My Singing Monsters
I was telling my son’s friend’s mom, “Oh, I meant to write back to you to let you know we’re all set with the homework, but it’s the first time I had a chance to sit down all day and I checked my phone and got caught up with this game, ‘My Singing Monsters.’ Literally, I am right here in front of my computer, but that’s where my phone was charging…” my voice trailed off because I realized the whole things sounded so ridiculous.
We’d had a snow day that day and one of my boys was worried (so much so that he couldn’t sleep in) about an assignment he had due the next day and he’d expected to have time in class to work on in class that day, and in any case, he didn’t have the assignment with him, so I had asked the mom if she could text me a picture of it (which is probably weird to her to begin with, but my fax machine is broken). I’d wound up getting a hold of the teacher and getting a real copy of the assignment, but apparently peace of mind was all my son needed…he barely looked at it…but having kids home on top of my usual work load had just about put me over the edge and I needed a breather, a few moments to do something inane.
Did you tell her you play My Singing Monsters? He sounded horrified.
“Yeah, honey, why not?”
“What did she say?”
I could tell he was embarrassed. However, what I have learned since the time I was a child and embarrassed of my own mother, is basically, who cares? Is it any of his business if his friend’s mom thinks I am a whackjob because I am playing a game on my mobile device? It’s not like I am playing Clash of Clans or Minecraft (ahem, son), or announcing to all my Facebook friends that I play Candy Crush Saga, or worse yet, sending them invitations to join me. The reason I play this game is so I have a way to connect with my kids (other than Instagram) with something that is amusing. And this little game doesn’t have any bloodshed or criminal activity or shooting or weapons. It amuses me.
At hockey the other night I told one of my youngest’s friend’s moms, “Hang on a second, I just have to manage a couple of monsters in this game I play with my kids.” I did not worry what she thought. When I was done, we spent the rest of the time chatting about kids and hockey, and cheering on our kids playing hockey.
My brother commented one time about our mom that she was one of the biggest football fans he knew. He got her a “Mom Brady” shirt, even. I told him around the time of her passing, “I am not sure she was that into football as she was wanting to find a way to connect with you.”