A Whale For Mother's Day

Happy Mother’s Day, yesterday, if it applies, and happy Monday if not. Since I had the privilege of dealing with Mother’s Day, I’m going to inflict the same on you. I’m like that.

First, my kids are teenagers, let’s just get that right out there.

I did not get served breakfast in bed at the crack of dawn. Not because my kids are incapable, or because they knew I’d rather sleep in if given the choice, but because they slept in even later. The Girl did it last year, which was cute, then realized it was a lot of work and sleeping is just as rewarding and appreciated. There was never any real danger of The Boy getting up to burn waffles and cut up strawberries for me.

Being left to sleep in by the kids was appreciated, although Jingles didn’t get the memo. She stood on my pillow and purred viciously at me at about 6:30 am. Hubby was kind enough to boot her furry tail out of our room. (Having a cat is sort of like having a toddler-teenager hybrid, but purse-sized, with shedding.)

After being allowed to go back to bed and wake when I wanted to, I was permitted to have the teenage version of the breakfast of champions: white chocolate covered caramel apples. Someone clearly learned something.

I was lavished with extravagance including such items as a bulk pack of gaming dice (because Yahtzee is really interesting when playing with non-standard dice). The Girl has wanted a blue orchid for a long time but doubts her ability to keep one alive, so I now have a pink one as a trial run.

The Girl and I bonded with some inane TV for a bit and she told me about a modification where it rains whales in Grand Theft Auto 5. Naturally I looked it up. Then I showed her little brother who was, of all things, playing GTA5 at the time. He rained on our parade. It doesn’t really rain whales and told us how it was actually done. Sensing my disappointment (and possibly in a vain effort to get me to stop encouraging him to write a script to make it rain squid, then spiders in Minecraft – which he should want to do because his sister would love him then hate him) The Boy went and set up GTA5 on his PC and called us in to see the whale. Yes, my son turned into a humpback whale for me for Mother’s Day.

He flopped around as a whale for a bit, then became a cat and got hit by a car. Honestly, the cat looked mad before that, so it was sort of hard to feel bad for it. Being a mother, I naturally took the opportunity to point out that he should always look both ways before crossing virtual streets. Tired of being a (dead) cat, he changed into a crow and flew around. That was fun until he went to land. Keeping in mind this child has spent a wasteful amount of time on his flight simulator games, it was really hard not to laugh when he crashed and killed himself again.

The crow not being as awesome as he imagined, I challenged him to get in a car then change back into a whale. Hey, it was my day and I wanted whales. So he did. The car sort of exploded into shrapnel around him, that was cool. During all this, he was still online with his friends (who were ignoring their mothers, shame on them) and The Boy was narrating everything he did while I cheered him on. His friends all decided I am the coolest mom.

Yes, yes I am.

But then I had to wait before I could tell him to turn off the games and go do his chores so I didn’t lose my standing with his friends. I don’t think I really won that round. Now he’s off playing video games again when I need him to do homework. When I nag, I get the excuse “But Mom, I’m a whale!”

“Actually you’re a toothpick, and I’m going to snap you in two if you don’t do your homework.” That’s what I’m going to say just as soon as I get my fill of watching him flop around as a whale, crushing cars and bouncing off buildings. It’s funny.

Inside The Mind Of An Evil Feline

Darth Jingles is three. Yay … All right, here’s the thing on that: she’s a brat, but she’s a full grown brat. We raised her from a tiny kitten, too small to even jump up on a bean bag or chair. She’s lived in our house almost her entire life, and mostly enjoyed being a spoiled only-cat. The youngest sibling, baby of the family, and so on.

That being said, I’m watching her wander around the family room ‘exploring’ like there’s anything left to explore in this house. Okay, she hasn’t been on top of the kitchen cabinets or in the attic. I think that’s it. Every nook and cranny of the basement and garage? Check. On top of the entertainment system, including speakers? Check. On top of each and every bookcase that doesn’t come close to meeting the ceiling because these are not standard height walls? Check. Inside bathroom cabinets and (I still cringe) the kitchen ones as well? Check. Pantry? Check. The gas fireplace is sealed, that isn’t happening. Dream on, cat.

It’s a tad irritating to walk into the family room, pass the fireplace, TV, Blu-ray, cat, shelves of DVDs, back up – the cat is sleeping on top of the Blu-ray? No. Get down. She’s good about not needing to be shooed away from places multiple times. I haven’t seen her on the Blu-ray since. Hubby chased her through the house after the kitchen countertop and dining room table incidents, no further problems. She’s allowed on the bathroom counters, but not kitchen and she knows the difference. We can leave a can of tuna up there and she won’t touch.

All that being said, it’s her house. The giant bean bag that fits three teenagers is hers. She sleeps in the middle of it and won’t move for anyone. If Jingles chooses to sleep on the living room sofa, so be it. Somehow she knows Mommy doesn’t like it if she sheds there, and keeps it to herself. That’s kind.

She has a basket in The Girl’s room on her bed. Another by the window in my room, and another in the living room. In The Boy’s room she has a shelf in front of the window with her own pillow and the entire top bunk of his bunk beds. Oh, and she has a kitty bed in the laundry room, because it had to go somewhere. That was before she staked out spots in every other room and we had this insane idea she’d sleep there. Silly humans.

Outside, Jingles has her glaring spot. We all know it by name, even many of the neighbors, and she can be found there when she’s upset with us or in the later afternoon. She likes to sit there and watch people come home from school, then work. She sits there, where she can see the cul de sac, quietly watching, judging, condemning.

Once darkness falls and the neighborhood is silent, she hides in the shadow of a bush and makes her family call to her. Always three times at least, she prefers four. Jingles listens for the irritation in the voice of the Great Furry One (Hubby – he has a beard) and decides if he’s game for one more round or if she should come this time. Sometimes she guesses wrong and she’s out for the night. Or she gets caught in a neighbor’s garage. Perhaps something interesting is more promising than a warm bed with her children. (The Great Furry One breaths loud, The Girl kicks, The Boy sneaks out of bed late at night to play video games, so a good night’s sleep at home isn’t guaranteed.)

Most of the time Jingles comes in for the night, it makes Mommy and her children happy. Kitty-Mommy gives her tuna, and Darth Jingles puts off her condemnation of us at least for another day.  I’m serious, the cat looks evil most of the time. We love her for it.