(My parents and I are walking around the zoo. It’s near the end of our day there and we’re pretty tired. We’re walking around the African area and my mom asks a question.)

Mom: “Where are the sand people?”

Me: “What? Sand people?”

Mom: “Yeah, you know, the little guys that…” *mimes popping up out of the ground*

Me: “Oh! Meerkats, mom. I think you mean meerkats.” *dies laughing* “I’m calling them sand people from now on, though.”

(And yes, we did end up finding where the “sand people” were, and had a good time watching them. I won’t let her forget this, though.)

(I am a huge “Game of Thrones” geek, and have just finished a ramble about how it’s likely that Daenerys will die during the War for the Dawn and Jon Snow will take the Iron Throne.)

Mom: “For the sake of peace in this house, I hope Jon does end up on the Iron Throne. Otherwise, you will be angry and ranting about it for months.”

(I stare at her for a good ten seconds.)

Me: “I really want to be offended by that… but I can’t; you’re absolutely right.”

This story is part of our Game Of Thrones roundup!

Read the next Game Of Thrones roundup story!

Read the Game Of Thrones roundup!

(My mom got a cat she named Sandy while she was an officer in the military. Sandy was declawed in her front paws before my mom got her. When she moved to a house on a mountain, she took extra precautions to make sure Sandy was in her house at night, afraid that Sandy would be eaten by a wild animal. Come time for her to move, and the moving company comes to take her furniture. She cannot find Sandy.)

Mom: “Have you seen my cat?”

Mover #1: “Sorry, ma’am, I haven’t.”

Mom: *to another mover* “Have you seen my cat?”

Mover #2: “Sorry–“

(Suddenly, a German Shepherd with its tail between its legs darts between the mover and my mom, followed by a sand-colored streak. My mom’s jaw drops.)

Mover #2: “Ma’am, I don’t think you have to worry a thing about that cat.”

(He was right. Sandy stayed with Mom for over ten more years. Her most arduous trial was tolerating her owner’s first baby pulling her tail.)

(One of my first jobs is as a secretary and receptionist. I am angling for a promotion, so I make myself as indispensable to my boss as possible, and I persuade him to allow me to accompany him on a business lunch with our marketing reps. I am talking to my mum about it.)

Me: “I’m pretty excited about this. It’ll be my first business lunch.”

Mum: “Who are you meeting with?”

Me: “Our marketing team: [Employee #1] and [Employee #2].”

Mum: “[Employee #2]? No kidding! I know her! She’s really nice.”

Me: “Cool! Good to know.”

(I go to the lunch and conduct myself with as much poise and professionalism as a 22-year-old is capable of. I am quite nervous, but I pretend that I do this sort of thing every day. I think I’ve done a pretty good job. Later, when talking to my mum again…)

Mum: “How’d the lunch go?”

Me: “Great! I think my boss was impressed. I saw [Employee #2] talking to him afterwards and pointing at me; she was smiling.”

Mum: “That’s probably because I called [Employee #2] beforehand.”

Me: “Uh… You did?”

Mum: “Yes! I told her it was your very first business lunch, and that you were really excited and nervous. I also told her that since you’re just a kid, she should be nice to you.”

Me: “MUM! HOW COULD YOU?!”

Mum: *bewildered* “What? What did I do?”

(Sigh. I love my mum, and I know she only had the best of intentions. I might have gotten that promotion after all, despite or because of Mum’s “help,” but another job opportunity came my way first. I jumped at it.)

I will start off by saying that my mom is a very sweet and kind lady. However, sometimes she can be a little… judgy, especially towards my husband. He is more than aware of this, but they usually get along pretty well.

My mom recently had a project for work — involving crafting and kids — that used sugar. She had no idea how much sugar she would need, so she did what any reasonable person would do; she bought a large 35-pound bag of sugar. She didn’t need nearly that much, and is now up to her elbows in sugar. She has started storing it in large containers and putting them in the freezer.

Notably, my husband and I go through a lot of sugar, the biggest contributing factor being that he is a hopeless coffee addict. One evening, I’m getting ready to leave my parents’ house when it starts storming. My husband had asked me earlier in the day to stop at the store on the way home and pick up sugar. Upon seeing the rain, I mention to my mom that I don’t really feel like stopping. She goes to the freezer and pulls out what is probably about three or four pounds of sugar and gives it to me, telling me to let her know if I need more. I thank her and head out.

Not two weeks later, we have used most of the container, and I estimate that we will be out in a day or two. I mention to my husband that I will probably ask for more sugar when I see my mom next. He suggests buying some from the store because he “doesn’t want my mom’s judgment about our sugar usage.” I wave him off, and my mom is happy to unload more sugar.

A couple days later, I mention to my husband that she didn’t seem to care about our rate of sugar intake. In fact, she had more to say about the fact that I had brought my drink from home with me when I went to visit, instead of taking one that she offered!

My husband was silent for a moment before finally saying, “Your mother is an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, and slathered with mystery sauce.”