are having deeper, more frequent conversations. The buzzwords haven't disappeared, but their power has definitely shifted.

The children realize that their lingo isn't a secret code anymore, and their mom can decipher it, too. As the charm of these words tapered off, a healthy balance was created, which I was content with. I'm no longer worried that they are forgetting how to speak properly. I have realized that using this slang makes them feel cool, and I shouldn't try to completely strip that identity away.

Instead, I'm focusing on shrugging off the harmless terms, gently disciplining the offensive ones, and staying in sync where we can. In the meantime, I'm just happy to be part of the conversation.