This hurts me more than it does you

Yesterday used to be my mother’s birthday. 

Seven years on, it’s as important to me to visit her grave, as it used to be seeing her when she was alive.  I like the boys to come too and normally they’re happy to oblige.  Yesterday though, Jamie was busy blowing zombies apart and half an hour later they were still chasing him around the internet.

Me:            Right, you’ve got two minutes left to kill them off

Jamie:        I can’t.  They’ll always be more

Me:            Okay.  You’ve got two minutes left to die

Jamie:        I can’t.  I’ll let the others down

Me:            Who are the others?  D’you know them?

Jamie:        No

Me:            So some strangers matter more than Granna?

I’m hoping this kind of talk is standard in families, and also the next bit where I tell him he’s got ten seconds to get in the car or the Playstation vanishes for five days.  Of course, rather than ten seconds, I end up waiting ten to the power of something much bigger, but he still misses his deadline.

And so I’m in the horrible position of having to deliver the consequences.  Thankfully, ultimatum standoffs don’t happen much these days, but when they were little, I’d dread the words falling out and do anything to pervert their enactment.  

So now the Playstation’s out of action and I’m in the doghouse.  Five days feels harsh, but every time Jamie tries to argue his case he makes it worse:

Jamie:        All that Granna means to me now is Canada Dry, Elderflower Cordial and Cancer.  And I can get two of those in the supermarket

Me:            You can probably find cancer there too

Jamie:        Okay then, three out of three.  So why should I go to her grave?

I have lots of answers for him, but the truth is she’s just my loss now.  His memories  of her have been replaced by the next half of his life, and the last thing I want is for him to associate her with the Playstation. 

So what do you do?