My mother has a bad habit of changing subjects mid-conversation and then getting upset that we haven’t followed along with her train of thought. 

We are talking about a recent illness outbreak that is not very far from us. She then mentions that they had a lady come out to care for my invalid father, that she didn’t wear a mask, and that she mentioned that she had been to the outbreak hotspot that day so they had made a complaint to the care providers.

Mother: “She recently had a baby; she should have known better. She named him Joe. Joe! Joe’s got lung cancer that’s gone to his brain.”

I am horrified to hear that about a baby.

Me: “Oh, my God! Was he born with it?”

Mum: “What are you talking about?”

Me: “Was the baby born with cancer?”

Mum looks at me as if I am the dumbest person on earth and talks to me the same way.

Mum: “No, you remember Joe, your sister’s stupid ex-husband? That’s who I am talking about. You’re as bad as your father; he never listens to me, either.

Me: “What did you expect? One moment you are talking about a baby named Joe and the next you tell me that Joe has cancer. I couldn’t tell that you were talking about two different people.”

Mum just shrugged. She can’t understand how we get so frustrated with her when she does things like this. It makes sense to her, so why wouldn’t it make sense to others?

My nine-year-old cut her finger doing an art project — not terribly, but she needed help cleaning the cut and bandaging it. She asked me why it hurt so much and I explained that fingertips have a lot of nerve endings and she’d cut some nerves.

It seems she tried to explain this to my seven-year-old but didn’t quite get the point across, because when my husband came home, the seven-year-greeted him with, “[Nine-Year-Old] cut her finger and her nerves fell out!”

My mum, while not being completely tech-illiterate like some people of her age, still needs a lot of troubleshooting help from me and my brother — setting up accounts, working out error messages or emails, and that kind of thing.

She wants to set up an online banking account and calls me to guide her through it via phone. After a bit of chaos, we decide it’s easier if I set it up on my computer while explaining it to her on the phone.

Me: “All right, it’s asking for a login password. I’m going to use [password variant she uses everywhere, slightly changed up to make it safer].”

Mum: “Oh, yes, I’ll be able to remember that!”

Me: “Yeah. Okay, the security questions are the usual. I’ll put in your first pet and where you met Dad.”

Mum: “Okay.”

Me: “You’ll also need a sort of PIN number. I’ll just use [number combination she also uses everywhere that is, at least, not a birthday or other easy number to figure out].”

Mum: *Long pause* “Sure.”

Me: “Okay, now I’m going to enter your credit card details from that bank so it’ll be connected—”

Mum: “Wait a minute!”

Me: “Sorry?”

Mum: “How do you know my credit card details?! And remember all these other things so well?”

Me: “Mum. I’ve been setting up accounts and changing passwords and ordering or booking stuff online for you for years.”

Mum: “Oh, right.”

Me: “I know your online identity better than you, to be honest.” *Laughing* “I could probably hack every account of yours without you even noticing. Aren’t you glad I’m a good daughter instead and help you?”

Mum: *Also laughing* “You are a good girl for tolerating your silly old mum’s problems.”

She’s not had any troubles with online banking yet, but she still keeps joking about how I’m someday going to drain her account and run away with all her data and passwords.

My mom is the type of person who loves nature and believes in the healing powers of plants and things like that. I don’t really believe in that sort of stuff. She also loves to watch documentaries and takes a lot of what she hears in them to heart. 

Me: “Ugh, I have a headache.”

Mom: “I know what you need! The other day I was watching a documentary about how nosebleeds can relieve headaches. You just need to get a nosebleed and you’ll be fine.”

Me: “What? No, I think I’ll just take an Advil.”

Mom: “In the documentary, they mentioned that this plant can cause nosebleeds if you rub it on your nose. I have the plant here. Want to see if it works?”

Me: “I think I’d rather have a headache than a nosebleed.”

Mom: “Come on! I want to see if it works. Maybe we don’t even need to rub it on your nose. I think if we burn it…”

Me: “No, thanks. I really don’t want a nosebleed. I think I’ll just lie down.”

Mom: “Fine. I’ll burn it in the kitchen and breathe it in to see if it works.”

She did burn the plant, and no, neither of us got a nosebleed.

I was raised in a very open household, where I was encouraged to talk about all subjects, so I don’t really get embarrassed easily. My sister-in-law, on the other hand, is bizarrely prudish, to the point that she refers to pregnancy as being in a “delicate condition.” It’s particularly weird because she’s not even religious.

We are both in our late twenties, and at the time of this story, I am being treated for a health issue which means I can’t take the pill. My husband and I are not ready for children yet, but we have slipped, so I am at a pharmacy and convenience store getting a pregnancy test and a large box of condoms. My mom is also somewhere in the store buying her own things, while I’m already at the register.

My sister-in-law enters the store, sees me and my items, turns an interesting shade of red, and makes a beeline for me. Her side of the conversation is done in an angry whisper that’s still audible to other people in line, while mine is at my normal voice tone.

Sister-In-Law: “[My Name], what are you doing?! Why are you buying this trash, and at a local family store? Don’t you care about our family reputation?”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Sister-In-Law: “You’re a married woman! People are going to think you’re cheating. And are you? What do you need this for? Married couples don’t need condoms, and a whole box is just scandalous. And if you thought you were in a delicate condition, you’d see a doctor, unless you’re trying to hide your infidelity!”

Me: “I need condoms because I like sex and so does [Husband]. I’m pretty sure a whole box of condoms make us prepared, and hopefully very lucky. And I need the test because, well, I like sex and so does [Husband]!”

I wiggle my eyebrows.

Sister-In-Law: “You’re just shameful! I’m ashamed to even know you! Would you be buying this if your mother could see you? Of course not, you—”

In one of those benevolent-universe coincidences, my mom chooses this moment to come to the register.

Mom: “Hey, [My Name], did you finish buying your stuff already? I found a box of the [different condoms] you prefer if you want to switch.”

Sister-In-Law: *Screaming* “You’re all shameful!”

As she stormed out of the store, the cashier and the couple behind me in line were dying of laughter, I had laughing tears rolling down my eyes, and my mom was just super confused. To this day, my sister-in-law barely speaks to me at family functions, which I still consider a double win!