My husband and I have recently had our first child. I am struggling with major postpartum depression, and my mother-in-law offers to watch our daughter for a few hours so we can have a date night. I am at first reluctant, but she insists and everyone tells me it’ll probably be good for me.

When my daughter is about three months old, we accept my mother-in-law’s offer. When we drop my daughter off, we explain that since she is still so little and young, we don’t let her cry it out and ask them to not do so.

When we go to pick her up afterward, my daughter is near hyperventilating. After further questions, we find out that she had started getting fussy and my mother-in-law didn’t want to deal with it, so she let her cry it out until the point where she was inconsolable. The second my daughter sees me, she whimpers and reaches out for me. I am fuming. 

Me: “We asked you to not let her cry it out. Why didn’t you comfort her?”

Mother-In-Law: “You don’t get to complain about free babysitting. I can do whatever I want when I’m watching her.”  

She continued to make statements like, “Are you sure she’s not colicky?” and “It’s a good thing her crying doesn’t bother you; I would just shut her in a room with a vacuum on.” She never understood why we never took her up on her offers to watch our daughter again or why, for months after, whenever our daughter saw her, she would instantly burst into tears.

My father has a knack for making every story about him. We are visiting with some old neighbors we haven’t seen in years.

Neighbor #1: “Remember the time that our son scratched [Neighbor #2]’s car with his bike?”

Dad: “Oh, that wasn’t your son; it was me! And it wasn’t a bike; I was driving my car. And it wasn’t [Neighbor #2], it was [Neighbor #3].”

Me: “So, in other words, it was a completely different story altogether?”

One day, I’m driving around, trying to decide where to eat.

Daughter: “I want [Fast Food Place #1].”

Me: “No, I think [Fast Food Place #2].”

Daughter: “But I want [Fast Food Place #1].”

Me: “You don’t count.”

Daughter: “Yes, I do! One, two, three.”

Me: “Really?”

As a kid, I was always a geek. I had a love of math and science and was an avid reader. However, despite my excessive reading, I’m only an average speller at best, while my mother and sister are great at it and love all kinds of word games. Thus, when they both insist on playing Scrabble, I join them begrudgingly, knowing I am doomed to be a distant third place in the end.

One turn, my sister puts down “LAZAR” using some of the special locations to get a high score.

Me: “What is a ‘lazar’?”

Sister: “It’s ‘laser.’ You know, like a gun that shoots people with light.”

Me: “Oh, come on. That’s not how you spell ‘laser’!”

Sister: “Sure it is. How would you spell it?”

Me: “It’s spelled L-A-S-E-R.”

Sister: “No. I think it’s a Z?”

Me: “No, I’m quite confident it’s an S.”

Sister: “How do you know? We should check the dictionary.”

Mother suggests, with just a hint of amusement in her voice:

Mother: “Go ahead. Tell her what it means.”

Me: “’Laser’ is an abbreviation for ‘Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation.’ You can’t Zimulate radiation!”

My sister was indignant but conceded that she must have spelled it wrong without demanding we check the dictionary after that. I had just told my mother the week prior that the book on physics I was reading explained the origin of the term ‘laser,’ so she knew what was coming and was just waiting for my sister to dig herself deeper before speaking up.

I still lost the game, as I had anticipated. However, I felt vindicated that I managed to show my older sister up, even in the game she excelled at, by using the things I was good at: physics and obsessive reading.

My husband and I have the only granddaughter and great-granddaughter on his side of the family. Because of this, his mom and grandma try to treat her like a princess with frilly and girly stuff. She loves pink but she also loves cars, dinosaurs, and playing rough with her male cousins. One summer, my husband’s grandma is visiting and watching our daughter playing with dinosaurs.

Grandma: “Brave of you to let her play with dinosaurs.”

Me: “Uh, why?”

Grandma: “I’m just surprised you allow her to play with things like cars and dinosaurs. She’s a girl. She should be playing with girl toys.”

Me: “What exactly are ‘girl’ toys? Dinosaurs are awesome. They’re for everyone. Not just boys.”

She said she’d be speaking with my husband about it later. He just laughed at her and told her the same response I had. She was not pleased.