In & Out - A Kittyish Decision

The forecast today called for 25% chance of rain with thunderstorms in the afternoon. I always read the forecast to The Girl when I wake her in the morning – it’s to encourage her to get out of bed. Mostly it works. She’s smallish and can’t quite reach me when she takes a wild swing in my direction without sitting up first. In order to shut me up, she is forced to get up first. Sad, but true.

That’s not the point of my story, however. Just because The Girl gave in and got up doesn’t mean Jingles was convinced. She had a lovely warm spot snuggled at the foot of The Girl’s bed – a nest between a stuffed octopus, turtle, and manta ray (more commonly called a “sea flap-flap”). The Girl has a plush nautical theme going on, she sleeps with a blue whale. Again, beside the point.

I pet Jingles and gave her the hourly forecast, earning a glancing blow from my daughter as she stomped around her room gathering her clothes. The upshot was: I had to convince the cat to go outside this morning to kitty it up before it rained this afternoon. Yes, kitty is now a verb.

Oddly, it took some work to convince that cat to go outside. “Now or never” doesn’t usually work, but it did this time and she went off, gallivanting around the neighborhood, trying to lose her collar again. Two hours later, it started raining. Earlier than forecasted, but not hard. She wouldn’t come in. Jingles sat on the walk up to our door, staring at me as I now tried to convince her she’d had enough kittying and it was time to come in. Then she ran off. Little brat.

Harder rain and the crack of thunder proved more convincing than I was and Jingles finally came in, tracking little muddy kitty-prints on my tile entry. Brat. I do have solace in the knowledge the downpour is temporary. The rain will cease and she will be at my door again demanding to go out. I will point to those muddy paw prints and laugh evilly as I refuse to open the door. Because I’m a trite, little person who punishes the cat for doing what she does. Then The Girl will let her out as soon as my back is turned.

It’s nice to be able to take comfort in the predictable things in life.

A Whale Of A Time

I have the most interesting conversations with my son. I’m sure part of it is because he’s fifteen – that has to be a factor. Much of the oddity of our conversations stems from the sheer amount of time he spends dwelling on virtual high speed car chases, virtual crime, or zombies – real or virtual. I suppose it depends on how you define real, but I’ll say Hollywood based instead of X-Box based in that scenario. He’s not terribly interested in Hollywood inspired car chases or crime, it’s not realistic enough for him.

All that being said, The Boy and I sat down for a voluntary chat. It was a rare occurrence. No talk of school, spending too much time playing video games, picking on his sister, staying up late, the state of his room, etc. Instead, we discussed the secret boy-chatter he engages in with his friends online late at night. On one hand, I feel privileged; on the other, I really hoped for more.  The conversation went something like this:

Boy: …so we keep arguing about what’s the best weapon or vehicle, and you can only choose three –

Me: For what scenario?

Boy: Anything

Me: Zombies or whatever? That hardly seems fair. (I thought I was empathizing, but that just shows you I didn’t really understand the problem at all)

Boy: Doesn’t matter, Mom. Three weapons, three vehicles

Me: Fine. Anything? No limits?

Boy: No. Like I want the Portal Gun

Me: The what?

Boy: Portal Gun. From Portal. You know, Portal?

Me: No.

Boy: (Exasperated sigh)

Me: We could play and you could teach me

Boy: No.

Me: (Sigh) Fine. So any weapon?

Boy: Yes (with an edge of impatience as if he can’t believe his mother is so dense she can’t quite grasp this)

Me: I choose the Death Star

Boy: (Thoughtful pause) Oh

Score one for parents.

Now, as I won one with The Boy, I lost one with The Girl, which is sad because usually I manage to hold my own with her.

It started innocently enough with Darth Jingles staying out for three nights in a row. I was actually starting to get worried. The Girl missed her fluffy companion to snuggle and plot the demise of neighbors with. Mostly to snuggle with. She mentioned missing the face snuggles while we were Minecrafting together. (Hey, it’s a verb!)

Concerned for my daughter’s state of mind (rightfully so considering she was building a moat of lava around what was previously an idyllic little town full of tiny cute houses and flower gardens) I picked up her stuffed sea turtle and started rubbing it against her face, much the same way Jingles rubs her face against The Girl in the morning to say hello.

The Girl didn’t appreciate the comforting gesture and smacked me in the face with a whale. Okay, it was a stuffed whale. But it was a stuffed blue whale – that makes it a miniature plush version of something really big, and it’s the thought that counts.  

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.