Your mother, Demeter, was sweet and protective; though, it could get a little irritating at times. Like right now, you stood in the middle of a flourishing field with mortals harvesting crops and strawberries in the distance; Apollo in front of you on one knee, with his lyre in hand and ready to sing you a song. But, Demeter stepped in.

"Apollo. Step away from my child." Demeter, spoke up, her tone demanding. Gods, someone help..

Apollo brushed the goddess of harvest off and went on, "I begin to sing of rich-haired Demterm awe-inspiring goddess, of her, and her child, lovely-"

Demeter cut the god of the sun off before he got a chance to spout another honey-laced word out of his mouth, "Not so fast. Just a snippet of song from you and all the pretty girls' hearts melt, don't they, Apollo? Your 'crushes' have a tendency to end very badly, and I won't have you hurting my child," Gods, moments like these made you want to dig a hole and just shrivel up and die if embarrassment hasn't done so already.

Demeter pointed to the seemingly endless fields around you all, "Back to the fields with you! Go practice your singing on some sheep!" And with that, Demeter sent him off and away.

"I begin to sing of rich-haired Demeter, awful goddess-" You could faintly hear Apollo shout as he walked away like a kicked puppy.

Your mother turned to face you after she was sure he left, her gaze softened... but oh gods, it was times like these that you hated. Not only was it embarrassing, but she treated you like a child that needed to be sheltered.