My brother calls me at night, which means he needs something.

Brother: “Can you look after my dog this weekend?”

Me: “You ask me to do that so many weekends that my kids are going to think it’s our dog.”

Brother: “I can’t help it. I have an important trip.”

Me: “An important trip that you couldn’t plan for and arrange pet boarding?”

Brother: “It happened last minute.”

Me: “An important trip on the same weekend as Coachella?”

Brother: “Uh…”

Me: “Look, your dog is cute and my kids love him, but it’s obvious you got a dog because he looks good on your Instagram, not because you were serious about looking after a dog. I’ll take him this weekend, but if I see a single photo on your socials about you being at Coachella this weekend, I’m keeping the dog forever.”

Brother: “…”

Me: “…”

Brother: “I’ll ask Mom and Dad.” *Click.*

A few months later, I did indeed end up ‘inheriting’ the dog, as having to look after a loving and living being was far too inconvenient to the festival season…

I grew up in the eighties and adored the movie Spaceballs. I’m now an adult and a parent. We’re going on a long road trip, but luckily for my kids, our car has a DVD player and screens on the back of both driver and passenger seats.

I put the Spaceballs DVD in and zone out as we drive. When my seven-year-old says from the back of the car:

Child: “They say s*** a lot in this movie. It should be called S***balls, not Spaceballs.”

I have this blindness to how inappropriate 80s and 90s movies and shows actually were. It was normal then, I guess.

My husband doesn’t let me pick the movie anymore.

I’m driving to pick up my toddler from my sister’s house. She’s been babysitting him all afternoon while I have been running errands. I call her while I’m driving back.

Me: “Hey, [Sister], just to let you know, I’m all done, so I’m driving back to yours now. Should be there in about half an hour.”

Sister: “Oh! Oh… wow… that’s earlier than I was expecting.”

Me: “Yeah, the errands didn’t take as long as I thought.”

Sister: “Uhm… okay…”

Me: “Why do you sound weird?”

Sister: “Okay, don’t be mad.”

Me: “…what happened?”

Sister: “Well, the good news is I got to him before he finished the second half of the Red Bull…”

When I got there, my almost-three-year-old was doing laps in the yard between drinking water to dilute the caffeine. He was fine, but my sister decided to keep the energy drinks separate from the soda cans from now on…

It’s May 15th, two days before Norway’s National Day, and my dad and I are on a four-plus-hour drive to my aunt’s house.

Five minutes in, Dad realizes he forgot some chocolates he’s bought for the kids (my niece and nephew, plus their cousins). No big deal, we’re stopping at our regular grocery store to pick up dinner.

Getting back on the highway, he realizes he forgot the keys to the parking garage at my aunt’s apartment complex. Not wanting to turn around, he decides he’s just gonna use Aunt’s keys after we’ve unloaded our stuff at the door.

During the next few hours, we both remember small things we forgot, and jokingly say we have to turn around each time. Just under an hour from our destination, we pull out of a gas station after filling up. I’m scrolling on my phone when:

Dad: “S***, I forgot my suit…”

I turn around, and sure enough, the suit is not hanging from its usual place in the back seat. The back seat he’s been in and out of three times since we left. I snort and tell him we HAVE to go back. I exchange texts with my aunt.

Me: “We’re turning around; Dad forgot his suit.”

Aunt: “An hour away? I don’t believe you.”

Me: “We’re not going back, but he really did forget his suit.”

We have a good laugh about it once we’re settled and end up going to a nearby mall the next day, where Dad buys a new suit.

And he says I’M the forgetful one…

CORRECTION: This story was originally mistagged as a “Not Always Right” story, and has now been correctly retagged as “Not Always Related”.

A family (grandparents, parents, two grandkids) is looking at the menu and discussing options between themselves. The grandfather asks me:

Grandfather: “What’s a leek?”

Before I can answer:

Grandson: “It’s the scallions on steroids.”

Grandfather: “Oh! Yes, I like those. Thanks.”

That was a better answer than I had!