This chapter is because mom's logic is hard break. I'm pretty sure you've read about these 'teachings' somewhere else; I took some and wrote this chapter.

Oh, and the poll is now closed. The results are in my profile, go check them; soon enough you'll get a chapter with the most voted character.

Mothers are extraordinary women who are gifted with an extra amount of love and patience. They also excel at logic and life lessons. Melinda May was no exception. Even though she wasn't the biological mother of any of her children, it didn't invalidate the fact that she was a mother. Usually May would use her life lessons and logic when Coulson was on missions abroad and she was alone with the kids.

May taught her oldest girl (even though she was skeptical) to be religious.

The woman's eyes nearly bulged out of her head when she saw the state of Jemma and the kitchen. The girl was covered from head to toe in a red sticky substance that May preferred not to identify. Part of what was supposed to be Jemma's science project was destroyed; the rest was still sitting on the kitchen table and the walls were covered in the same pasty stuff that covered the girl.

"Jemma," May's voice roared, "you better pray that it will come off of the walls." Before leaving the kitchen, she said over her shoulder, "When I get back here, the kitchen better be spotless."

The girl's face filled with fear. She put her hands together under her chin and started very quietly, "Dear baby Jesus, Buddha, uh, SpongeBob -"

"Damn, what happened in here?" Trip asked with a frown as he walked in, stopping to contemplate the pretty large mess covering the walls. He gave up trying to find an apple to eat and instead focused on Jemma. "And what are you doing?"

"I'm praying!"

Trip's frown creased even more, "To Buddha, Jesus and SpongeBob?"

"Mom's pretty mad. There's no time to be picky!"

"Didn't you say you're an atheist?"

"I know my loyalties are with science and reasonable thinking, but this time I need something greater to help me."

"How about getting a mop and a wet cloth?" The boy told her, "That should help a lot more than asking for SpongeBob's assistance."

May taught her kids about the importance of being nice to others.

"Would you shut up, Grant?" Lance yelled, "I didn't cheat!"

"No, of course not," the other complained, "You just had the settings on and your shot error was 15%."

"I honestly didn't know the settings were on. I did set them correctly once I noticed it, didn't I?

"Alright, but we're starting again."

Lance's accent had never ever sounded more British as it did when he said, "No we're not."

"Yes we are! That's unfair."

"No, we're not starting over."

The two kept taking turns repeating 'yes' and 'no' fifteen times in a row. May got so tired of hearing their accusations and their tone of voice climbing up in volume that she showed up in the living room and confiscated both game controllers.

"Now, if you're going to kill each other, do it outside. Please think of how much work I'd have to do because of you two; blood stains are hard to remove."

May taught one of her sons that a mother's logic isn't to be discussed.

"Hey, mom," Grant crooned, taking a seat on the couch by her side, "do you think I can participate in the boxing compe -"

"No," she simply replied, not tearing her gaze away from the book she was reading.

Grant had quit the Scouts Boys because the only reason he had joined them in the first place was to learn survival tips, and as he told his parents, he had learned them all. However, he already had a new idea in his mind when he told his parents that scouts weren't for him. He wanted to learn boxing. May was pleased with the idea; Coulson was worried. It was no lie that Grant still held a grudge against his birth parents and his blood brother. May wanted him to get rid of all of it by punching a bag; Coulson feared that boxing could make him violent. Luckily he was a good student at the downtown's academy, and so far hadn't displayed violent behavior. Of course he'd use Lance as his guinea pig to practice at home, but Grant and Lance's scuffles were older than dirt.

"I didn't even finish tal -"

"Still no."

Grant threw his head back and sighed soundly, raising his arms in the air. "Why can't I go?"

"Because I said so, that's why."

"Wow, really?" he mumbled, incredulous, "You're going with that?"

"Yes, I'm going with that."

"Ugh," Grant grumbled, getting up, "Mom's logic is stupid."

"Spend a weekend with your grandmother and you'll see how weird a mother's logic really is," May said under her breath when Grant was already out in the backyard.

May taught her youngest child about behavior modification.

Doctor Martin had recommended Skye to do an activity that tired her, so it'd help her with the narcolepsy disorder. Skye picked roller hockey without hesitation. She was a bit too young to be part of the team, but the coach took her in anyways. Coulson was overly worried about his little six-year-old girl in oversized equipment, playing in a team of ten-year-old boys who were already advanced hockey players. The fact that Skye overheard her dad confessing to her mom that he feared for her safety only caused Skye to feel insecure. And that was something astonishing since Skye was the freest and most confident person that lived in that house.

"I don't wanna go to hockey again," she whined.

"You slipped and bumped your head," May said, holding a bag of ice against her forehead, "no need to be so whiny about it. I've told you to practice skating more."

"I'm practicing," Skye said, not looking at her mother because she knew she was telling a big lie.

"You're really bad at lying," the woman claimed, "The roller skates are under your bed every day until you pick them up to go to the trainings."

Skye pouted, "But mom, it's hard and I get really tired." May rolled her eyes; that was the whole point of practicing sports, "I wanna quit."

"You're not quitting just because it got harder. You just have to keep on trying. You have to practice skating so that you get better at it. You can ask your brothers to help you with it." As Skye tilted her head and sent her a helpless look, May sighed deeper, "And please stop acting like your father, will you? I'm not changing my mind no matter what you do."

"Ugh," she groaned, "at least I tried."

Skye held the bag of ice against her forehead, debating whether she'd practice skating again or not. About an hour later she was out in the street, being taught by Grant and Lance how to skate properly.

May taught her very smart son about logic – logic that surpassed Newton's gravity law.

Skye earned the nickname of 'energetic monkey' because she was one. Leo was simply called 'monkey' because he was always climbing up something, which was most of the time the tree in the backyard of the house. May always blamed Coulson for incentivizing the so-accident-prone-Leo to climb up the tree. He said it made the boy stronger. May strongly disagreed, believing it'd make the kid break another bone.

"If you fall down from that tree and break your neck, you're not going to get to eat the cookies I've made," May said, standing in the porch, watching Leo hanging on one of the strongest branches of the tree.

"Mom, I can't come down," he yelped.

As he looked down, it felt like the ground was coming towards him. Leo was feeling dizzy and his palms were getting sweaty.

"You've climbed it, didn't you? Now come down." The woman retorted, walking the distance between the porch and the tree.

Even though he was increasingly getting nervous, he didn't fail to provide a detailed explanation, "I'm very sure that gravity will be against me if I try to climb down. Judging by my placement and the forces involved, I'd hit the – ah!" he shrieked, ending up hanging on the tree branch like a sloth, upside down.

He looked down, panting, tightening his hold on the tree as he attempted to wrap his legs around the branch.

"Let go," May said with open arms, expecting any second for Leo's weight to fall on her arms.

"Gravity still works whether you're there or not."

"I'm here to catch you. Let go."

Leo dropped his legs, swinging them as he quietly whimpered. He hushed as he felt his mother's arm looping around his legs, sustaining his balance. Then he let go off his hands and May brought him down to the lawn safely. As soon as he hit the ground, he was already poised to run away.

"Not so fast," May pulled on the back of her son's shirt collar, stopping him, "what did we learn just now?"

"That gravity is a very strong force?" he said with a smirk.

"And what else?"

"That if I break my neck I don't get to eat your cookies?"

"That's a good boy," she let go of his shirt, "You better not climb up that tree again, Leo," May warned as he ran inside, his eyes set on the last two cookies that were left in the plate.

The very next day Leo was hanging upside down on the tree branch again.

May taught Grant about foresight.

"When was the last time you showered?" May asked, leaning into Grant, inhaling deeply.

"Uh, last night?" he said, "We all showered yesterday."

"No, I meant did you actually shower? You know, when did you use soap and shampoo and scrub the dirt off you?"

Grant turned to his mother, seemingly offended by her question, "I wash myself!"

"Clearly," May rolled her eyes, continuing, "Make sure you go take a real shower to get clean and smelling nice. In case you're in sick a doctor will leave you to die if you are dirty and smell bad."

"You think I'll need to see a doctor soon?"

"If you don't take shower you might."

Grant ran upstairs, stripping off his shirt on the way. He spent over twenty minutes washing himself but he did return smelling good and looking clean again.

May taught her youngest kids about osmosis (even if Leo knew what it was).

Leo twirled the pasta with his fork, but that was all he did. He had stuffed his stomach earlier with Oreos, even though his mother told him not to. He told her he was like cows: his stomach had four different compartments, so he could eat the cookies. May smirked and let him have as many Oreos he wanted, and then she wouldn't let him leave the table until he'd realized that he wasn't supposed to stuff his stomach so close to dinnertime.

Trip, Lance, Jemma and Grant had already finished dinner and were in the living room, watching TV. Lance had been the first to scarf down all of his dinner since football trainings made him so hungry he could eat the whole world and still wouldn't be satisfied. He walked into the kitchen, where Leo and Skye were still playing around with their dinner, and walked to the fridge.

After opening the door, he moaned, "Oh, bollocks, we're out of popsicles."

"Did you know that popsicles were invented by an eleven-year-old?" Leo commented, taking one unwilling bite of one of the noodles. "It's true," the boy insisted as Lance shot him a disbelieving look. "You can make popsicles at home."

"How?" Lance asked excited.

May breathed in slowly and pointed at Lance, "Go back to watching TV. And you," she turned to Leo, "shut your mouth and eat your dinner."

"I can't do both," Leo pointed out. "And that's called osmosis, it only happens in our cells."

"Alright," May said defeated by the genius, "Then how about you stuff your mouth with food and don't talk. Better?"

"I'm full," Leo whined.

"Of course you are. Now I hope you realize you don't have a compartmentalized stomach like cows."

"Can I leave the table?" he asked, tilting his head, trying to charm his mother with his cute look.

"Yes, you can."

"Can I leave too?" Skye spoke in the lowest voice anyone had heard her muster. She looked really upset to still be at the table.

May looked at the girl, "No. Not until half of that pasta is eaten."

May taught her oldest son about extra sensory perception.

May sat on the swing on the porch. She had a file resting on her lap and a pen in her hand as she wrote down a report. She had to move her work place outside since all the kids were playing out in the street with the neighbor's kids, Victoria, Abraham, and Franklin Thompson. She had to keep an eye on those nine kids since the Thompsons weren't even caring a bit as to what their kids were doing.

"Trip, put your sweater on," May shouted over the noise the kids made.

"I'm not cold."

"You don't you think I know when you are cold? Put it on."

"I'm sweating, mom," Trip noted.

"Exactly," May insisted, "You're sweating and the wind is rising. You'll get a cold pretty quickly. Put the damn shirt on."

Trip raised his arms in surrender and put on the shirt much to his mother's pleasure.

I hope you liked this chapter. Leave a review tell me if you liked it, and leave me your suggestions.

Next chapter is based on something that was prompted to me.