“Spring Break Axe Mur..."

“Yeah, I heard about it, Jos. Ashley’s Mom called and asked me if I’d let you.”

“So?” Will you let me, Mom?”

“Ah-ah, nope,” I braved an answer. I knew she would growl at me.

Jocelyn pouted. Sulked. Glared at me. “Why, what’s wrong with Spring Break Axe Mur...” she didn’t continue.

“You tell me, Jos.” My thirty- year-old wisdom in mothering Jocelyn hadn’t gone a long way since I was seventeen when I had her. But it was worth the try.

“Oh, Mom!” Jocelyn let out her usual tantrum. “I’m fourteen; I know what’s good and bad for me.”

“I suppose Tiffani, Ashley and all at the youth group who’ll be watching it believe the same thing?”

“ Don’t care what they believe.”

“I care, Jos.” I let out a sigh, hoping she’d understand. “I do care whom you associate with.”

“It’s only a movie, Mom”. Jocelyn slouched on the couch beside me. “They say, it’s kinda’ cool if I’d go and see it.”

“Wait here.” I tapped on her knee and prepared to dart into the kitchen.

“Mom, I gotta’ go! They’re waiting for me at Ash’s.” She’d whined and shuffled her feet under the coffee table.

“I’ll be there in a minute! I’ll just bring this choc mud cake I baked a while ago. Thought you might like to eat it with me.”

I craned my neck by the kitchen doorway. Jocelyn cupped her chin. Her pretty face drooped into despondent look of imagined imprisonment. She eyed the wall clock, which ticked away a chance at breaking loose from my clutches—her mother--if she dared.

“Here, your favourite,” I sliced a fourth piece. “Watch that special ingredient I put there.”

Her doomed pretty face changed. An I- wonder- what- Mom’s- up- to face lightened up a bit.

“Isn’t this your usual mud cake, Mom?”

“I put in some potting mix, and Collie’s poo to add darker shade. I ran out of choc’lit”

“Oh, Mom, d’yo expect me to eat this?”

“It’s only potting mix, and poo added to the nice cake. What’s wrong with it?”

“Yuck!”

“Spring Break Axe ... Murderer,” I braced myself for the real thing to say . Even though she’d be upset with me, I cringed my face and went on, “tell me what’s it like to sit there in the movies and taste and see all that rubbish?

Silence.

"I’m sorry, Jos. I’m not sold to this kind’o’ thing Friday nights at the movies with your friends at youth group.”

Her head hung, “I...I’ll call Ash, and tell her I’m not coming,” resolved Jocelyn.

“Thanks. I'm proud o'ya', Jos.”

“Oh, thanks, Mom.”